She nodded towards the farther side of the pool, where two paths ran up into the woods.
Hercule Poirot cleared his throat.
"Who were they, this John and this Gerda? If I may know," he added apologetically.
"Oh, of course." Lady Angkatell turned to him in quick apology. "One forgets - but then one doesn't exactly introduce people - not when somebody has just been killed. John is John Christow, Dr. Christow. Gerda Christow is his wife."
"And the lady who went with Mrs. Christow to the house?"
"My cousin, Henrietta Savernake."
There was a movement, a very faint movement from the man on Poirot's left.
Henrietta Savernake, thought Poirot, and he does not like that she should say it - but it is, after all, inevitable that I should know...
("Henrietta!" the dying man had said. He had said it in a very curious way. A way that reminded Poirot of something - of some incident... now, what was it? No matter, it would come to him.)
Lady Angkatell was going on, determined now on fulfilling her social duties.
"And this is another cousin of ours, Edward Angkatell. And Miss Hardcastle."
Poirot acknowledged the introductions with polite bows. Midge felt suddenly that she wanted to laugh hysterically; she controlled herself with an effort.
"And now, my dear," said Sir Henry, "I think that, as you suggested, you had better go back to the house... I will have a word or two here with M. Poirot."
Lady Angkatell looked thoughtfully at them.
"I do hope," she said, "that Gerda is lying down. Was that the right thing to suggest? I really couldn't think what to say. I mean, one has no precedent. What does one say to a woman who has just killed her husband?"
She looked at them as though hoping that some authoritative answer might be given to her question.
Then she went along the path towards the house. Midge followed her. Edward brought up the rear.
Poirot was left with his host.
Sir Henry cleared his throat. He seemed a little uncertain what to say.
"Christow," he observed at last, "was a very able fellow - a very able fellow."
Poirot's eyes rested once more on the dead man. He still had the curious impression that the dead man was more alive than the living.
He wondered what gave him that impression.
He responded politely to Sir Henry:
"Such a tragedy as this is very unfortunate," he said.
"This sort of thing is more in your line than mine," said Sir Henry. "I don't think I have ever been at close quarters with a murder before. I hope I've done the right thing so far?"
"The procedure has been quite correct," said Poirot. "You have summoned the police and until they arrive and take charge, there is nothing for us to do - except to make sure that nobody disturbs the body or tampers with the evidence."
As he said the last word he looked down into the pool where he could see the revolver lying on the concrete bottom slightly distorted by the blue water.
The evidence, he thought, had perhaps already been tampered with before he, Hercule Poirot, had been able to prevent it...
But no - that had been an accident.
Sir Henry murmured distastefully:
"Think we've got to stand about? A bit chilly. It would be all right, I should think, if we went inside the pavilion?"
Poirot, who had been conscious of damp feet and a disposition to shiver, acquiesced gladly. The pavilion was at the side of the pool farthest from the house and through its open door they commanded a view of the pool and the body and the path to the house along which the police would come.
The pavilion was luxuriously furnished with comfortable settees and gay native rugs. On a painted iron table a tray was set with glasses and a decanter of sherry.
"I'd offer you a drink," said Sir Henry, "but I suppose I'd better not touch anything until the police come - not, I should imagine, that there's anything to interest them in here. Still, it is better to be on the safe side. Gudgeon hadn't brought out the cocktails yet, I see. He was waiting for you to arrive."
The two men sat down rather gingerly in two wicker chairs near the door so that they could watch the path from the house.
A constraint settled over them. It was an occasion on which it was difficult to make small talk.
Poirot glanced round the pavilion, noting anything that struck him as unusual. An expensive cape of platinum fox had been flung carelessly across the back of one of the chairs. He wondered whose it was. Its rather ostentatious magnificence did not harmonize with any of the people he had seen up to now. He could not, for instance, imagine it round Lady Angkatell's shoulders.
It worried him. It breathed a mixture of opulence and self-advertisement - and those characteristics were lacking in anyone he had seen so far.
"I suppose we can smoke," said Sir Henry, offering his case to Poirot.
Before taking the cigarette, Poirot sniffed the air.
French perfume... an expensive French perfume... Only a trace of it lingered, but it was there, and again the scent was not the scent that associated itself in his mind with any of the occupants of The Hollow...
As he leaned forward to light his cigarette at Sir Henry's lighter, Poirot's glance fell on a little pile of match-boxes - six of them - stacked on a small table near one of the settees.
It was a detail that struck him as definitely odd.
Chapter 12
"Half past two," said Lady Angkatell.
She was in the drawing-room with Midge and Edward. From behind the closed door of Sir Henry's study came the murmur of voices. Hercule Poirot, Sir Henry and Inspector Grange were in there.
Lady Angkatell sighed.
"You know, Midge, I still feel one ought to do something about lunch... It seems, of course, quite heartless to sit down round the table as though nothing had happened. But after all, M. Poirot was asked to lunch - and he is probably hungry. And it can't be upsetting to him that poor John Christow has been killed, like it is to us... And I must say that though I really do not feel like eating myself, Henry and Edward must be extremely hungry after being out shooting all the morning -"
Edward Angkatell said, "Don't worry on my account, Lucy dear."
"You are always considerate, Edward. And then there is David - I noticed that he ate a great deal at dinner last night. Intellectual people always seem to need a good deal of food. Where is David, by the way?"
"He went up to his room," said Midge, "after he had heard what had happened."
"Yes - well, that was rather tactful of him. I daresay it made him feel awkward... Of course, say what you like, a murder is an awkward thing - it upsets the servants and puts the general routine out - we were having ducks for lunch - fortunately they are quite nice eaten cold... What does one do about Gerda, do you think? Something on a tray? A little strong soup, perhaps?"
Really, thought Midge, Lucy is inhuman! And then with a qualm she reflected that it was perhaps because Lucy was too human that it shocked one so! Wasn't it the plain unvarnished truth that all catastrophes were hedged round with these little trivial wonderings and surmises? Lucy merely gave utterance to the thoughts which most people did not acknowledge. One did remember the servants, and worry about meals, and one did even feel hungry. She felt hungry herself at this very moment! Hungry, she thought, and at the same time, rather sick... A curious mixture.
And there was, undoubtedly, just plain awkward embarrassment in not knowing how to react to a quiet commonplace woman whom one had referred to, only yesterday, as "poor Gerda" and who was now, presumably, shortly to be standing in the dock accused of murder.
"These things happen to other people," thought Midge. "They can't happen to us."
She looked across the room at Edward. They oughtn't, she thought, to happen to people like Edward. People who are so very unviolent... She took comfort in looking at Edward. Edward, so quiet, so reasonable, so kind and calm...
Gudgeon entered, inclined himself confidentially and spoke in a suitably muted voice.
"I have placed sandwiches and some coffee in the dining room, m'lady."
"Oh, thank you, Gudgeon!"
"Really," said Lady Angkatell as Gudgeon left the room. "Gudgeon is wonderful! I don't know what I should do without Gudgeon. He always knows the right thing to do. Some really substantial sandwiches are as good as lunch - and nothing heartless about them if you know what I mean!"
"Oh, Lucy, don't..."
Midge suddenly felt warm tears running down her cheeks. Lady Angkatell looked surprised, murmured:
"Poor darling. It's all been too much for you."
Edward crossed to the sofa and sat down by Midge. He put his arm round her.
"Don't worry, little Midge," he said.
Midge buried her face on his shoulder and sobbed there comfortably. She remembered how nice Edward had been to her when her rabbit had died at Ainswick one Easter holiday.
Edward said gently, "It's been a shock. Can I get her some brandy, Lucy?"
"On the sideboard in the dining room. I don't think -"
She broke off as Henrietta came into the room. Midge sat up. She felt Edward stiffen and sit very still.
What, thought Midge, does Henrietta feel? She felt almost reluctant to look at her cousin - but there was nothing to see. Henrietta looked, if anything, belligerent. She had come in with her chin up, her colour high, and with a certain swiftness.
"Oh, there you are, Henrietta," cried Lady Angkatell. "I have been wondering. The police are with Henry and M. Poirot. What have you given Gerda? Brandy? Or tea and an aspirin?"
"I gave her some brandy - and a hot water bottle."
"Quite right," said Lady Angkatell approvingly. "That's what they tell you in First Aid classes - the hot water bottle, I mean, for shock - not the brandy; there is a reaction nowadays against stimulants. But I think that is only a fashion. We always gave brandy for shock when I was a girl at Ainswick. Though, really, I suppose, it can't be exactly shock with Gerda, I don't know really what one would feel if one had killed one's husband - it's the sort of thing one just can't begin to imagine - but it wouldn't exactly give one a shock. I mean there wouldn't be any element of surprise."
Henrietta's voice, icy cold, cut into the placid atmosphere.
She said, "Why are you all so sure that Gerda killed John?"
There was a moment's pause - and Midge felt a curious shifting in the atmosphere - there was confusion, strain and, finally, a kind of slow watchfulness.
Then Lady Angkatell said, her voice quite devoid of any inflection:
"It seemed - self-evident. What else do you suggest?"
"Isn't it possible that Gerda came along to the pool, that she found John - lying there, and that she had just picked up the revolver when - when we came upon the scene?"
Again there was that silence. Then Lady Angkatell asked:
"Is that what Gerda says?"
"Yes."
It was not a simple assent. It had force behind it. It came out like a revolver shot.
Lady Angkatell raised her eyebrows, then she said with apparent irrelevancy:
"There are sandwiches and coffee in the dining room."
She broke off with a little gasp as Gerda Christow came through the open door. Gerda said hurriedly and apologetically:
"I - I really didn't feel I could lie down any longer. One is - one is so terribly restless."
Lady Angkatell cried:
"You must sit down - you must sit down at once."
She displaced Midge from the sofa, settled Gerda there put a cushion at her back.
"You poor dear," said Lady Angkatell.
She spoke with emphasis, but the words seemed quite meaningless.
Edward walked to the window and stood there looking out.
Gerda pushed back the untidy hair from her forehead. She spoke in a worried bewildered tone:
"I - I really am only just beginning to realize it. You know I haven't been able to feel - I still can't feel - that it's real - that John - is dead." She began to shake a little. "Who can have killed him? Who can possibly have killed him?"
Lady Angkatell drew a deep breath - then she turned her head sharply. Sir Henry's door had opened. He came in accompanied by Inspector Grange who was a large heavily built man with a down-drooping pessimistic moustache.
"This is my wife - Inspector Grange."
Grange bowed and said:
"I was wondering, Lady Angkatell, if I could have a few words with Mrs. Christow -"
He broke off as Lady Angkatell indicated the figure on the sofa.
"Mrs. Christow?"
Gerda said eagerly:
"Yes, I am Mrs. Christow."
"I don't want to distress you, Mrs. Christow, but I would like to ask you a few questions. You can, of course, have your solicitor present if you prefer it -"
Sir Henry put in:
"It is sometimes wiser, Gerda -"
She interrupted:
"A solicitor? Why a solicitor? Why should a solicitor know anything about John's death?"
Inspector Grange coughed. Sir Henry seemed about to speak. Henrietta put in:
"The Inspector only wants to know just what happened this morning."
Gerda turned to him. She spoke in a wondering voice,
"It seems all like a bad dream - not real. I - I haven't been able to cry or anything. One just doesn't feel anything at all."
Grange said soothingly:
"That's the shock, Mrs. Christow."
"Yes, yes - I suppose it is... But you see it was all so sudden. I went out from the house and along the path to the swimming pool -"
"At what time, Mrs. Christow?"
"It was just before one o'clock - about two minutes to one. I know, because I looked at that clock. And when I got there - there was John, lying there - and blood on the edge of the concrete..."
"Did you hear a shot, Mrs. Christow?"
"Yes - no - I don't know. I knew Sir Henry and Mr. Angkatell were out shooting... I - I just saw John -"
"Yes, Mrs. Christow?"
"John - and blood - and a revolver. I picked up the revolver -"
"Why?"
