"Did anything happen of significance during that weekend?"
"I don't think so."
"Nothing? But I thought -"
Charles broke in.
"What a self-centred creature you are, Theresa. Nothing of significance happened to you! Wrapped in love's young dream! Let me tell you, M. Poirot, that Theresa has a blue-eyed boy in Market Basing. One of the local sawbones. She's got rather a faulty sense of proportion in consequence. As a matter of fact, my revered aunt took a header down the stairs and nearly passed out. Wish she had. It would have saved all this fuss."
"She fell down the stairs?"
"Yes, tripped over the dog's ball. Intelligent little brute left it at the top of the stairs and she took a header over it in the night."
"This was - when?"
"Let me see - Tuesday - the evening before we left."
"Your aunt was seriously injured?"
"Unfortunately she didn't fall on her head. If she had we might have pleaded softening of the brain - or whatever it's called scientifically. No, she was hardly hurt at all."
Poirot said drily:
"Very disappointing for you!"
"Eh? Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, as you say, very disappointing. Tough nuts, these old ladies."
"And you all left on the Wednesday morning?"
"That's right."
"That was Wednesday, the fifteenth. When did you next see your aunt?"
"Well, it wasn't the next weekend. It was the weekend after that."
"That would be - let me see - the twenty-fifth, would it not?"
"Yes, I think that was the date."
"And your aunt died - when?"
"The following Friday."
"Having been taken ill on the Monday night?"
"Yes."
"That was the Monday that you left?"
"Yes."
"You did not return during her illness?"
"Not until the Friday. We didn't realize she was really bad."
"You got there in time to see her alive?"
"No, she died before we arrived."
Poirot shifted his glance to Theresa Arundell.
"You accompanied your brother on both these occasions?"
"Yes."
"And nothing was said during that second weekend about a new will having been made?"
"Nothing," said Theresa.
Charles, however, had answered at the same moment.
"Oh, yes," he said. "It was."
He spoke airily as ever, but there was something a little constrained, as though the airiness were more artificial than usual.
"It was?" said Poirot.
"Charles!" cried Theresa.
Charles seemed anxious not to meet his sister's eye.
He spoke to her without looking at her.
"Surely you remember, old girl? I told you. Aunt Emily made a kind of ultimatum of it. Sat there like a judge in court. Made a kind of speech. Said she thoroughly disapproved of all her relations - that is to say, of me and Theresa. Bella, she allowed, she had nothing against, but on the other hand she disliked and distrusted her husband. Buy British was ever Aunt Emily's motto. If Bella were to inherit any considerable sum of money she said she was convinced that Tanios would somehow or other get possession of it. Trust a Greek to do that! 'She's safer as she is,' she went on to say. Then she said that neither I nor Theresa were fit people to be trusted with money. We would only gamble and squander it away. Therefore, she finished up, she had made a new will and had left the entire estate to Miss Lawson. 'She is a fool,' said Aunt Emily, 'but she is a faithful soul. And I really believe she is devoted to me. She cannot help her lack of brains. I have thought it fairer to tell you this, Charles, as you may as well realize that it will not be possible for you to raise money on your expectations from me.' Rather a nasty one, that. Just what I'd been trying to do."
"Why didn't you tell me, Charles?" demanded Theresa fiercely.
"Thought I did." Charles avoided her eye.
Poirot asked:
"And what did you say, Mr Arundell?"
"I?" said Charles airily. "Oh, I just laughed. No good cutting up rough. That's not the way. 'Just as you please. Aunt Emily,' I said. 'Bit of a blow, perhaps, but after all, it's your own money and you can do what you like with it.'"
"And your aunt's reaction to that?"
"Oh, it went down well - very well, indeed. She said, 'Well, I will say you're a sportsman, Charles.' And I said, 'Got to take the rough with the smooth. As a matter of fact, if I've no expectations, what about giving me a tenner now?' And she said I was an impudent boy and actually parted with a fiver."
"You concealed your feelings very cleverly."
"Well, as a matter of fact, I didn't take it very seriously."
"You didn't?"
"No. I thought it was what you might call a gesture on the old bean's part. She wanted to frighten us all. I'd a pretty shrewd suspicion that after a few weeks or perhaps months she'd tear that will up. She was pretty hot on family, Aunt Emily. And, as a matter of fact, I believe that's what she would have done if she hadn't died so confoundedly suddenly."
"Ah!" said Poirot. "It is an interesting idea that."
He remained silent for a minute or two, then went on:
"Could any one. Miss Lawson, for instance, have overheard your conversation?"
"Rather. We weren't speaking any too low. As a matter of fact, the Lawson bird was hovering about outside the door when I went out. Been doing a bit of snooping in my opinion."
Poirot turned a thoughtful glance on Theresa.
"And you knew nothing of this?"
Before she could answer, Charles broke in:
"Theresa, old girl, I'm sure I told you - or hinted to you."
There was a queer sort of pause. Charles was looking fixedly at Theresa, and there was an anxiety, a fixity, about his gaze that seemed out of all proportion to the subject matter.
Theresa said slowly:
"If you had told me - I don't think I could have forgotten, do you, M. Poirot?"
Her long, dark eyes turned to him.
Poirot said slowly:
"No, I don't think you could have forgotten, Miss Arundell."
Then he turned sharply to Charles.
"Let me be quite clear on one point. Did Miss Arundell tell you she was about to alter her will, or did she tell you specifically that she had altered it?"
Charles said quickly:
"Oh, she was quite definite. As a matter of fact, she showed me the will."
Poirot leaned forward. His eyes opened wide.
"This is very important. You say that Miss Arundell actually showed you the will?"
Charles gave a sudden schoolboy wriggle - a rather disarming action. Poirot's gravity made him quite uncomfortable.
"Yes," he said. "She showed it to me."
"You can swear definitely to that?"
"Of course I can." Charles looked nervously at Poirot. "I don't see what is so significant about that."
There was a sudden brusque movement from Theresa. She had risen and was standing by the mantelpiece. She quickly lit another cigarette.
"And you, mademoiselle?" Poirot whirled suddenly round on her. "Did your aunt say nothing of importance to you during that weekend?"
"I don't think so. She was - quite amiable. That is, as amiable as she usually was. Lectured me a bit about my way of life and all that. But then, she always did. She seemed perhaps a bit more jumpy than usual."
Poirot said, smiling:
"I suppose, mademoiselle, that you were more taken up with your fiancée?"
Theresa said sharply:
"He wasn't there. He was away, he'd gone to some medical congress."
"You had not seen him then since the Easter weekend? Was that the last time you had seen him?"
"Yes - on the evening before we left he came to dinner."
"You had not - excuse me - had any quarrel with him then?"
"Certainly not."
"I only thought, seeing that he was away on your second visit -"
Charles broke in:
"Ah, but you see, that second weekend was rather unpremeditated. We went down on the spur of the moment."
"Really?"
"Oh, let's have the truth," said Theresa wearily. "You see, Bella and her husband were down the weekend before - fussing over Aunt Emily because of her accident. We thought they might steal a march on us -"
"We thought," said Charles with a grin, "that we'd better show a little concern for Aunt Emily's health too. Really, though, the old lady was much too sharp to be taken in by the dutiful attention stunt. She knew very well how much it was worth. No fool, Aunt Emily."
Theresa laughed suddenly.
"It's a pretty story, isn't it? All of us with our tongues hanging out for money."
"Was that the case with your cousin and her husband?"
"Oh, yes, Bella's always hard up. Rather pathetic the way she tries to copy all my clothes at about an eighth of the price. Tanios speculated with her money, I believe. They're hard put to it to make both ends meet. They've got two children and want to educate them in England."
"Can you perhaps give me their address?" said Poirot.
"They're staying at the Durham Hotel in Bloomsbury."
"What is she like, your cousin?"
"Bella? Well, she's a dreary woman. Eh, Charles?"
"Oh, definitely a dreary woman. Rather like an earwig. She's a devoted mother. So are earwigs, I believe."
"And her husband?"
"Tanios? Well, he looks a bit odd, but he's really a thoroughly nice fellow. Clever, amusing and a thoroughly good sport."
"You agree, mademoiselle?"
"Well, I must admit I prefer him to Bella. He's a damned clever doctor, I believe. All the same, I wouldn't trust him very far."
"Theresa," said Charles, "doesn't trust anybody."
He put an arm round her.
"She doesn't trust me."
"Any one who trusted you, my sweet, would be mentally deficient," said Theresa kindly.
The brother and sister moved apart and looked at Poirot.
Poirot bowed and moved to the door.
"I am - as you say - on the job! It is difficult, but Mademoiselle is right. There is always a way. Ah, by the way, this Miss Lawson, is she the kind that might conceivably lose her head under cross-examination in court?"
Charles and Theresa exchanged glances.
"I should say," said Charles, "that a really bullying K.C. could make her say black was white!"
"That," said Poirot, "may be very useful."
He skipped out of the room and I followed him. In the hall he picked up his hat, moved to the front door, opened it and shut it again quickly with a bang. Then he tiptoed to the door of the sitting-room and unblushingly applied his ear to the crack. At whatever school Poirot was educated, there were clearly no unwritten rules about eavesdropping.
I was horrified but powerless. I made urgent signs to Poirot, but he took no notice.
And then, clearly, in Theresa Arundell's deep, vibrant voice, there came two words:
"You fool!"
There was the noise of footsteps along the passage and Poirot quickly seized me by the arm, opened the front door and passed through, closing it noiselessly behind him.
Chapter 15
MISS LAWSON
"Poirot," I said. "Have we got to listen at doors?"
"Calm yourself, my friend. It was only I who listened! It was not you who put your ear to the crack. On the contrary, you stood bolt upright like a soldier."
"But I heard just the same."
"True. Mademoiselle was hardly whispering."
"Because she thought that we had left the flat."
"Yes, we practised a little deception there."
"I don't like that sort of thing."
"Your moral attitude is irreproachable! But let us not repeat ourselves. This conversation has occurred on previous occasions. You are about to say that it is not playing the game. And my reply is that murder is not a game."
"But there is no question of murder here."
"Do not be sure of that."
"The intention, yes, perhaps. But after all, murder and attempted murder are not the same thing."
"Morally they are exactly the same thing. But what I meant was, are you so sure that it is only attempted murder that occupies our attention?"
I stared at him.
"But old Miss Arundell died a perfectly natural death."
"I repeat again - are you so sure?"
"Every one says so!"
"Every one? Oh, lб lб!"
"The doctor says so," I pointed out. "Dr Grainger. He ought to know."
"Yes, he ought to know." Poirot's voice was dissatisfied. "But remember, Hastings, again and again a body is exhumed - and in each case a certificate has been signed in all good faith by the doctor attending the case."
"Yes, but in this case. Miss Arundell died of a longstanding complaint."
"It seems so - yes."
Poirot's voice was still dissatisfied. I looked at him keenly.
"Poirot," I said, "I'll begin a sentence with 'Are you sure.' Are you sure you are not being carried away by professional zeal? You want it to be murder and so you think it must be murder."
The shadow on his brow deepened. He nodded his head slowly.
"It is clever what you say there, Hastings. It is a weak spot on which you put your finger. Murder is my business. I am like a great surgeon who specializes in - say - appendicitis or some rarer operation. A patient comes to him and he regards that patient solely from the standpoint of his own specialized subject. Is there any possible reason for thinking this man suffers from so and so...? Me, I am like that, too. I say to myself always, 'Can this possibly be murder?' And you see, my friend, there is nearly always a possibility."
