Agatha Christie's Secret Notebooks

of the subject matter.

‘We have come here in answer to your request, but I am sorry to say that I do not understand in the least what you are driving at, M. Poirot,’ said Graham with some irritation as he laid down his hat and stick.

He was a tall thin man, looking older than his years, with pinched lips and deep-set grey eyes. Miss Davidson was a handsome fair-haired girl of twenty-nine or so. She seemed puzzled, but unresentful.

‘It is that I seek to aid you,’ said Poirot. ‘Your inheritance it has been wrested from you! It has gone to a stranger!’

‘Well, that’s over and done with,’ said Graham. ‘I’ve taken legal advice and it seems there’s nothing to be done. And I really cannot see where it concerns you, M. Poirot.’

‘I think James, that that is not very fair to M. Poirot,’ said Mollie Davidson. ‘He is a busy man, but he is going out of his way to help us. I wish he could. All the same, I’m afraid nothing can be done. We simply can’t afford to go to law.’

‘Can’t afford. Can’t afford. We haven’t got a leg to stand upon,’ said her cousin irritably.

‘That is where I come in,’ said Poirot. ‘This letter’—he tapped it with a finger-nail—has suggested a possible idea to me. Your aunt, I understand, had originally made a will leaving her property to be divided between you. Suddenly, on the 14th April she makes another will. Did you know of that will, by the way?’

It was to Graham he put the question.

Graham flushed and hesitated a moment.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I knew of it. My aunt told me of it.’

‘What?’ A cry of astonishment came from the girl.

Poirot wheeled round upon her.

‘You did not know of it, Mademoiselle?’

‘No, it came as a great shock to me. I thought it did to my cousin also. When did Auntie tell you, James?’

‘That next weekend—the one after Easter.’

‘And I was there and you never told me?’

‘No—I—well, I thought it better to keep it to myself.’

‘How extraordinary of you!’

‘What exactly did your aunt say to you, Mr Graham?’ asked Poirot in his most silky tone.

Graham clearly disliked answering the question. He spoke stiffly.

‘She said that she thought it only fair to let me know that she had made a new will leaving everything to Miss Lawson.’

‘Did she give any reason?’

‘None whatever.’

‘I think you ought to have told me,’ said Miss Davidson.

‘I thought better not,’ said her cousin stiffly.

‘Eh bien,’ said Poirot. ‘It is all very curious. I am not at liberty to tell you what was written to me in this letter, but I will give you some advice. I would apply, if I were you, for an order of exhumation.’

They both stared at him without speaking for a minute or two.

‘Oh! no,’ cried Mollie Davidson.

‘This is outrageous,’ cried Graham. ‘I shall certainly not do anything of the sort. The suggestion is preposterous.’

‘You refuse?’

‘Absolutely.’

Poirot turned to the girl.

‘And you, Mademoiselle? Do you refuse?’

‘I—No, I would not say I refused. But I do not like the idea.’

‘Well, I do refuse,’ said Graham angrily. ‘Come on, Mollie. We’ve had enough of this charlatan.’

He fumbled for the door. Poirot sprang forward to help him. As he did so a rubber ball fell out of his pocket and bounced on the floor.

‘Ah!’ cried Poirot. ‘The ball!’

He blushed and appeared uncomfortable. I guessed that he had not meant the ball to be seen.

‘Come on, Mollie,’ shouted Graham now in a towering passion.

The girl had retrieved the ball and handed it to Poirot.

‘I did not know that you kept a dog, M. Poirot,’ she said.

‘I do not, Mademoiselle,’ said Poirot.

The girl followed her cousin out of the room. Poirot turned to me.

‘Quick, mon ami,’ he said. ‘Let us visit the companion, the now rich Miss Lawson. I wish to see her before she is in any way put upon her guard.’

‘If it wasn’t for the fact that James Graham knew about the new will, I should be inclined to suspect him of having a hand in this business. He was down that last weekend. However, since he knew that the old lady’s death would not benefit him—well, that puts him out of court.’

‘Since he knew—’ murmured Poirot thoughtfully.

‘Why, yes, he admitted as much,’ I said impatiently.

‘Mademoiselle was quite surprised at his knowing. Strange that he should not tell her at the time. Unfortunate. Yes, unfortunate.’

Exactly what Poirot was getting at I did not quite know, but knew from his tone that there was something. However, soon after, we arrived at Clanroyden Mansions.

vii

Miss Lawson was very much as I had pictured her. A middleaged woman, rather stout, with an eager but somewhat foolish face. Her hair was untidy and she wore pince-nez. Her conversation consisted of gasps and was distinctly spasmodic. ‘So good of you to come,’ she said. ‘Sit here, won’t you? A cushion. Oh! dear, I’m afraid that chair isn’t comfortable. That table’s in your way. We’re just a little crowded here.’ (This was undeniable. There was twice as much furniture in the room as there should have been, and the walls were covered with photographs and pictures.) ‘This flat is really too small. But so central. I’ve always longed to have a little place of my own. But there, I never thought I should. So good of dear Miss Wheeler. Not that I feel at all comfortable about it. No, indeed I don’t. My conscience, M. Poirot. Is it right? I ask myself. And really I don’t know what to say. Sometimes I think that Miss Wheeler meant me to have the money and so it must be all right. And other times—well, flesh and blood is flesh and blood—I feel very badly when I think of Mollie Davidson. Very badly indeed!’

‘And when you think of Mr James Graham?’

Miss Lawson flushed and drew herself up.

‘That is very different. Mr Graham has been very rude—most insulting. I can assure you, M. Poirot—there was no undue influence. I had no idea of anything of the kind. A complete shock to me.’

‘Miss Wheeler did not tell you of her intentions?’

‘No, indeed. A complete shock.’

‘You had not, in any way, found it necessary to—shall we say, open the eyes—of Miss Wheeler in regard to her nephew’s shortcomings?’

‘What an idea, M. Poirot! Certainly not. What put that idea into your head, if I may ask?’

‘Mademoiselle, I have many curious ideas in my head.’

Miss Lawson looked at him uncertainly. Her face, I reflected, was really singularly foolish. The way the mouth hung open for instance. And yet the eyes behind the glasses seemed more intelligent than one would have suspected.

Poirot took something from his pocket.

‘You recognise this, Mademoiselle?’

‘Why, it’s Bob’s ball!’

‘No,’ said Poirot. ‘It is a ball I bought at Woolworth’s.’

‘Well, of course, that’s where Bob’s balls do come from. Dear Bob.’