you that I saw on that fatal evening is – well, private between ourselves.'
Poirot said gravely, 'Nothing shall be done without your consent madame. And be at peace, I have my own methods. Now that I know what I am driving at -'
He took her hand and raised it to his lips.
'Permit me to tell you, madame, that you are a most remarkable woman. All my homage and respects. Yes, indeed a woman in a thousand. Why, you have not even done what nine hundred and ninety-nine women out of a thousand could not have resisted doing.'
'What is that?'
'Told me just why you killed your husband – and how entirely justified such a proceeding really was!'
Mrs. Lorrimer drew herself up.
'Really, Monsieur Poirot,' she said stiffly, 'my reasons were entirely my own business.'
'Magnifique!' said Poirot and, once more raising her hand to his lips, he left the room.
It was cold outside the house and he looked up and down for a taxi but there was none in sight. He began to walk in the direction of Kings Road. As he walked he was thinking hard. Occasionally he nodded his head, once he shook it.
He looked back over his shoulder. Someone was going up the steps of Mrs. Lorrimer's house. In figure it looked very like Anne Meredlth. He hesitated for a minute, wondering whether to turn back or not, but in the end he went on.
On arrival at home he found that Battle had gone without leaving any message. He proceeded to ring the superintendent up. 'Hullo.' Battle 's voice came through. 'Got anything?'
'Je crois bien. Mon ami, we must get after the Meredith girl – and quickly.'
'I'm getting after her – but why quickly?'
'Because, my friend, she may be dangerous.'
Battle was silent for a minute or two. Then he said, 'I know what you mean. But there's no one – Oh, well, we mustn't take chances. As a matter of fact I've written her. Official note saying I'm calling to see her tomorrow. I thought it might be a good thing to get her rattled.'
'It is a possibility at least. I may accompany you?'
'Naturally. Honored to have your company, Monsieur Poirot.'
Poirot hung up the receiver with a thoughtful face.
His mind was not quite at rest. He sat for a long time in front of his fire, frowning to himself. At last, putting his fears and doubts aside, he went to bed.
'We will see in the morning,' he murmured.
But, of what the morning would bring, he had no idea.
Chapter 28
SUICIDE
The summons came by telephone at the moment when Poirot was sitting down to his morning coffee and rolls. He lifted the telephone receiver and Battle 's voice spoke. 'That Monsieur Poirot?'
'Yes, it is I. Qu'est ce qu'il y a?'
The mere inflection of the superintendent's voice had told him that something had happened. His own vague misgivings came back to him.
'But quickly, my friend, tell me.'
'It's Mrs. Lorrimer.'
'Lorrimer – yes?'
'What the devil did you say to her – or did she say to you yesterday? You never told me anything; in fact you let me think that the Meredith girl was the one we were after.'
Poirot said quietly, 'What has happened?'
'Suicide.'
'Mrs. Lorrimer has committed suicide?'
'That's right. It seems she has been very depressed and unlike herself lately. Her doctor had ordered her some sleeping stuff. Last night she took an overdose.'
Poirot drew a deep breath.
'There is no question of – accident?'
'Not the least. It's all cut and dried. She wrote to the three of them.'
'Which three?'
'The other three. Roberts, Despard, and Miss Meredith. All fair and square, no beating about the bush. Just wrote that she would like them to know that she was taking a short cut out of all the mess – that it was she who had killed Shaitana, and that she apologized – apologized! – to all three of them for the inconvenience and annoyance they had suffered. Perfectly calm businesslike letter. Absolutely typical of the woman. She was a cool customer all right.'
For a minute or two Poirot did not answer.
So this was Mrs. Lorrimer's final word. She had determined, after all, to shield Anne Meredith. A quick painless death instead of a protracted painful one, and her last action an altruistic one – the saving of the girl with whom she felt a secret bond of sympathy. The whole thing planned and carried out with quiet, ruthless efficiency – a suicide carefully announced to the three interested parties. What a woman! His admiration quickened. It was like her, like her clear-cut determination, her insistence on what she had decided being carried out.
He had thought to have convinced her – but evidently she had preferred her own judgment. A woman of very strong will. Battle 's voice cut into his meditations.
'What the devil did you say to her yesterday? You must have put the wind up her and this is the result. But you implied that the result of your interview was definite suspicion of the Meredith girl.'
Poirot was silent a minute or two. He felt that, dead, Mrs. Lorrimer constrained him to her will as she could not have done if she were living.
He said at last, slowly, 'I was in error.'
They were unaccustomed words on his tongue and he did not like them.
'You made a mistake, eh?' said Battle. 'All the same she must have thought you were on to her. It's a bad business, letting her slip through our fingers like this.'
'You could not have proved anything against her,' said Poirot.
'No, I suppose that's true. Perhaps it's all for the best. You – er – didn't mean this to happen, Monsieur Poirot?'
Poirot's disclaimer was indignant. Then he said, 'Tell me exactly what has occurred.'
'Roberts opened his letters just before eight o'clock. He lost no time, dashed off at once in his car, leaving his parlormaid to communicate with us, which she did. He got to the house to find that Mrs. Lorrimer hadn't been called yet – rushed up to her bedroom but it was too late. He tried artificial respiration but there was nothing doing. Our divisional surgeon arrived soon after and confirmed his treatment.'
'What was the sleeping stuff?'
'Veronal, I think. One of the Barbitonum series, at any rate. There was a bottle of tablets by her bed.'
'What about the other two? Did they not try to communicate with you?'
'Despard is out of town. He hasn't had this morning's post.'
'And – Miss Meredith.?'
'I've just rung her up.'
'Eh bien?'
'She had just opened the letter a few moments before my call came through. Post is later there.'
'What was her reaction?'
'A perfectly proper attitude. Intense relief decently veiled. Shocked and grieved – that sort of thing.'
Poirot paused a moment, then he said, 'Where are you now, my friend?'
