'And you have a matter on which you wish to consult me?'
'Yes. It's a long rambling story, I'm afraid.'
'Then we will not have it until after we have dined. Georges?'
The efficient George materialised with some Pate de Foie Gras accompanied by hot toast in a napkin.
'We will have our Pate by the fire,' said Poirot. 'Afterwards we will move to the table.'
It was an hour and a half later that Mr Entwhistle stretched himself comfortably out in his chair and sighed a contented sigh.
'You certainly know how to do yourself well, Poirot. Trust a Frenchman.'
'I am a Belgian. But the rest of your remark applies. At my age the chief pleasure, almost the only pleasure that still remains, is the pleasure of the table. Mercifully I have an excellent stomach.'
'Ah,' murmured Mr Entwhistle.
They had dined off Sole Veronique, followed by Escalope de Veau Milanaise, proceeding to Poire Flambee with ice-cream.
They had drunk a Pouilly Fuisse followed by a Corton, and a very good port now reposed at Mr Entwhistle's elbow. Poirot, who did not care for port, was sipping Creme de Cacao.
'I don't know,' murmured Mr Entwhistle reminiscently, 'how you manage to get hold of an escalope like that! It melted in the mouth!'
'I have a friend who is a Continental butcher. For him I solve a small domestic problem. He is appreciative – and ever since then he is most sympathetic to me in the matter of the stomach.'
'A domestic problem.' Mr Entwhistle sighed. 'I wish you had not reminded me… This is such a perfect moment…'
'Prolong it, my friend. We will have presently the demi tasse and the fine brandy, and then, when digestion is peacefully under way, then you shall tell why you need my advice.'
The clock struck the half hour after nine before Mr Entwhistle stirred in his chair. The psychological moment had come. He no longer felt reluctant to bring forth his perplexities – he was eager to do so.
'I don't know,' he said,' whether I'm making the most colossal fool of myself. In any case I don't see that there's anything that can possibly be done. But I'd like to put the facts before you, and I'd like to know what you think.'
He paused for a moment or two, then in his dry meticulous way, he told his story. His trained legal brain enabled him to put the facts clearly, to leave nothing out, and to add nothing extraneous. It was a clear succinct account, and as such appreciated by the little elderly man with the egg-shaped head who sat listening to him.
When he had finished there was a pause. Mr Entwhistle was prepared to answer questions, but for some few moments no question came. Hercule Poirot was reviewing the evidence.
He said at last:
'It seems very clear. You have in your mind the suspicion that your friend, Richard Abernethie, may have been murdered? That suspicion, or assumption, rests on the basis of one thing only – the words spoken by Cora Lansquenet at Richard Abernethie's funeral. Take those away – and there is nothing left. The fact that she herself was murdered the day afterwards may be the purest coincidence. It is true that Richard Abernethie died suddenly, but he was attended by a reputable doctor who knew him well, and that doctor had no suspicions and gave a death certificate. Was Richard buried or cremated?'
'Cremated – according to his own request.'
'Yes, that is the law. And it means that a second doctor signed the certificate – but there would be no difficulty about that. So we come back to the essential point, what Cora Lansquenet said. You were there and you heard her. She said: 'But he was murdered, wasn't he?''
'Yes.'
'And the real point is – that you believe she was speaking the truth.'
The lawyer hesitated for a moment, then he said: 'Yes, I do.'
'Why?'
'Why?' Entwhistle repeated the word, slightly puzzled.
'But yes, why? Is it because, already, deep down, you had an uneasiness about the manner of Richard's death?'
The lawyer shook his head. 'No, no, not in the least.'
'Then it is because of her – of Cora herself. You knew her well?'
'I had not seen her for – oh – over twenty years.'
'Would you have known her if you had met her in the street?'
Mr Entwhistle reflected.
'I might have passed her by in the street without recognising her. She was a thin slip of a girl when I saw her last and she had turned into a stout, shabby, middle-aged woman. But I think that the moment I spoke to her face to face I should have recognised her. She wore her hair in the same way, a bang cut straight across the forehead and she had a trick of peering up at you through her fringe like a rather shy animal, and she had a very characteristic, abrupt way of talking, and a way of putting her head on one side and then coming out with something quite outrageous. She had character, you see, and character is always highly individual.'
'She was, in fact, the same Cora you had known years ago. And she still said outrageous things! The things, the outrageous things, she had said in the past – were they usually – justified?'
'That was always the awkward thing about Cora. When truth would have been better left unspoken, she spoke it.'
'And that characteristic remained unchanged. Richard Abernethie was murdered – so Cora at once mentioned the fact.'
Mr Entwhistle stirred.
'You think he was murdered?'
'Oh, no, no, my friend, we cannot go so fast. We agree on this – Cora thought he had been murdered. She was quite sure he had been murdered. It was, to her, more a certainty than a surmise. And so, we come to this, she must have had some reason for the belief. We agree, by your knowledge of her, that it was not just a bit of mischief making. Now tell me – when she said what she did, there was, at once, a kind of chorus of protest – that is right?'
'Quite right.'
'And she then became confused, abashed, and retreated from the position – saying – as far as you can remember, something like 'But I thought from what he told me -''
The lawyer nodded.
'I wish I could remember more clearly. But I am fairly sure of that. She used the words 'he told me' or 'he said -''
'And the matter was then smoothed over and everyone spoke of something else. You can remember, looking back, no special expression on anyone's face? Anything that remains in your memory as shall we say – unusual?'
'No.'
'And the very next day, Cora is killed – and you ask yourself: 'Can it be cause and effect?''
The lawyer stirred.
'I suppose that seems to you quite fantastic?'
'Not at all,' said Poirot. 'Given that the original assumption is correct, it is logical. The perfect murder, the murder of Richard Abernethie, has been committed, all has gone off smoothly – and suddenly it appears that there is one person who has a knowledge of the truth! Clearly that person must be silenced as quickly as possible.'
'Then you do think that it was murder?'
Poirot said gravely:
'I think, mon cher, exactly as you thought – that there is a case for investigation. Have you taken any steps? You have spoken of these matters to the police?'
'No.' Mr Entwhistle shook his head. 'It did not seem to me that any good purpose could be achieved. My position is that I represent the family. If Richard Abernethie was murdered, there seems only one method by which it could be done.'
'By poison?'
