'Eh bien?'
'There's no eh bien about it,' said Mr Entwhistle testily. 'She started to tell me, but was interrupted.'
'How much had she said?'
'Nothing pertinent.'
'You will excuse me, mon ami, but I am the judge of that, not you. What exactly did she say?'
'She reminded me that I had asked her to let me know at once if she remembered what it was that had struck her as peculiar. She said she had remembered – but that it 'didn't make sense.'
'I asked her if it was something about one of the people who were there that day, and she said, yes, it was. She said it had come to her when she was looking in the glass -'
'Yes?'
'That was all.'
'She gave no hint as to – which of the people concerned it was?'
'I should hardly fail to let you know if she had told me that,' said Mr Entwhistle acidly.
'I apologise, mon ami. Of course you would have told me.'
Mr Entwhistle said:
'We shall just have to wait until she recovers consciousness before we know.'
Poirot said gravely:
'That may not be for a very long time. Perhaps never.'
'Is it as bad as that?' Mr Entwhistle's voice shook a little.
'Yes, it is as bad as that.'
'But – that's terrible, Poirot.'
'Yes, it is terrible. And it is why we cannot afford to wait. For it shows that we have to deal with someone who is either completely ruthless or so frightened that it comes to the same thing.'
'But look here, Poirot, what about Helen? I feel worried. Are you sure she would be safe at Enderby?'
'No, she would not be safe. So she is not at Enderby. Already the ambulance has come and is taking her to a nursing home where she will have special nurses and where no one, family or otherwise, will be allowed to see her.'
Mr Entwhistle sighed.
'You relieve my mind! She might have been in danger.'
'She assuredly would have been in danger!'
M Entwhistle's voice sounded deeply moved.
'I have a great regard for Helen Abernethie. I always have had. A woman of very exceptional character. She may have had certain – what shall I say? – reticences in her life.'
'Ah, there were reticences?'
'I have always had an idea that such was the case.'
'Hence the villa in Cyprus. Yes, that explains a good deal…'
'I don't want you to begin thinking'
'You cannot stop me thinking. But now, there is a little commission that I have for you. One moment.'
There was a pause, then Poirot's voice spoke again.
'I had to make sure that nobody was listening. All is well. Now here is what I want you to do for me. You must prepare to make a journey.'
'A journey?' Mr Entwhistle sounded faintly dismayed 'Oh, I see – you want me to come down to Enderby?'
'Not at all. I am in charge here. No, you will not have to travel so far. Your journey will not take you very far from London. You will travel to Bury St Edmunds – (Ma foi! what names your English towns have!) and there you will hire a car and drive to Forsdyke House. It is a Mental Home. Ask for Dr Penrith and inquire of him particulars about a patient who was recently discharged.'
'What patient? Anyway, surely -'
Poirot broke in:
'The name of the patient is Gregory Banks. Find out for what form of insanity he was being treated.'
'Do you mean that Gregory Banks is insane?'
'Sh! Be careful what you say. And now – I have not yet breakfasted and you, too, I suspect have not breakfasted?'
'Not yet. I was too anxious -'
'Quite so. Then, I pray you, eat your breakfast, repose yourself. There is a good train to Bury St Edmunds at twelve o'clock. If I have any more news I will telephone you before you start.'
'Be careful of yourself, Poirot,' said Mr Entwhistle with some concern.
'Ah that, yes! Me, I do not want to be hit on the head with a marble doorstop. You may be assured that I will take every precaution. And now – for the moment – good-bye.'
Poirot heard the sound of the receiver being replaced at the other end, then he heard a very faint second click – and smiled to himself. Somebody had replaced the receiver on the telephone in the hall.
He went out there. There was no one about. He tiptoed to the cupboard at the back of the stairs and looked inside. At that moment Lanscombe came through the service door carrying a tray with toast and a silver coffee pot. He looked slightly surprised to see Poirot emerge from the cupboard.
'Breakfast is ready in the dining-room, sir,' he said.
Poirot surveyed him thoughtfully.
The old butler looked white and shaken.
'Courage,' said Poirot, clapping him on the shoulder. 'All will yet be well. Would it be too much trouble to serve me a cup of coffee in my bedroom?'
'Certainly, sir. I will send Janet up with it, sir.'
Lanscombe looked disapprovingly at Hercule Poirot's back as the latter climbed the stairs. Poirot was attired in an exotic silk dressing-gown with a pattern of triangles and squares.
'Foreigners!' thought Lanscombe bitterly. 'Foreigners in the house! And Mrs Leo with concussion! I don't know what we're coming to. Nothing's the same since Mr Richard died.'
Hercule Poirot was dressed by the time he received his coffee from Janet. His murmurs of sympathy were well received, since he stressed the shock her discovery must have given her.
'Yes, indeed, sir, what I felt when I opened the door of the study and came in with the Hoover and saw Mrs Leo lying there I never shall forget. There she lay – and I made sure she was dead. She must have been taken faint as she stood at the phone – and fancy her being up at that time in the morning! I've never known her do such a thing before.'
'Fancy, indeed!' He added casually: 'No one else was up, I suppose?'
'As it happens, sir, Mrs Timothy was up and about. She's a very early riser always – often goes for a walk before breakfast.'
'She is of the generation that rises early,' said Poirot nodding his head. 'The younger ones, now – they do not get up so early?'
'No, indeed, sir, all fast asleep when I brought them their tea – and very late I was, too, what with the shock and getting the doctor to come and having to have a cup first to steady myself.'
She went off and Poirot reflected on what she had said.
Maude Abernethie had been up and about, and the younger generation had been in bed – but that, Poirot reflected, meant nothing at all. Anyone could have heard Helen's door open and close, and have followed her down to listen – and would afterwards have made, a point of being fast asleep in bed.
'But if I am right,' thought Poirot. 'And after all, it is natural to me to be right – it is a habit I have! – then there is no need to go into who was here and who was there. First, I must seek a proof where I have deduced the proof may be. And then – I make my little speech. And I sit back and see what happens…'
As soon as Janet had left the room, Poirot drained his coffee cup, put on his overcoat and his hat, left his room, ran nimbly down the back stairs and left the house by the side door. He walked briskly the quarter-mile to the post office where he demanded a trunk call. Presently he was once more speaking to Mr Entwhistle.
'Yes, it is I yet again! Pay no attention to the commission with which I entrusted you. C'etait une blague! Someone was listening. Now, mon viex, to the real commission. You must, as I said, take a train. But not to Bury St
