'What an old-fashioned idea!'
'But it is true, isn't it?'
'Now I wonder what you mean by that?'
Poirot placed the tips of his fingers together.
'There have been inquiries made, you know,' he murmured.
'By you?'
'Not only by me.'
Michael Shane gave him a quick searching glance. His reactions, Poirot noted, were quick. Michael Shane was no fool.
'You mean – the police are interested?'
'They have never been quite satisfied, you know, to regard the murder of Cora Lansquenet as a casual crime.'
'And they've been making inquiries about me?'
Poirot said primly:
'They are interested in the movements of Mrs Lansquenet's relations on the day that she was killed.'
'That's extremely awkward.' Michael spoke with a charming confidential rueful air.
'Is it, Mr Shane?'
'More so than you can imagine! I told Rosamund, you see, that I was lunching with a certain Oscar Lewis on that day.'
'When, in actual fact, you were not?'
'No. Actually I motored down to see a woman called Sorrel Dainton – quite a well-known actress. I was with her in her last show. Rather awkward, you see for though it's quite satisfactory as far as the police are concerned, it won't go down very well with Rosamund.'
'Ah!' Poirot looked discreet. 'There has been a little trouble over this friendship of yours?'
'Yes… In fact – Rosamund made me promise I wouldn't see her any more.'
'Yes, I can see that may be awkward… Entre nous, you had an affair with the lady?'
'Oh, just one of those things! It's not as though I cared for the woman at all.'
'But she cares for you?'
'Well, she's been rather tiresome… Women do cling so. However, as you say, the police at any rate will be satisfied.'
'You think so?'
'Well, I could hardly be taking a hatchet to Cora if I was dallying with Sorrel miles and miles away. She's got a cottage in Kent.'
'I see – I see – and this Miss Dainton, she will testify for you?'
'She won't like it – but as it's murder, I suppose she'll have to do it.'
'She will do it, perhaps, even if you were not dallying with her.'
'What do you mean?' Michael looked suddenly black as thunder.
'The lady is fond of you. When they are fond, women will swear to what is true – and also to what is untrue.'
'Do you mean to say that you don't believe me?'
'It does not matter if I believe you or not. It is not I you have to satisfy.'
'Who then?'
Poirot smiled.
'Inspector Morton – who has just come out on the terrace through the side door.'
Michael Shane wheeled round sharply.
Chapter 23
I
'I heard you were here, M. Poirot,' said Inspector Morton.
The two men were pacing the terrace together.
'I came over with Superintendent Parwell from Matchfield. Dr Larraby rang him up about Mrs Leo Abernethie and he's come over here to make a few inquiries. The doctor wasn't satisfied.'
'And you, my friend,' inquired Poirot, 'where do you come in? You are a long way from your native Berkshire.'
'I wanted to ask a few questions – and the people I wanted to ask them of seemed very conveniently assembled here.' He paused before adding, 'Your doing?'
'Yes, my doing.'
'And as a result Mrs Leo Abernethie gets knocked out.'
'You must not blame me for that. If she had come to me… But she did not. Instead she rang up her lawyer in London.'
'And was in process of spilling the beans to him when – Wonk!'
'When – as you say – Wonk!'
'And what had she managed to tell him?'
'Very little. She had only got as far as telling him that she was looking at herself in the glass.'
'Ah! well,' said Inspector Morton philosophically. 'Women will do it.' He looked sharply at Poirot. 'That suggests something to you?'
'Yes, I think I know what it was she was going to tell him.'
'Wonderful guesser, aren't you? You always were. Well, what was it?'
'Excuse me, are you inquiring into the death of Richard Abernethie?'
'Officially, no. Actually, of course, if it has a bearing on the murder of Mrs Lansquenet -'
'It has a bearing on that, yes. But I will ask you, my friend, to give me a few more hours. I shall know by then if what I have imagined – imagined only, you comprehend – is correct. If it is -'
'Well, if it is?'
'Then I may be able to place in your hands a piece of concrete evidence.'
'We could certainly do with it,' said Inspector Morton with feeling. He looked askance at Poirot. 'What have you been holding back?'
'Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Since the piece of evidence I have imagined may not in fact exist. I have only deduced its existence from various scraps of conversation. I may,' said Poirot in a completely unconvinced tone, 'be wrong.'
Morton smiled.
'But that doesn't often happen to you?'
'No. Though I will admit – yes, I am forced to admit – that it has happened to me.'
'I must say I'm glad to hear it! To be always right must be sometimes monotonous.'
'I do not find it so,' Poirot assured him.
Inspector Morton laughed.
'And you're asking me to hold off with my questioning?'
'No, no, not at all. Proceed as you had planned to do. I suppose you were not actually contemplating an arrest?'
Morton shook his head.
'Much too flimsy for that. We'd have to get a decision from the Public Prosecutor first – and we're a long way from that. No, just statements from certain parties of their movements on the day in question – in one case with a caution, perhaps.'
