'Give that to me, Gerda,' she said.
And dexterously, before Poirot could protest or intervene, she had taken the revolver out of Gerda Christow's hand.
Poirot took a quick step forwards.
'You should not do that, Mademoiselle-'
The young woman started nervously at the sound of his voice. The revolver slipped through her fingers. She was standing by the edge of the pool and the revolver fell with a splash into the water.
Her mouth opened and she uttered an 'Oh' of consternation, turning her head to look at Poirot apologetically.
'What a fool I am,' she said. 'I'm sorry.' Poirot did not speak for a moment. He was staring into a pair of clear hazel eyes.
They met his quite steadily and he wondered if his momentary suspicion had been unjust.
He said quietly:
'Things should be handled as little as possible.
Everything must be left exactly as it is for the police to see.'
There was a little stir then-very faint, just a ripple of uneasiness.
Lady Angkatell murmured distastefully, 'Of course. I suppose-yes, the police-'
In a quiet pleasant voice, tinged with fastidious repulsion, the man in the shooting coat said, 'I'm afraid, Lucy, it's inevitable.'
Into that moment of silence and realization, there came the sound of footsteps and voices, assured, brisk footsteps and cheerful, incongruous voices.
Along the path from the house came Sir Henry Angkatell and Midge Hardcastle, talking and laughing together.
At the sight of the group round the pool, Sir Henry stopped short, and exclaimed in astonishment:
'What's the matter? What's happened?'
His wife answered. 'Gerda has-' she broke off sharply. 'I mean-John is-'
Gerda said in her flat, bewildered voice:
'John has been shot… he's dead…'
They all looked away from her, embarrassed.
Then Lady Anglkatell said quickly:
'My dear, I think you'd better go and- and lie down… perhaps we had better all go back to the hoxise? Henry, you and M. Poirot can stay here and-and wait for the police.'
'That will be the best plan, I think,' said Sir Henry. He turned to Gudgeon. 'Will you ring up the polic«e station, Gudgeon? Just state exactly what has occurred. When the police arrive, bring them straight out here.'
Gudgeon bent his head a little and said,
'Yes, Sir Henry.' He was looking a little white about the ^ills, but he was still the perfect servant.
The tall young woman said, 'Come, Gerda,' and putiting her hand through the other woman's arm she led her unresistingly away and along the path towards the house.
Gerda walked as though in a dream. Gudgeon stood back a little to let them pass and then followed, carrying the basket of eggs.
Sir Henry turrned sharply to his wife.
'Now, Lucy, -what is all this? What happened exactly?'
Lady AngkaiteH stretched out vague hands, a lovely helpless gesture. Hercule Poirot felt the charm of it and the appeal.
'My dear, I hardly know… I was down by the hens. I heard a shot that seemed very near, but I didn't really think anything about it. After all,' she appealed to them all, 'one doesn't! And then I came up the path to the pool and there was John lying there and Gerda standing over him with the revolver.
Henrietta and Edward arrived almost at the same moment-from over there.'
She nodded towards the farther side of the pool, where two paths ran up into the woods.
Hercule Poirot cleared his throat.
'Who were they, this John and this Gerda? If I may know,' he added apologetically.
'Oh, of course.' Lady Angkatell turned to him in quick apology. 'One forgets-but then one doesn't exactly introduce people-not when somebody has just been killed. John is John Christow, Dr. Christow. Gerda Christow is his wife.'
'And the lady who went with Mrs. Christow to the house?'
'My cousin, Henrietta Savernake.'
There was a movement, a very faint movement from the man on Poirot's left.
Henrietta Savernake, thought Poirot, and he does not like that she should say it-but it is, after all, inevitable that I should know… ('Henrietta!' the dying man had said. He had said it in a very curious way. A way that reminded Poirot of something-of some incident … now, what was it? No matter, it would come to him.) Lady Angkatell was going on, determined now on fulfilling her social duties.
'And this is another cousin of ours, Edward Angkatell. And Miss Hardcastle.'
Poirot acknowledged the introductions with polite bows. Midge felt suddenly that she wanted to laugh hysterically; she controlled herself with an effort.
'And now, my dear,' said Sir Henry, 'I think that, as you suggested, you had better go back to the house… I will have a word or two here with M. Poirot.'
Lady Angkatell looked thoughtfully at them.
'I do hope,' she said, 'that Gerda is lying down. Was that the right thing to suggest? I really couldn't think what to say. I mean, one has no precedent. What does one say to a woman who has just killed her husband?'
She looked at them as though hoping that some authoritative answer might be given to her question.
Then she went along the path towards the house. Midge followed her. Edward brought up the rear.
Poirot was left with his host.
Sir Henry cleared his throat. He seemed a little uncertain what to say.
'Christow,' he observed at last, 'was a very able fellow-a very able fellow.'
Poirot's eyes rested once more on the dead man. He still had the curious impression that the dead man was more alive than the living.
He wondered what gave him that impression.
He responded politely to Sir Henry:
'Such a tragedy as this is very unfortunate,' he said.
'This sort of thing is more in your line than mine,' said Sir Henry. 'I don't think I have ever been at close quarters with a murder before. I hope I've done the right thing so far?'
'The procedure has been quite correct,' said Poirot. 'You have summoned the police and until they arrive and take charge, there is nothing for us to do-except to make sure that nobody disturbs the body or tampers with the evidence.'
As he said the last word he looked down into the pool where he could see the revolver lying on the concrete bottom slightly distorted by the blue water.
The evidence, he thought, had perhaps already been tampered with before he, Hercule Poirot, had been able to prevent it…
But no-that had been an accident.
Sir Henry murmured distastefully:
'Think we've got to stand about? A bit chilly. It would be all right, I should think, if we went inside the pavilion?'
Poirot, who had been conscious of damp feet and a disposition to shiver, acquiesced gladly. The pavilion was at the side of the pool farthest from the house and through its open door they commanded a view of the pool and the body and the path to the house along which the police would come.
The pavilion was luxuriously furnished with comfortable settees and gay native rugs.
On a painted iron table a tray was set with glasses and a decanter of sherry.
'I'd offer you a drink,' said Sir Henry, 'but I suppose I'd better not touch anything until the police come-not, I should imagine, that there's anything to interest them in here. Still, it is better to be on the safe side.
