South of France. John had really changed very little -older, of course, and more assured. I gather he was quite well known in his profession.
He didn't talk about his personal life at all. I just got the impression that his married life wasn't perhaps frightfully happy-but it was only the vaguest impression. I suppose his wife, poor thing, was one of those dim, jealous women-probably always making a fuss about his better-looking lady patients.'
'No,' said Grange. 'She doesn't really seem to have been that way.'
Veronica said quickly:
'You mean-it was all underneath? Yes-yes, I can see that that would be far more dangerous.'
'I see you think Mrs. Christow shot him, Miss Cray?'
'I oughtn't to have said that! One mustn't comment-is that it-before a trial? I'm extremely sorry, Inspector. It was just that my maid told me she'd been found actually standing over the body with the revolver still in her hand. You know how in these quiet country places everything gets so exaggerated and servants do pass things on.'
'Servants can be very useful sometimes, Miss Cray.'
'Yes, I suppose you get a lot of your information that way.'
Grange went on stolidly:
'It's a question, of course, of who had a motive-'
He paused. Veronica said with a faint rueful smile:
'And a wife is always the first suspect? How cynical! But there's usually what's called 'the other woman.' I suppose she might be considered to have a motive, too?'
'You think there was another woman in Dr. Christow's life?'
'Well-yes, I did rather imagine there might be. One just gets an impression, you know.'
'Impressions can be very helpful sometimes,' said Grange.
'I rather imagined-from what he said-that that sculptress woman was, well, a very close friend. But I expect you know all about that already?'
'We have to look into all these things, of course.'
Inspector Grange's voice was strictly noncommittal, but he saw, without appearing to see, a quick, spiteful flash of satisfaction in those large blue eyes.
He said, making the question very official:
'Dr. Christow saw you home, you say. What time was it when you said good night to him?'
'Do you know, I really can't remember!
We talked for some time, I do know that. It must have been quite late.'
'He came in?'
'Yes, I gave him a drink.'
'I see. I imagined your conversation might have taken place in the-er-pavilion by the swimming pool.'
He saw her eyelids flicker. There was hardly a moment's hesitation before she said:
'You really are a detective, aren't you?
Yes, we sat there and smoked and talked for some time. How did you know?'
Her face bore the pleased, eager expression of a child asking to be shown a clever trick.
'You left your furs behind there. Miss Cray.' He added just without emphasis, 'And the matches.'
'Yes, of course, I did.'
'Dr. Christow returned to The Hollow at 3:00 a.m.,' announced the Inspector, again without emphasis.
'Was it really as late as that?' Veronica sounded quite amazed.
'Yes, it was. Miss Cray.'
'Of course, we had so much to talk over -not having seen each other for so many years.'
'Are you sure it was quite so long since you had seen Dr. Christow?'
'I've just told you I hadn't seen him for fifteen years.'
'Are you quite sure you're not making a mistake? I've got the impression you might have been seeing quite a lot of him.'
'What on earth makes you think that?'
'Well, this note for one thing.' Inspector Grange took out a letter from his pocket, glanced down at it, cleared his throat and read:
'Please come over this morning. I must see you, Veronica.'
'Ye-es.' She smiled. 'It is a little peremptory, perhaps. I'm afraid Hollywood makes one-well, rather arrogant.'
'Dr. Christow came over to your house the following morning in answer to that summons. You had a quarrel. Would you care to tell me. Miss Cray, what that quarrel was about?'
The Inspector had unmasked his batteries.
He was quick to seize the flash of anger, the ill-tempered tightening of the lips.
She snapped out:
'We didn't quarrel.'
'Oh, yes, you did. Miss Cray. Your last words were, 'I think I hate you more than I believed I could hate anyone.''
She was silent now. He could feel her thinking-thinking quickly and warily.
Some women might have rushed into speech.
But Veronica Cray was too clever for that.
She shrugged her shoulders and said lightly:
'I see. More servants' tales. My little maid has rather a lively imagination. There are different ways of saying things, you know.
I can assure you that I wasn't being melodramatic.
It was really a mildly flirtatious remark. We had been sparring together.'
'Those words were not intended to be taken seriously?'
'Certainly not. And I can assure you. Inspector, that it was fifteen years since I had last seen John Christow. You can verify that for yourself.'
She was poised again, detached, sure of herself.
Grange did not argue or pursue the subject.
He got up.
'That's all for the moment. Miss Cray,' he said pleasantly.
He went out of Dovecotes and down the lane and turned in at the gate of Resthaven.
Hercule Poirot stared at the Inspector in the utmost surprise. He repeated incredulously:
'The revolver that Gerda Christow was holding and which was subsequently dropped into the pool was not the revolver that fired the fatal shot? But that is extraordinary.'
'Exactly, M. Poirot. Put bluntly, it just doesn't make sense.'
Poirot murmured softly:
'No, it does not make sense… But all the same,Inspector, it has got to make sense, eh?'
The Inspector said heavily, 'That's just it, M. Poirot. We've got to find some way that it does make sense-but at the moment I can't see it. The truth is that we shan't get much further until we've found the gun that was used. It came from Sir Henry's collection all right-at least there's one missing-and that means that the whole thing is still tied up with The Hollow.'
'Yes,' murmured Poirot. 'It is still tied up with The Hollow.'
'It seemed a simple, straightforward business,' went on the Inspector. 'Well, it isn't so simple or so straightforward.'
'No,' said Poirot, 'it is not simple.'
'We've got to admit the possibility that the thing was a frame-up-that's to say that it was all set to implicate Gerda Christow.
But if that was so, why not leave the right revolver lying by the body for her to pick up?'
'She might not have picked it up.'
'That's true, but even if she didn't, so long as nobody else's finger-prints were on the gun-that's to say if it was wiped after use-she would probably have been suspected all right. And that's what the murderer wanted, wasn't it?'
