humiliated to have to say that my impressions are valueless.
I was under the misconception, induced by the visual evidence, that Mrs. Christow had just shot her husband, so that when Dr. Christow opened his eyes and said 'Henrietta,'
I never thought of it as being an accusation.
It is tempting now, looking back, to read into that scene something that was not there.'
'I know what you mean,' said Grange. 'But it seems to me that since 'Henrietta' Was the last word Christow spoke, it must have meant one of two things. It was either an accusation of murder or else it was-well, purely emotional. She's the woman he was in love with and he was dying. Now, bearing everything in mind, which of the two did it sound like to you?'
Poirot sighed, stirred, closed his eyes, opened them again, stretched out his hands in acute vexation. He said:
'His voice was urgent-that is all I can say-urgent. It seemed to me neither accusing nor emotional-but urgent, yes! And of one thing I am sure. He was in full possession of his faculties. He spoke-yes, he spoke like a doctor-a doctor who has, say, a sudden surgical emergency on his hands -a patient who is bleeding to death, perhaps…' Poirot shrugged his shoulders. 'That is the best I can do for you.'
'Medical, eh?' said the Inspector. 'Well, yes, that is a third way of looking at it. He was shot, he suspected he was dying, he wanted something done for him quickly. And if, as Lady Angkatell says, Miss Savernake was the first person he saw when his eyes opened, then he would appeal to her …It's not very satisfactory, though.'
'Nothing about this case is satisfactory,' said Poirot with some bitterness.
A murder scene, set and staged to deceive Hercule Poirot-and which had deceived him! No, it was not satisfactory.
Inspector Grange was looking out of the window.
'Hullo,' he said, 'here's Coombes, my Sergeant. Looks as though he's got something.
He's been working on the servants-the friendly touch. He's a nice-looking chap, got a way with women.'
Sergeant Coombes came in a little breathlessly.
He was clearly pleased with himself, though subduing the fact under a respectful official manner.
'Thought I'd better come and report, sir, since I knew where you'd gone.'
He hesitated, shooting a doubtful glance at Poirot, whose exotic foreign appearance did not commend itself to his sense of official reticence.
'Out with it, my lad,' said Grange. 'Never mind M. Poirot here. He's forgotten more about this game than you'll know for many years to come.'
'Yes, sir. It's this way, sir. I got something out of the kitchen maid-'
Grange interrupted. He turned to Poirot triumphantly.
'What did I tell you? There's always hope where there's a kitchen maid. Heaven help us when domestic staffs are so reduced that nobody keeps a kitchen maid any more.
Kitchen maids talk, kitchen maids babble.
They're so kept down and in their place by the cook and the upper servants that it's only human nature to talk about what they know to someone who wants to hear it. Go on, Coombes.'
'This is what the girl says, sir. That on Sunday afternoon she saw Gudgeon, the butler, walking across the hall with a revolver in his hand.'
'Gudgeon?'
'Yes, sir.' Coombes referred to a notebook.
'These are her own words. 'I don't know what to do, but I think I ought to say what I saw that day. I saw Mr. Gudgeon; he was standing in the hall with a revolver in his hand. Mr. Gudgeon looked very peculiar indeed.' 'I don't suppose,' said Coombes, breaking off, 'that the part about looking peculiar means anything. She probably put that in out of her head. But I thought you ought to know about it at once, sir.'
Inspector Grange rose, with the satisfaction of a man who sees a task ahead of him which he is well fitted to perform.
'Gudgeon?' he said. 'I'll have a word with Mr. Gudgeon right away.'
Chapter XX
Sitting once more in Sir Henry's study, Inspector Grange stared at the impassive face of the man in front of him.
So far, the honours lay with Gudgeon.
'I am very sorry, sir,' he repeated.
'I suppose I ought to have mentioned the occurrence, but it had slipped my memory.'
He looked apologetically from the Inspector to Sir Henry.
'It was about 5:30 if I remember rightly, sir. I was crossing the hall to see if there were any letters for the post when I noticed a revolver lying on the hall table. I presumed it was from the master's collection, so I picked it up and brought it in here. There was a gap on the shelf by the mantelpiece where it had come from, so I replaced it where it belonged.'
'Point it out to me,' said Grange.
Gudgeon rose and went to the shelf in question, the Inspector close beside him.
'It was this one, sir.' Gudgeon's finger indicated a small Mauser pistol at the end of the row.
It was a.25-quite a small weapon. It was certainly not the gun that had killed John Christow.
Grange, with his eyes on Gudgeon's face, said:
'That's an automatic pistol, not a revolver.'
Gudgeon coughed.
'Indeed, sir? I'm afraid that I am not at all well up in firearms. I may have used the term revolver rather loosely, sir.'
'But you are quite sure that that is the gun you found in the hall and brought in here?'
'Oh, yes, sir, there can be no possible doubt about that.'
Grange stopped him as he was about to stretch out a hand.
'Don't touch it, please. I must examine it for finger-prints and to see if it is loaded.'
'I don't think it is loaded, sir. None of Sir Henry's collection is kept loaded. And as for finger-prints, I polished it over with my handkerchief before replacing it, sir, so there will only be my finger-prints on it.'
'Why did you do that?' asked Grange sharply.
But Gudgeon's apologetic smile did not waver.
'I fancied it might be dusty, sir.'
The door opened and Lady Angkatell came in. She smiled at the Inspector.
'How nice to see you, Inspector Grange.
What is all this about a revolver and Gudgeon?
That child in the kitchen is in floods of tears. Mrs. Medway has been bullying her-but, of course, the girl was quite right to say what she saw if she thought she ought to do so. I always find right and wrong so bewildering myself-easy, you know, if right is unpleasant and wrong is agreeable, because then one knows where one is-but confusing when it is the other way about-and I think, don't you. Inspector, that everyone must do what they think right themselves.
What have you been telling them about that pistol. Gudgeon?'
Gudgeon said with respectful emphasis:
'The pistol was in the hall, m'lady, on the centre table. I have no idea where it came from. I brought it in here and put it away in its proper place. That is what I have just told the Inspector and he quite understands.'
Lady Angkatell shook her head. She said gently:
'You really shouldn't have said that. Gudgeon.
I'll talk to the Inspector myself.'
Gudgeon made a slight movement and Lady Angkatell said very charmingly:
'I do appreciate your motives. Gudgeon.
