At his heels a stone.'
She put her hand on Edward's arm. 'Who did kill him, Edward? We thought it was Gerda-but it wasn't Gerda. Then who was it? Tell me what you think? Was it someone we've never heard of?'
He said irritably:
'All this speculation seems to me quite unprofitable. If the police can't find out, or can't get sufficient evidence, then the whole thing will have to be allowed to drop-and we shall be rid of it.'
'Yes-but it's the not knowing-'
'Why should we want to know? What has John Christow to do with us?'
With us, she thought, with Edward and me? Nothing! Comforting thought-she and Edward, linked, a dual entity. And yet- and yet-John Christow, for all that he had been laid in his grave and the words of the burial service read over him, was not buried deep enough. He is dead and gone, lady…
But John Christow was not dead and gone -for all that Edward wished him to be…
John Christow was still here at The Hollow.
Edward said, 'Where are we going?'
Something in his tone surprised her. She said:
'Let's walk up onto the top of the ridge. Shall we?'
'If you like.'
For some reason, he was unwilling. She wondered why. It was usually his favourite walk. He and Henrietta used nearly always - Her thought snapped and broke off…
He and Henrietta- She said, 'Have you been this way yet this Autumn?'
He said stiffly:
'Henrietta and I walked up here that first afternoon.'
They went on in silence.
They came at last to the top and sat on the fallen tree.
Midge thought: 'He and Henrietta sat here, perhaps…'
She turned the ring on her finger round and round. The diamond flashed coldly at her… ('Not emeralds,' he had said.) She said with a slight effort:
'It will be lovely to be at Ainswick again for Christmas.'
He did not seem to hear her. He had gone far away.
She thought. He is thinking of Henrietta and of John Christow.
Sitting here he had said something to Henrietta or she had said something to him…
Henrietta might know what she didn't want but he belonged to Henrietta still. He always would, Midge thought, belong to Henrietta. …
Pain swooped down upon her. The happy bubble world in which she had lived for the last week quivered and broke.
She thought, I can't live like that-with Henrietta always there in his mind. I can't face it. I can't bear it…
The wind sighed through the trees-the leaves were falling fast now-there were hardly any gold ones left, only brown.
She said, 'Edward!'
The urgency of her voice aroused him. He turned his head.
'Yes?'
'I'm sorry, Edward.' Her lips were trembling but she forced her voice to be quiet and self-controlled. 'I've got to tell you. It's no use. I can't marry you. It wouldn't work, Edward.'
He said, 'But, Midge-surely Ainswick-'
She interrupted:
'I can't marry you just for Ainswick, Edward. You-you must see that.'
He sighed then, a long, gentle sigh. It was like an echo of the dead leaves slipping gently off the branches of the trees.
'I see what you mean,' he said. 'Yes, I suppose you are right.'
'It was dear of you to ask me, dear and sweet. But it wouldn't do, Edward. It wouldn't work.'
She had had a faint hope, perhaps, that he would argue with her, that he would try to persuade her-but he seemed, quite simply, to feel just as she did about it. Here, with the ghost of Henrietta close beside him, he, too, apparently, saw that it couldn't work…
'No,' he said, echoing her words, 'it wouldn't work.'
She slipped the ring off her finger and held it out to him.
She would always love Edward and Edward would always love Henrietta and life was just plain unadulterated hell…
She said, with a little catch in her voice:
'It's a lovely ring, Edward.'
'I wish you'd keep it. Midge. I'd like you to have it.'
She shook her head.
'I couldn't do that.'
He said, with a faint humorous twist of the lips:
'I shan't give it to anyone else, you know.'
It was all quite friendly. He didn't know -he would never know-just what she was feeling… Heaven on a plate-and the plate was broken and Heaven had slipped between her fingers or had, perhaps, never been there.
That afternoon, Poirot received his third visitor.
He had been visited by Henrietta Savernake and by Veronica Cray. This time it was Lady Angkatell. She came floating up the path with her usual appearance of insubstantiality.
He opened the door and she stood smiling at him.
'I have come to see you,' she announced.
So might a fairy confer a favour on a mere mortal.
'I am enchanted, Madame.'
He led the way into the sitting room. She sat down on the sofa and once more, she smiled.
Hercule Poirot thought: 'She is old-her hair is grey-there are lines in her face. Yet she has magic-she will always have magic.'
Lady Angkatell said softly:
'I want you to do something for me.'
'Yes, Madame?'
'To begin with, I must talk to you-about John Christow.'
'About Dr. Christow?'
'Yes. It seems to me that the only thing to do is to put a full stop to the whole thing. You understand what I mean, don't you?'
'I am not sure that I do know what you mean, Lady Angkatell.'
She gave him her lovely dazzling smile again and she put one long white hand on his sleeve.
'Dear M. Poirot, you know perfectly. The police will have to hunt about for the owner of those finger-prints and they won't find him and in the end they'll have to let the whole thing drop. But I'm afraid, you know, that you won't let it drop.'
'No, I shall not let it drop,' said Hercule Poirot.
'That is just what I thought… And that is why I came. It's the truth you want, isn't it?'
'Certainly I want the truth.'
'I see I haven't explained myself very well. I'm trying to find out just why you won't let things drop. It isn't because of your prestige-or because you want to hang a murderer (such an unpleasant kind of death, I've always thought-so medieval). It's just, I think, that you want to know. You do see what I mean, don't you? If you were to know the truth-if you were to be told the truth, I think-I think perhaps that might satisfy you? Would it satisfy you, M. Poirot?'
'You are offering to tell me the truth, Lady Angkatell?'
She nodded:
