Gerda stopped. Her eyes looked suddenly vacant and uncomprehending. She said, 'Holster?'
Then she opened a door on the right of the hall.
'You'd better come in here. I'm afraid it's rather dusty. You see, we haven't had much time this morning-'
Henrietta interrupted again urgently.
She said, 'Listen, Gerda, you've got to tell me. Apart from the holster everything's all right-absolutely watertight. There's nothing to connect you with the business. I found the revolver where you'd shoved it into that thicket by the pool. I hid it in a place where you couldn't possibly have put it-and there are finger-prints on it which they'll never identify. So there's only the holster; I must know what you did with that?'
She paused, praying desperately that Gerda would react quickly.
She had no idea why she had this vital sense of urgency, but it was there. Her car had not been followed-she had made sure of that. She had started on the London road, had filled up at a garage and had mentioned that she was on her way to London. Then, a little further on, she had swung across country until she had reached a main road leading south to the coast.
Gerda was still staring at her. The trouble with Gerda, thought Henrietta, was that she was so slow.
'If you've still got it, Gerda, you must give it to me. I'll get rid of it somehow. It's the only possible thing, you see, that can connect you now with John's death. Have you got it?'
There was a pause and then Gerda slowly nodded her head.
'Didn't you know it was madness to keep it?' Henrietta could hardly conceal her impatience.
'I forgot about it. It was up in my room.'
She added, 'When the police came up to Harley Street I cut it in two and put it in the bag with my leather work.'
Henrietta said, 'That was clever of you.'
Gerda said, 'I'm not quite so stupid as everybody thinks.'
She put her hand up to her throat. She said, 'John-John-' Her voice broke.
Henrietta said, 'I know, my dear, I know.'
Gerda said, 'But you can't know… John wasn't-he wasn't-' She stood there, dumb and strangely pathetic. She raised her eyes suddenly to Henrietta's face. 'It was all a lie-everything! All the things I thought he was! I saw his face when he followed that woman out that evening. Veronica Cray! I knew he'd cared for her, of course, years ago, before he married me, but I thought it was all over.'
Henrietta said gently:
'But it was all over.'
Gerda shook her head.
'No. She came there and pretended that she hadn't seen John for years-but I saw John's face… He went out with her. I went up to bed. I lay there trying to read-I tried to read that detective story that John was reading. And John didn't come. And at last I went out…'
Her eyes seemed to be turning inwards seeing the scene.
'It was moonlight. I went along the path to the swimming pool. There was a light in the pavilion. They were there-John and that woman…'
Henrietta made a faint sound.
Gerda's face had changed-it had none of its usual slightly vacant amiability. It was remorseless, implacable.
'I'd trusted John. I'd believed in him- as though he were God. I thought he was the noblest man in the world-I thought he was everything that was fine and noble… And it was all a lie! I was left with nothing-nothing at all. I-I'd worshipped John!'
Henrietta was gazing at her fascinated.
For here, before her eyes, was what she had guessed at and brought to life, carving it out of wood. Here was The Worshipper-blind devotion thrown back on itself, disillusioned-dangerous. …
Gerda said, 'I couldn't bear it! I had to kill him! I had to-you do see that, Henrietta?'
She said it quite conversationally, in an almost friendly tone.
'And I knew I must be careful because the police are very clever. But then I'm not really as stupid as people think! If you're very slow and just stare, people think you don't take things in-and sometimes, underneath, you're laughing at them! I knew I could kill John and nobody would know because I'd read in that detective story about the police being able to tell which gun a bullet has been fired from. Sir Henry had shown me how to load and fire a revolver that afternoon. I'd take two revolvers. I'd shoot John with one and then hide it and let people find me holding the other and first they'd think Fd shot him and then they'd find he couldn't have been killed with that revolver and so they'd say I hadn't done it after all!'
She nodded her head triumphantly.
'But I forgot about the leather thing. It was in the drawer in my bedroom. What do you call it, a holster? Surely the police won't bother about that now?'
'They might,' said Henrietta. 'You'd better give it to me, and I'll take it away with me. Once it's out of your hands, you're quite safe.'
She sat down. She felt suddenly unutterably weary.
Gerda said, 'You don't look well. I was just making tea.'
She went out of the room. Presently she came back with a tray. On it was a teapot, milk jug and two cups. The milk jug had slopped over because it was overfull. Gerda put the tray down and poured out a cup of tea and handed it to Henrietta.
'Oh, dear,' she said, dismayed, 'I don't believe the kettle can have been boiling.'
'It's quite all right,' said Henrietta. 'Go and get that holster, Gerda.'
Gerda hesitated and then went out of the room. Henrietta leant forward and put her arms on the table and her head down on them. She was so tired, so dreadfully tired … But it was nearly done now. Gerda would be safe… as John had wanted her to be safe.
She sat up, pushed the hair off her forehead and drew the teacup towards her. Then at a sound in the doorway she looked up.
Gerda had been quite quick for once.
But it was Hercule Poirot who stood in the doorway.
'The front door was open,' he remarked as he advanced to the table, 'so I took the liberty of walking in.'
'You!' said Henrietta. 'How did you get here?'
'When you left The Hollow so suddenly, naturally I knew where you would go. I hired a very fast car and came straight here.'
'I see.' Henrietta sighed. 'You would.'
'You should not drink that tea,' said Poirot, taking the cup from her and replacing it on the tray. 'Tea that has not been made with boiling water is not good to drink.'
'Does a little thing like boiling water really matter?'
Poirot said gently, 'Everything matters.'
There was a sound behind him and Gerda came into the room. She had a workbag in her hands. Her eyes went from Poirot's face to Henrietta's.
Henrietta said quickly:
'I'm afraid, Gerda, I'm rather a suspicious character. M. Poirot seems to have been shadowing me. He thinks that I killed John-but he can't prove it.'
She spoke slowly and deliberately. So long as Gerda did not give herself away-Gerda said vaguely, 'I'm so sorry. Will you have some tea, M. Poirot?'
'No, thank you, Madame.'
Gerda sat down behind the tray. She began to talk in her apologetic conversational way.
'I'm so sorry that everybody is out. My sister and the children have all gone for a picnic. I didn't feel very well, so they left me behind.'
'I am sorry, Madame.'
Gerda lifted a teacup and drank.
'It is all so very worrying. Everything is so worrying… You see, John always arranged everything and now John is gone…' Her voice tailed off. 'Now John is gone…'
