‘I hope I have not bored you. Any question to ask?’
‘I can assure you that I have not been bored,’ said Poirot. ‘Since you are so kind, there is one little question that I would like to ask.’
‘Delighted.’
‘How long, Lord Edgware, have you known Miss Carlotta Adams?’
Whatever the young man had expected, it certainly had not been this. He sat up sharply with an entirely new expression on his face.
‘Why on earth do you want to know that? What’s that got to do with what we’ve been talking about?’
‘I was curious, that was all. For the other, you have explained so fully everything there is to explain that there is no need for me to ask questions.’
Ronald shot a quick glance at him. It was almost as though he did not care for Poirot’s amiable acquiescence. He would, I thought, have preferred him to be more suspicious.
‘Carlotta Adams? Let me see. About a year. A little more. I got to know her last year when she gave her first show.’
‘You knew her well?’
‘Pretty well. She’s not the sort of girl you ever got to know frightfully well. Reserved and all that.’
‘But you liked her?’
Ronald stared at him.
‘I wish I knew why you were so interested in the lady. Was it because I was with her the other night? Yes, I like her very much. She’s sympathetic-listens to a chap and makes him feel he’s something of a fellow after all.’
Poirot nodded.
‘I comprehend. Then you will be sorry.’
‘Sorry? What about?’
‘That she is dead!’
‘What?’ Ronald sprang up in astonishment. ‘Carlotta dead?’
He looked absolutely dumbfounded by the news.
‘You’re pulling my leg, M. Poirot. Carlotta was perfectly well the last time I saw her.’
‘When was that?’ asked Poirot quickly.
‘Day before yesterday, I think. I can’t remember.’
‘Tout de meme, she is dead.’
‘It must have been frightfully sudden. What was it? A street accident?’
Poirot looked at the ceiling.
‘No. She took an overdose of veronal.’
‘Oh! I say. Poor kid. How frightfully sad.’
‘N’est ce pas?’
‘I am sorry. And she was getting on so well. She was going to get her kid sister over and had all sorts of plans. Dash it. I’m more sorry than I can say.’
‘Yes,’ said Poirot. ‘It is sad to die when you are young-when you do not want to die-when all life is open before you and you have everything to live for.’
Ronald looked at him curiously.
‘I don’t think I quite get you, M. Poirot.’
‘No?’
Poirot rose and held out his hand.
‘I express my thoughts-a little strongly, perhaps. For I do not like to see youth deprived of its right to live, Lord Edgware. I feel-very strongly about it. I wish you good-day.’
‘Oh-er-good-bye.’
He looked rather taken aback.
As I opened the door I almost collided with Miss Carroll.
‘Ah! M. Poirot, they told me you hadn’t gone yet. I’d like a word with you if I may. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind coming up to my room?
‘It’s about that child, Geraldine,’ she said when we had entered her sanctum and she had closed the door.
‘Yes, Mademoiselle?’
‘She talked a lot of nonsense this afternoon. Now don’t protest. Nonsense! That’s what I call it and that’s what it was. She broods.’
‘I could see that she was suffering from over-strain,’ said Poirot gently.
‘Well-to tell the truth-she hasn’t had a very happy life. No, one can’t pretend she has. Frankly, M. Poirot, Lord Edgware was a peculiar man-not the sort of man who ought to have had anything to do with the upbringing of children. Quite frankly, he terrorized Geraldine.’
Poirot nodded.
‘Yes, I should imagine something of the kind.’
‘He was a peculiar man. He-I don’t quite know how to put it-but he enjoyed seeing anyone afraid of him. It seemed to give him a morbid kind of pleasure.’
‘Quite so.’
‘He was an extremely well-read man, and a man of considerable intellect. But in some ways-well, I didn’t come across that side of him myself, but it was there. I’m not really surprised his wife left him. This wife, I mean. I don’t approve of her, mind. I’ve no opinion of that young woman at all. But in marrying Lord Edgware she got all and more than she deserved. Well, she left him-and no bones broken, as they say. But Geraldine couldn’t leave him. For a long time he’d forget all about her, and then, suddenly, he’d remember. I sometimes think-though perhaps I shouldn’t say it-’
‘Yes, yes. Mademoiselle, say it.’
‘Well, I sometimes thought he revenged himself on the mother-his first wife-that way. She was a gentle creature, I believe, with a very sweet disposition. I’ve always been sorry for her. I shouldn’t have mentioned all this, M. Poirot, if it hadn’t been for that very foolish outburst of Geraldine’s just now. Things she said-about hating her father-they might sound peculiar to anyone who didn’t know.’
‘Thank you very much, Mademoiselle. Lord Edgware, I fancy, was a man who would have done much better not to marry.’
‘Much better.’
‘He never thought of marrying for a third time?’
‘How could he? His wife was alive.’
‘By giving her her freedom he would have been free himself.’
‘I should think he had had enough trouble with two wives as it was,’ said Miss Carroll grimly.
‘So you think there would have been no question of a third marriage. There was no one? Think, Mademoiselle. No one?’
Miss Carroll’s colour rose.
‘I cannot understand the way you keep harping on the point. Of course there was no one.’
Chapter 14. Five Questions
‘Why did you ask Miss Carroll about the possibility of Lord Edgware’s wanting to marry again?’ I asked with some curiosity as we were driving home.
‘It just occurred to me that there was a possibility of such a thing, mon ami.’
‘Why?’
‘I have been searching in my mind for something to explain Lord Edgware’s suddenvolte face regarding the
