'You did not ask to be allowed to make these observations in the coroner's court?'
Gladys Nevill shook her head. She twisted her fingers uncertainly.
'You see,' she broke out at last, 'I was afraid of – of making things worse. Of course I know that Mr. Morley wouldn't do such a thing – but it might make people think that he – that he had done it deliberately.'
Poirot nodded.
Gladys Nevill said:
'That's why I came to you, M. Poirot. Because with you it – it wouldn't be official in any way. But I do think somebody ought to know how – how unconvincing the whole thing is.'
'Nobody wants to know,' said Poirot.
She stared at him, puzzled.
Poirot said:
'I should like to know a little more about that telegram you received, summoning you away that day.'
'Honestly, I don't know what to think about that, M. Poirot. It does seem so queer. You see, it must have been sent by someone who knew all about me – and Aunt – where she lived and everything.'
'Yes, it would seem as though it must have been sent by one of your intimate friends, or by someone who lived in the house and knew all about you.'
'None of my friends would do such a thing, M. Poirot.'
'You have no ideas yourself on the subject?'
The girl hesitated. She said slowly:
'Just at first, when I realized that Mr. Morley had shot himself, I wondered if he could possibly have sent it.'
'You mean, out of consideration for you, to get you out of the way?'
The girl nodded.
'But that really seemed a fantastic idea, even if he had got the idea of suicide in his mind that morning. It's really very odd. Frank – my friend, you know – was quite absurd at first about it. He accused me of wanting to go off for the day with somebody else – as though I would do such a thing.'
'Is there a somebody else?'
Miss Nevill blushed.
'No, of course there isn't. But Frank has been so different lately – so moody and suspicious. Really, you know, it was losing his job and not being able to get another. Just hanging about is so bad for a man. I've been very worried about Frank.'
'He was upset, was he not, to find you had gone away that day?'
'Yes; you see, he came round to tell me he had got a new job – a marvelous job – ten pounds a week. And he couldn't wait. He wanted me to know right away. And I think he wanted Mr. Morley to know, too, because he'd been very hurt at the way Mr. Morley didn't appreciate him, and he suspected Mr. Morley of trying to influence me against him.'
'Which was true, was it not?'
'Well, yes, it was, in a way! Of course Frank has lost a good many jobs and he hasn't been, perhaps, what most people would call very steady. But it will be different now. I think one can do so much by influence, don't you, M. Poirot? If a man feels a woman expects a lot of him, he tries to live up to her ideal of him.'
Poirot sighed. But he did not argue. He had heard many hundreds of women produce that same argument, with the same blithe belief in the redeeming power of a woman's love. Once in a thousand times, he supposed, cynically, it might be true.
He merely said:
'I should like to meet this friend of yours.'
'I'd love to have you meet him, M. Poirot. But just at present Sunday is his only free day. He's away in the country all the week, you see.'
'Ah, on the new job. What is the job, by the way?'
'Well, I don't exactly know, M. Poirot. Something in the secretarial line, I imagine. Or some government department. I know I have to send letters to Frank's London address and they get forwarded.'
'That is a little odd, is it not?'
'Well, I thought so – but Frank says it is often done nowadays.'
Poirot looked at her for a moment or two without speaking.
Then he said deliberately:
'Tomorrow is Sunday, is it not? Perhaps you would both give me the Pleasure of lunching with me – at Logan 's Corner House? I should like to discuss this sad business with you both.'
'Well – thank you, M. Poirot. I – yes, I'm sure we'd like to lunch with you very much.'
VIII
Frank Carter was a fair young man of medium height. His appearance was cheaply smart. He talked readily and fluently. His eyes were set rather close together and they had a way of shifting uneasily from side to side when he was embarrassed.
He was inclined to be suspicious and slightly hostile.
'I'd no idea we were to have the pleasure of lunching with you, M. Poirot. Gladys didn't tell me anything about it.'
He shot her a rather annoyed glance as he spoke.
'It was only arranged yesterday,' said Poirot, smiling. 'Miss Nevill is very upset by the circumstances of Mr. Morley's death and I wondered if we put our heads together -'
Frank Carter interrupted him rudely.
'Morley's death? I'm sick of Morley's death! Why can't you forget him, Gladys? There wasn't anything so wonderful about him that I can see.'
'Oh, Frank, I don't think you ought to say that. Why, he left me a hundred pounds. I got the letter about it last night.'
'That's all right,' admitted Frank grudgingly. 'But after all, why shouldn't he? He worked you like a slave – and who pocketed all the fat fees? Why, he did!'
'Well, of course he did – he paid me a very good salary.'
'Not according to my ideas! You're too humble altogether, Gladys, my girl, you let yourself be put upon, you know. I sized Morley up all right. You know as well as I do that he tried his best to get you to give me the chuck.'
'He didn't understand.'
'He understood all right. The man's dead now – otherwise I can tell you I'd have given him a piece of my mind.'
'You actually came round to do so on the morning of his death, did you not?' Hercule Poirot inquired gently.
Frank Carter said angrily:
'Who's been saying so?'
'You did come round, did you not?'
'What if I did? I wanted to see Miss Nevill here.'
'But they told you she was away.'
'Yes, and that made me pretty suspicious, I can tell you. I told that red-headed oaf I'd wait and see Morley myself. This business of putting Gladys against me had gone on long enough. I meant to tell Morley that instead of being a poor unemployed rotter, I'd landed a good job and that it was about time Gladys handed in her notice and thought about her trousseau.'
'But you did not actually tell him so?'
'No, I got tired of waiting in that dingy mausoleum. I went away.'
'What time did you leave?'
