'More likely to have made a bonfire of them. No respect for his elders, that young man.'
'One must try all avenues,' said Poirot setentiously.
'So it seems,' said Miss Peabody drily.
There was a momentary glint in her blue eyes that seemed to affect Poirot disagreeably.
He rose.
'I must not trespass any longer on your time, madame. I am most grateful for what you have been able to tell me.'
'I've done my best,' said Miss Peabody. 'Seem to have got rather a long way from the Indian Mutiny, don't we?'
She shook hands with us both.
'Let me know when the book comes out,' was her parting remark. 'I shall be so interested.'
And the last thing we heard as we left the room was a rich, throaty chuckle.
Chapter 11
VISIT TO THE MISSES TRIPP
'And now,' said Poirot as we reentered the car, 'what do we do next?'
Warned by experience I did not this time suggest a return to town. After all, if Poirot was enjoying himself in his own fashion, why should I object?
I suggested some tea.
'Tea, Hastings? What an idea! Regard the time.'
'I have regarded it – looked at it, I mean. It's half-past five. Tea is clearly indicated.'
Poirot sighed.
'Always the afternoon tea with you English! No, mon ami, no tea for us. In a book of etiquette I read the other day that one must not make the afternoon call after six o'clock. To do so is to commit the solecism. We have, therefore, but half an hour in which to accomplish our purpose.'
'How social you are today, Poirot! On whom are we calling now?'
'Les demoiselles Tripp.'
'Are you writing a book on spiritualism now? Or is it still the life of General Arundell?'
'It will be simpler than that, my friend. But we must inquire where these ladies live.'
Directions were forthcoming readily enough, but of a somewhat confused nature, involving as they did a series of lanes. The abode of the Misses Tripp turned out to be a picturesque cottage – so extremely old world and picturesque that it looked as though it might collapse any minute.
A child of fourteen or thereabouts opened the door and with difficulty squeezed herself against the wall sufficiently to allow us to pass inside.
The interior was very rich in old oak beams – there was a big open fireplace and such very small windows that it was difficult to see clearly. All the furniture was of pseudo-simplicity – ye olde oake for ye cottage dweller – there was a good deal of fruit in wooden bowls and large numbers of photographs – most of them, I noticed, of the same two people represented in different poses – usually with bunches of flowers clasped to their breasts or clutching large leghorn picture-hats.
The child who had admitted us had murmured something and disappeared, but her voice was clearly audible in an upper story.
'Two gentlemen to see you, miss.'
A sort of twitter of female voices arose and presently with a good deal of creaking and rustling a lady descended the staircase and came graciously towards us.
She was nearer fifty than forty, her hair was parted in the middle in Madonna fashion, her eyes were brown and slightly prominent. She wore a sprigged muslin dress that conveyed an odd suggestion of fancy dress.
Poirot stepped forward and started the conversation in his most flourishing manner.
'I must apologize for intruding upon you, mademoiselle, but I am in somewhat of a predicament. I came here to find a certain lady, but she has left Market Basing and I was told that you would certainly have her address.'
'Really? Who was that?'
'Miss Lawson.'
'Oh, Minnie Lawson. Of course! We are the greatest friends. Do sit down, Mr – er -'
'Parotti – my friend, Captain Hastings.'
Miss Tripp acknowledged the introductions and began to fuss a little.
'Sit here, won't you – no, please – really, I always prefer an upright chair myself. Now, are you sure you are comfortable there? Dear Minnie Lawson – oh, here is my sister.'
More creaking and rustling and we were joined by a second lady, dressed in green gingham that would have been suitable for a girl of sixteen.
'My sister Isabel – Mr – er – Parrot – and – er – Captain Hawkins. Isabel dear, these gentlemen are friends of Minnie Lawson's.'
Miss Isabel Tripp was less buxom than her sister. She might indeed have been described as scraggy. She had very fair hair done up into a large quantity of rather messy curls. She cultivated a girlish manner and was easily recognizable as the subject of most of the flower poses in photography. She clasped her hands now in girlish excitement.
'How delightful! Dear Minnie! You have seen her lately?'
'Not for some years,' explained Poirot. 'We have quite lost touch with each other. I have been travelling. That is why I was so astonished and delighted to hear of the good fortune that had befallen my old friend.'
'Yes, indeed. And so well deserved! Minnie is such a rare soul. So simple – so earnest.'
'Julia,' cried Isabel.
'Yes, Isabel?'
'How remarkable. P. You remember the planchette distinctly insisted on P. last night. A visitor from over the water and the initial P.'
'So it did,' agreed Julia.
Both ladies looked at Poirot in rapt and delighted surprise.
'It never lies,' said Miss Julia softly. 'Are you interested at all in the occult, Mr Parrot?'
'I have little experience, mademoiselle, but – like any one who has travelled much in the East, I am bound to admit that there is much one does not understand and that cannot be explained by natural means.'
'So true,' said Julia. 'Profoundly true.'
'The East,' murmured Isabel. 'The home of mysticism and the occult.'
Poirot's travellings in the East, as far as I knew, consisted of one journey to Syria extended to Iraq, and which occupied perhaps a few weeks. To judge by his present conversation one would swear that he had spent most of his life in jungles and bazaars and in intimate converse with fakirs, dervishes and mahatmas.
As far as I could make out the Misses Tripp were vegetarians, theosophists, British Israelites, Christian Scientists, spiritualists and enthusiastic amateur photographers.
'One sometimes feels,' said Julia with a sigh, 'that Market Basing is an impossible place to live. There is no beauty here – no soul. One must have soul, don't you think so, Captain Hawkins?'
'Quite,' I said, slightly embarrassed. 'Oh, quite.'
'Without vision the people perish,' quoted Isabel with a sigh. 'I have often tried to discuss things with the vicar, but I find him most painfully narrow. Don't you think, Mr Parrot, that any definite creed is bound to be narrowing?'
'And everything is so simple, really,' put in her sister. 'As we knew so well, everything is joy and love!'
'As you say, as you say,' said Poirot. 'What a pity it seems that misunderstandings and quarrels should arise – especially over money.'
'Money is so sordid,' sighed Julia.
'I gather that the late Miss Arundell was one of your converts?' said Poirot.
The two sisters looked at each other.
