POIROT DISCUSSES THE CASE
'Thank goodness, Poirot,' I said with fervour, 'you got us out of those raw carrots! What awful women!'
'Pour nous, un bon bifteck – with the fried potatoes – and a good bottle of wine. What should we have had to drink there, I wonder?'
'Well water, I should think,' I replied with a shudder. 'Or non-alcoholic cider. It was that kind of place! I bet there's no bath and no sanitation except an earth closet in the garden!'
'Strange how women enjoy living an uncomfortable life,' said Poirot thoughtfully. 'It is not always poverty, though they are good at making the best of straitened circumstances.'
'What orders for the chauffeur now?' I asked as I negotiated the last bend of the winding lanes, and we emerged on the road to Market Basing. 'On what local light do we call next? Or do we return to The George and interrogate the asthmatic waiter once more?'
'You will be glad to hear, Hastings, that we have finished with Market Basing -'
'Splendid.'
'For the moment only. I shall return!'
'Still on the track of your unsuccessful murderer?'
'Exactly.'
'Did you learn anything from the fandango of nonsense we've just been listening to?'
Poirot said precisely:
'There were certain points deserving of attention. The various characters in our drama begin to emerge more clearly. In some ways it resembles, does it not, a novelette of olden days. The humble companion, once despised, is raised to affluence and now plays the part of lady bountiful.'
'I should imagine that such a patronage must be very galling to people who regard themselves as the rightful heirs!'
'As you say, Hastings. Yes, that is very true.'
We drove on in silence for some minutes. We had passed through Market Basing and were now once more on the main road. I hummed to myself softly the tune of 'Little Man, You've Had a Busy Day.'
'Enjoyed yourself, Poirot?' I asked at last.
Poirot said coldly:
'I do not know quite what you mean by 'enjoyed yourself,' Hastings.'
'Well,' I said, 'it seemed to me you've been treating yourself to a busman's holiday!'
'You do not think that I am serious?'
'Oh, you're serious enough. But this business seems to be of the academic kind. You're tackling it for your own mental satisfaction. What I mean is – it's not real.'
'Au contraire, it is intensely real.'
'I express myself badly. What I mean is, if there were a question of helping our old lady, of protecting her against further attack – well, there would be some excitement then. But as it is, I can't help feeling that as she is dead, why worry.'
'In that case, mon ami, one would not investigate a murder case at all!'
'No, no, no. That's quite different. I mean, then you have a body… Oh, dash it all.'
'Do not enrage yourself. I comprehend perfectly. You make a distinction between a body and a mere decease. Supposing, for instance, that Miss Arundell had died with sudden and alarming violence instead of respectably of a long-standing illness – then you would not remain indifferent to my efforts to discover the truth?'
'Of course I wouldn't.'
'But all the same, some one did attempt to murder her?'
'Yes, but they didn't succeed. That makes all the difference.'
'It does not intrigue you at all to know who attempted to kill her?'
'Well, yes, it does in a way.'
'We have a very restricted circle,' said Poirot musingly. 'That thread -'
'The thread which you merely deduce from a nail in the skirting-board!' I interrupted. 'Why, that nail may have been there for years!'
'No. The varnish was quite fresh.'
'Well, I still think there might be all sorts of explanations of it.'
'Give me one.'
At the moment I could not think of anything sufficiently plausible. Poirot took advantage of my silence to sweep on with his discourse.
'Yes, a restricted circle. That thread could only have been stretched across the top of the stairs after every one had gone to bed. Therefore we have only the occupants of the house to consider. That is to say, the guilt lies between seven people. Dr Tanios. Mrs Tanios. Theresa Arundell. Charles Arundell. Miss Lawson. Ellen. Cook.'
'Surely you can leave the servants out of it.'
'They received legacies, mon cher. And there might have been other reasons – spite – a quarrel – dishonesty – one cannot be certain.'
'It seems to me very unlikely.'
'Unlikely, I agree. But one must take all possibilities into consideration.'
'In that case, you must allow for eight people, not seven.'
'How so?'
I felt I was about to score a point.
'You must include Miss Arundell herself. How do you know she may not have stretched that thread across the stairs in order to trip up some other member of the house-party?'
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
'It is a betise you say there, my friend. If Miss Arundell laid a trap, she would be careful not to fall into it herself. It was she who fell down the stairs, remember.'
I retired crestfallen.
Poirot went on in a thoughtful voice:
'The sequence of events is quite clear – the fall – the letter to me – the visit of the lawyer – but there is one doubtful point. Did Miss Arundell deliberately hold back the letter to me, hesitating to post it? Or did she, once having written it, assume it was posted?'
'That we can't possibly tell,' I said.
'No. We can only guess. Personally, I fancy that she assumed it had been posted. She must have been surprised at getting no reply…'
My thoughts had been busy in another direction.
'Do you think this spiritualistic nonsense counted at all?' I asked. 'I mean, do you think, in spite of Miss Peabody's ridiculing of the suggestion, that a command was given at one of these seances that she should alter her will and leave her money to the Lawson woman?'
Poirot shook his head doubtfully.
'That does not seem to fit in with the general impression I have formed of Miss Arundell's character.'
'The Tripp women say that Miss Lawson was completely taken aback when the will was read,' I said thoughtfully.
'That is what she told them, yes,' agreed Poirot.
'But you don't believe it?'
'Mon ami – you know my suspicious nature! I believe nothing that any one says unless it can be confirmed or corroborated.'
'That's right, old boy,' I said affectionately. 'A thoroughly nice, trustful nature.'
''He says,' 'she says,' 'they say.' Bah! what does that mean? Nothing at all. It may be absolute truth. It may be useful falsehood. Me, I deal only with facts.'
'And the facts are?'
'Miss Arundell had a fall. That nobody disputes. The fall was not a natural one – it was contrived.'
'The evidence for that being that Hercule Poirot says so!'
