Part 12 (2/2)

”Yes--” She hesitated, then said, ”Well, that is really all, M. Poirot. I just wanted you to tell Theresa that we will back her up in anything she decides to do. I quite see that the family must stand together.” She nodded brightly to us, then taking her husband's arm she moved off in the direction of the dining-room.I caught Poirot by the shoulder.

”That wasn't what she started to say, Poirot!” He shook his head slowly, watching the retreating couple.

”She changed her mind,” I went on.

”Yes, mon ami, she changed her mind.” ”Why?” ”I wish I knew,” he murmured.

”She will tell us some other time,” I said hopefully.

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we had lunch at a small restaurant not far away. I was eager to learn what he made of the various members of the Arundell family.

”Well, Poirot?” I asked impatiently.

With a look of reproof Poirot turned his whole attention to the menu. When he had ordered he leaned back in his chair, broke his roll of bread in half and said with a slightly mocking intonation: ”Well, Hastings?” ”What do you think of them now you've seen them all?” Poirot replied slowly: ”Ma foi, I thihk they are an interesting lot! Really, this case is an enchanting study!

It is, how do you say, the box of surprises?

Look how each time I say, (I got a letter from Miss Arundell before she died,' something crops up.

From Miss Lawson I learn about the missing money. Mrs. Tanios says at once, 'About my husband?5 Why about her husband? Why should Miss Arundell write to me, Hercule Poirot, about Dr. Tamos?” ”That woman has something on her mind,” I said.

”Yes, she knows something. But what? Miss Peabody tells us that Charles Arundell would murder his grandmother for twopence.

Miss Lawson says that Mrs. Tanios would murder any one if her husband told her to do so. Dr.

Tanios says that Charles and Theresa are rotten to the core, and he hints that their mother was a murderess and says apparently carelessly that Theresa is capable of murdering any one in cold blood.

”They have a pretty opinion of each other, all these people! Dr. Tanios thinks, or says he thinks, that there was undue influence.

His wife, before he came in, evidently did not think so. She does not want to contest the will at first. Later she veers round. See you, Hastings--it is a pot that boils and seethes and every now and then a significant fact comes to the surface and can be seen.

There is something in the depths there--yes, there is something! I swear it, by my faith as Hercule Poirot, I swear it!” I was impressed in spite of myself by his earnestness.

After a minute or two I said: ”Perhaps you are right, but it seems so vague--so nebulous.” ”But you agree with me that there is something?””Yes,” I said hesitatingly. ”I believe I do.” Poirot leaned across the table. His eyes bored into mine.

”Yes--you have changed. You are no longer amused, superior--indulging me in my academic pleasures. But what is it that has convinced you? It is not my excellent reasoning--non, ce n'est pas ca! But something--something quite independent--has produced an effect on you. Tell me, my friend, what it is that has suddenly induced you to take this matter seriously?” ”I think,” I said slowly, ”it was Mrs. Tanios.

She looked--she looked--afraid....” ”Afraid of me?” ”No--no, not of you. It was something else.

She spoke so quietly and sensibly to begin with--a natural resentment at the terms of the will, perhaps, but otherwise she seemed so resigned and willing to leave things as they are. It seemed the natural att.i.tude of a well-bred but rather apathetic woman. And then that sudden change--the eagerness with which she came over to Dr.

Tanios's point of view. The way she came out into the hall after us--the--almost furtive way--”

Poirot nodded encouragingly.

”And another little thing which you may not have noticed--” ”I notice everything!” ”I mean the point about her husband's visit to Littlegreen House on that last Sunday.

I could swear she knew nothing of it-- that it was the most complete surprise to her--and yet she took her cue so quickly-- agreed that he had told her about it and that she had forgotten. I--I didn't like it, Poirot.” ”You are quite right, Hastings--it was significant--that.” ”It left an ugly impression of--of fear on me.” Poirot nodded his head slowly.

”You felt the same?” I asked.

”Yes--that impression was very definitely in the air.” He paused and then went on: ”And yet you liked Tanios, did you not? You found him an agreeable man, openhearted, good-natured, genial.

Attractive in spite of your insular prejudice against the Argentines, the Portuguese and the Greeks--a thoroughly congenial personality?” ”Yes,” I admitted. ”I did.” In the silence that ensued, I watched Poirot. Presently I said: ”What are you thinking of, Poirot?” ”I am reflecting on various people, handsome young Norman Gale, bluff, hearty Evelyn Howard, the pleasant Dr.

Sheppard, the quiet, reliable Knighton.” For a moment I did not understand these references to people who had figured in past cases.

”What of them?” I asked.

”They were all delightful personalities.

...” ”My goodness, Poirot, do you really think Tanios--” ”No, no. Do not jump to conclusions, Hastings. I am only pointing out that one's own personal reactions to people are singularly unsafe guides. One must go not by one's feelings but by facts.” ”H'm,” I said. ”Facts are not our strong suit. No, no, Poirot, don't go over it all again!” ”I will be brief, my friend, do not fear.

To beein with, we have quite certainly a case of attempted murder. You admit that, do you not?”

”Yes,” I said slowly. ”I do.” I had, up to now, been a little sceptical over Poirot's (as I thought) somewhat fanciful reconstruction of the events on the night of Easter Tuesday. I was forced to admit, however, that his deductions were perfectly logical.”Tres bien. Now one cannot have attempted murder without a murderer. One of the people present on that evening was a murderer--in intention if not in fact.” ”Granted.” ”Then that is our starting point--a murderer. We make a few inquiries--we, as you would say--stir the mud--and what do we get--several very interesting accusations uttered apparently casually in the course of conversations.” ”You think they were not casual?” ”Impossible to tell at the moment! Miss Lawson's innocent-seeming way of bringing out the fact that Charles threatened his aunt may have been quite innocent or it may not. Dr. Tanios's remarks about Theresa Arundell may have absolutely no malice behind them, but be merely a physician's genuine opinion. Miss Peabody, on the other hand, is probably quite genuine in her opinion of Charles ArundelFs proclivities--but it is, after all, merely an opinion. So it goes on.

There is a saying, is there not, a n.i.g.g.e.r in the woodpile. Eh bien, that is just what I find here.

There is--not a n.i.g.g.e.r--but a murderer in our woodpile.” ”What I'd like to know is what you yourself really think, Poirot.” ”Hastings--Hastings--I do not permit myself to 'think'--not, that is, in the sense that you are using the word. At the moment I only make certain reflections.” ”Such as?” ”I consider the question of motive. What are the likely motives for Miss ArundelFs death?

Clearly the most obvious one is gain. Who would have gained by Miss ArundelFs death--if she had died on Easter Tuesday?” ”Every one--with the exception of Miss Lawson.” ”Precisely.” ”Well, at any rate, one person is automatically cleared.” ”Yes,” said Poirot thoughtfully. ”It would seem so.

But the interesting thing is that the person who would have gained nothing if death had occurred on Easter Tuesday gains everything when death occurs two weeks later.” ”What are you getting at, Poirot?” I said, slightly puzzled.

”Cause and effect, my friend, cause and effect.” I looked at him doubtfully.

He went on: ”Proceed logically! What exactly happened--after the accident?” I hate Poirot in this mood. Whatever one says is bound to be wrong! I proceeded with intense caution.

”Miss Arundell was laid up in bed.” ”Exactly. With plenty of time to think.

What next?” ”She wrote to you.” Poirot nodded.

”Yes, she wrote to me. And the letter was not posted. A thousand pities, that.” ”Do you suspect that there was something fishy about that letter not being posted?” Poirot frowned.

”There, Hastings, I have to confess that I do not know. I think--in view of everything I am almost sure--that the letter was genuinely mislaid. I believe--but I cannot be sure--that the fact that such a letter was written was unsuspected by anybody. Continue--what happened next?” I reflected.

”The lawyer's visit,” I suggested. ”Yes--she sent for her lawyer and in due course he arrived.”

”And she made a new will,” I continued.

”Precisely. She made a new and very unexpected will. Now, in view of that will we have to consider very carefully a statement made to us by Ellen. Ellen said, if you remember, that Miss Lawson was particularly anxious that the news that Bob had been out all night should not get to Miss ArundelFs ears.” ”But--oh, I see--no, I don't. Or do I begin to see what you are hinting at?...”

”I doubt iti” said Poirot. ”But if you do, you realize, I hope, the supreme importance of that statement.” He fixed me with a fierce eye.

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