Dumb Witness hp-16

by Agatha Christie

  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, open-hearted, 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 begin 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.

  "Très 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 Arundell's proclivities – but it is, after all, merely an opinion. So it goes on. There is a saying, is there not, a nigger in the woodpile. Eh bien, that is just what I find here. There is – not a nigger – 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 Arundell's death? Clearly the most obvious one is gain. Who would have gained by Miss Arundell's 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 Arundell's ears."

  "But – oh, I see – no, I don't. Or do I begin to see what you are hinting at?…"

  "I doubt it," said Poirot. "But if you do, you realize, I hope, the supreme importance of that statement."

  He fixed me with a fierce eye.

  "Of course. Of course," I said hurriedly.

  "And then," continued Poirot, "various other things happen. Charles and Theresa come for the weekend, and Miss Arundell shows the new will to Charles – er – so he says.

  "Don't you believe him?"

  "I only believe statements that are checked. Miss Arundell does not show it to Theresa."

  "Because she thought Charles would tell her."

  "But he doesn't. Why doesn't he?"

  "According to Charles himself he did tell her."

  "Theresa said quite positively that he didn't – a very interesting and suggestive little clash. And when we depart she calls him a fool."

  "I'm getting fogged, Poirot," I said plaintively.

  "Let us return to the sequence of events. Dr Tanios comes down on Sunday – possibly without the knowledge of his wife."

  "I should say certainly without her knowledge."

  "Let us say probably. To proceed! Charles and Theresa leave on the Monday. Miss Arundell is in good health and spirits. She eats a good dinner and sits in the dark with the Tripps and Miss Lawson. Towards the end of the seance she is taken ill. She retires to bed and dies four days later and Miss Lawson inherits all her money, and Captain Hastings says she died a natural death!"

  "Whereas Hercule Poirot says she was given poison in her dinner on no evidence at all!"

  "I have some evidence, Hastings. Think over our conversation with the Misses Tripp. And also one statement that stood out from Miss Lawson's somewhat rambling conversation."

  "Do you mean the fact that she had curry for dinner? Curry would mask the taste of a drug. Is that what you meant?"

  Poirot said slowly:

  "Yes, the curry has a certain significance, perhaps."

  "But," I said, "if what you advance (in defiance of all the medical evidence) is true, only Miss Lawson or one of the maids could have killed her."

  "I wonder."

  "Or the Tripp women? Nonsense. I can't believe that! All these people are palpably innocent."

  Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
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br />   "Remember this, Hastings, stupidity – or even silliness, for that matter – can go hand in hand with intense cunning. And do not forget the original attempt at murder. That was not the handiwork of a particularly clever or complex brain. It was a very simple murder – suggested by Bob and his habit of leaving the ball at the top of the stairs. The thought of putting a thread across the stairs was quite simple and easy – a child could have thought of it!"

  I frowned.

  "You mean -"

  "I mean that what we are seeking to find here is just one thing – the wish to kill. Nothing more than that."

  "But the poison must have been a very skillful one to leave no trace," I argued. "Something that the ordinary person would have difficulty in getting hold of. Oh, damn it all, Poirot, I simply can't believe it now. You can't know! It's all pure hypothesis."

  "You are wrong, my friend. As the result of our various conversations this morning I have now something definite to go upon. Certain faint but unmistakable indications. The only thing is – I am afraid."

  "Afraid? Of what?"

  He said gravely:

  "Of disturbing the dogs that sleep. That is one of your proverbs, is it not? To let the sleeping dogs lie! That is what our murderer does at present – sleeps happily in the sun… Do we not know, you and I, Hastings, how often a murderer, his confidence disturbed, turns and kills a second – or even a third time!"

  "You are afraid of that happening?"

  He nodded.

  "Yes. If there is a murderer in the woodpile – and I think there is, Hastings. Yes, I think there is…"

  Chapter 19

  VISIT TO MR. PURVIS

  Poirot called for his bill and paid it.

  "What do we do next?" I asked.

  "We are going to do what you suggested earlier in the morning. We are going to Harchester to interview Mr Purvis. That is why I telephoned from the Durham Hotel."

  "You telephoned to Purvis?"

  "No, to Theresa Arundell. I asked her to write me a letter of introduction to him. To approach him with any chance of success we must be accredited by the family. She promised to send it round to my flat by hand. It should be awaiting us there now."

  We found not only the letter but Charles Arundell who had brought it round in person.

  "Nice place you have here, M. Poirot," he remarked, glancing round the sitting-room of the flat.

  At that moment my eye was caught by an imperfectly shut drawer in the desk. A small slip of paper was preventing it from shutting. Now if there was one thing absolutely incredible it was that Poirot should shut a drawer in such a fashion! I looked thoughtfully at Charles. He had been alone in this room awaiting our arrival. I had no doubt that he had been passing the time by snooping among Poirot's papers. What a young crook the fellow was! I felt myself burning with indignation.

  Charles himself was in a most cheerful mood.

  "Here we are," he remarked, presenting a letter. "All present and correct – and I hope you'll have more luck with old Purvis than we did."

  "He held out very little hope, I suppose?"

  "Definitely discouraging… In his opinion the Lawson bird had clearly got away with the doings."

  "You and your sister have never considered an appeal to the lady's feelings?"

  Charles grinned.

  "I considered it – yes. But there seemed to be nothing doing. My eloquence was in vain. The pathetic picture of the disinherited black sheep – and a sheep not so black as he was painted (or so I endeavoured to suggest) – failed to move the woman! You know, she definitely seems to dislike me! I don't know why." He laughed. "Most old women fall for me quite easily. They think I've never been properly understood and that I've never had a fair chance!"

  "A useful point of view."

  "Oh, it's been extremely useful before now. But, as I say, with the Lawson bird, nothing doing. I think she's rather anti-man. Probably used to chain herself to railings and wave a suffragette flag in good old pre-war days."

  "Ah, well," said Poirot, shaking his head. "If simpler methods fail -"

  "We must take to crime," said Charles cheerfully.

  "Aha," said Poirot. "Now, speaking of crime, young man, is it true that you threatened your aunt – that you said that you would 'bump her off,' or words to that effect?"

  Charles sat down in a chair, stretched his legs out in front of him and stared hard at Poirot.

  "Now who told you that?" he said.

  "No matter. Is it true?"

  "Well, there are elements of truth about it."

  "Come, come, let me hear the true story – the true story, mind."

  "Oh, you can have it, sir. There was nothing melodramatic about it. I'd been attempting a touch – if you gather what I mean."

  "I comprehend."

  "Well, that didn't go according to plan. Aunt Emily intimated that any efforts to separate her and her money would be quite unavailing! Well, I didn't lose my temper, but I put it to her plainly. 'Now look here, Aunt Emily,' I said, 'you know, you're going about things in such a way that you'll end by getting bumped off!' She said, rather sniffily, what did I mean. 'Just that,' I said. 'Here are your friends and relations all hanging around with their mouths open, all as poor as church mice – whatever church mice may be – all hoping. And what do you do? Sit down on the dibs and refuse to part. That's the way people get themselves murdered. Take it from me, if you're bumped off, you'll only have yourself to blame.'

  "She looked at me then, over the top of her spectacles in a way she had. Looked at me rather nastily. 'Oh,' she said drily enough, 'so that's your opinion, is it?' 'It is,' I said. 'You loosen up a bit, that's my advice to you.' 'Thank you, Charles,' she said, 'for your well-meant advice. But I think you'll find I'm well able to take care of myself.' 'Please yourself, Aunt Emily,' I said. I was grinning all over my face – and I fancy she wasn't as grim as she tried to look. 'Don't say I didn't warn you.' 'I'll remember it,' she said."

  He paused.

  "That's all there was to it."

  "And so," said Poirot, "you contented yourself with a few pound notes you found in a drawer."

  Charles stared at him, then burst out laughing.

  "I take off my hat to you," he said. "You're some sleuth! How did you get hold of that?"

  "It is true, then?"

  "Oh, it's true enough! I was damned hard up. Had to get money somehow. Found a nice little wad of notes in a drawer and helped myself to a few. I was very modest – didn't think my little subtraction would be noticed. Even then, they'd probably think it was the servants."

  Poirot said drily:

  "It would be very serious for the servants if such an idea had been entertained."

  Charles shrugged his shoulders.

  "Every one for himself," he murmured.

  "And le diable takes the hindermost," said Poirot. "That is your creed, is it?"

  Charles was looking at him curiously.

  "I didn't know the old lady had ever spotted it. How did you come to know about it – and about the bumping-off conversation?"

  "Miss Lawson told me."

  "The sly old pussy cat!" He looked, I thought, just a shade disturbed. "She doesn't like me and she doesn't like Theresa," he said presently. "You don't think – she's got anything more up her sleeve?"

  "What could she have?"

  "Oh, I don't know. It's just that she strikes me as a malicious old devil." He paused. "She hates Theresa…" he added.

  "Did you know, Mr Arundell, that Dr Tanios came down to see your aunt on the Sunday before she died?"

  "What – on the Sunday that we were there?"

  "Yes. You did not see him?"

  "No. We were out for a walk in the afternoon. I suppose he must have come then. Funny that Aunt Emily didn't mention his visit. Who told you?"

  "Miss Lawson."

  "Lawson again? She seems to be a mine of information."

  He paused and then said:

  "You know, Tanios is a nice fellow. I li
ke him. Such a jolly, smiling chap."

  "He has an attractive personality, yes," said Poirot.

  Charles rose to his feet.

  "If I'd been him I'd have murdered the dreary Bella years ago! Doesn't she strike you as the type of woman who is marked out by fate to be a victim? You know, I should never be surprised if bits of her turned up in a trunk at Margate or somewhere!"

  "It is not a pretty action that you attribute there to her husband the good doctor," said Poirot severely.

  "No," said Charles meditatively. "And I don't think really that Tanios would hurt a fly. He's much too kind-hearted."

  "And what about you? Would you do murder if it were made worth your while?"

  Charles laughed – a ringing, genuine laugh.

  "Thinking about a spot of blackmail, M. Poirot? Nothing doing. I can assure you that I didn't put -" he stopped suddenly and then went on – "strychnine in Aunt Emily's soup."

  With a careless wave of his hand he departed.

  "Were you trying to frighten him, Poirot?" I asked. "If so, I don't think you succeeded. He showed no guilty reactions whatsoever."

  "No?"

  "No. He seemed quite unruffled."

  "Curious that pause he made," said Poirot.

  "A pause?"

  "Yes. A pause before the word strychnine. Almost as though he had been about to say something else and thought better of it."

  I shrugged my shoulders.

  "He was probably thinking of a good, venomous-sounding poison."

  "It is possible. It is possible. But let us set off. We will, I think, stay the night at The George in Market Basing."

  Ten minutes later saw us speeding through London, bound once more for the country.

  We arrived in Harchester about four o'clock and made our way straight to the offices of Purvis, Purvis, Charlesworth and Purvis.

  Mr Purvis was a big, solidly built man with white hair and a rosy complexion. He had a little the look of a country squire. His manner was courteous but reserved.