帷幕10

III

I enjoyed my expedition enormously.

Not only was the weather fine – a really lovely summer’s day – but I en-joyed the companionship of the man.

Boyd Carrington had that personal magnetism, that wide experience oflife and of places that made him excellent company. He told me stories ofhis administrative days in India, some intriguing details of East Africantribal lore, and was altogether so interesting that I was quite taken out ofmyself and forgot my worries about Judith and the deep anxieties thatPoirot’s revelations had given me.

I liked, too, the way Boyd Carrington spoke of my friend. He had a deeprespect for him – both for his work and his character. Sad though hispresent condition of ill health was, Boyd Carrington uttered no facilewords of pity. He seemed to think that a lifetime spent as Poirot’s hadbeen was in itself a rich reward and that in his memories my friend couldfind satisfaction and self-respect.

‘Moreover,’ he said, ‘I’d wager his brain is as keen as ever it was.’

‘It is, indeed it is,’ I assented eagerly.

‘No greater mistake than to think that because a man’s tied by the leg itaffects his brain pan. Not a bit of it. Anno Domini affects head work muchless than you’d think. By Jove, I wouldn’t care to undertake to commit amurder under Hercule Poirot’s nose – even at this time of day.’

‘He’d get you if you did,’ I said grinning.

‘I bet he would. Not,’ he added ruefully, ‘that I should be much good atdoing a murder anyway. I can’t plan things, you know. Too impatient. If Idid a murder it would be done on the spur of the moment.’

‘That might be the most difficult crime to spot.’

‘I hardly think so. I’d probably leave clues trailing along behind me inevery direction. Well, it’s lucky I haven’t got a criminal mind. Only kind ofman I can imagine myself killing is a blackmailer. That is a foul thing ifyou like. I’ve always thought a blackmailer ought to be shot. What do yousay?’

I confessed to some sympathy with his point of view.

Then we passed on to an examination of the work done on the house asa young architect came forward to meet us.

Knatton was mainly of Tudor date with a wing added later. It had notbeen modernized or altered since the installation of two primitive bath-rooms in the eighteen forties or thereabouts.

Boyd Carrington explained that his uncle had been more or less of a her-mit, disliking people and living in a corner of the vast house. Boyd Car-rington and his brother had been tolerated, and had spent their holidaysthere as schoolboys before Sir Everard had become as much of a recluseas he afterwards became.

The old man had never married, and had spent only a tenth of his largeincome, so that even after death duties had been paid, the present baronethad found himself a very rich man.

‘But a very lonely one,’ he said sighing.

I was silent. My sympathy was too acute to be put into words. For I, too,was a lonely man. Since Cinders had died, I felt myself to be only half ahuman being.

Presently, a little haltingly, I expressed a little of what I felt.

‘Ah yes, Hastings, but you’ve had something I never had.’

He paused a moment and then – rather jerkily – he gave me an outlineof his own tragedy.

Of the beautiful young wife, a lovely creature full of charm and accom-plishments but with a tainted heritage. Her family had nearly all died ofdrink, and she herself fell victim to the same curse. Barely a year aftertheir marriage she had succumbed and had died a dipsomaniac’s death.

He did not blame her. He realized that heredity had been too strong forher.

After her death he had settled down to lead a lonely life. He had determ-ined, saddened by his experience, not to marry again.

‘One feels,’ he said simply, ‘safer alone.’

‘Yes, I can understand your feeling like that – at any rate at first.’

‘The whole thing was such a tragedy. It left me prematurely aged andembittered.’ He paused. ‘It’s true – I was once very much tempted. But shewas so young – I didn’t feel it would be fair to tie her to a disillusionedman. I was too old for her – she was such a child – so pretty – so com-pletely untouched.’

He broke off, shaking his head.

‘Wasn’t that for her to judge?’

‘I don’t know, Hastings. I thought not. She – she seemed to like me. Butthen, as I say, she was so young. I shall always remember her as I saw herthe last day of that leave. Her head a little on one side – that slightly be-wildered look – her little hand –’

He stopped. The words conjured up a picture that seemed vaguely famil-iar, though I could not think why.

Boyd Carrington’s voice, suddenly harsh, broke into my thoughts.

‘I was a fool,’ he said. ‘Any man is a fool who lets opportunity slip byhim. Anyway, here I am, with a great mansion of a house far too big forme, and no gracious presence to set at the head of my table.’

To me there was a charm in his slightly old-fashioned way of puttingthings. It conjured up a picture of old world charm and ease.

‘Where is the lady now?’ I asked.

‘Oh – married.’ He turned it off briefly. ‘Fact is, Hastings, I’m cut out nowfor a bachelor existence. I’ve got my little ways. Come and look at the gar-dens. They’ve been badly neglected, but they’re very fine in their way.’

We walked round the place and I was much impressed with all I saw.

Knatton was undoubtedly a very fine estate and I did not wonder thatBoyd Carrington was proud of it. He knew the neighbourhood well andmost of the people round about, though of course there had been new-comers since his time.

He had known Colonel Luttrell in the old days and expressed his earnesthope that the Styles venture was going to pay.

‘Poor old Toby Luttrell’s very hard up, you know,’ he said. ‘Nice fellow.

Good soldier, too, and a very fine shot. Went on safari with him in Africaonce. Ah, those were the days! He was married then, of course, but hismissus didn’t come along, thank goodness. Pretty woman she was – but al-ways a bit of a Tartar. Funny the things a man will stand from a woman.

Old Toby Luttrell who used to make subalterns shake in their shoes, hewas such a stern martinet! And there he is, henpecked and bullied andmeek as they make ’em! No doubt about it, that woman’s got a tongue likevinegar. Still, she’s got a head on her. If anyone can make the place pay,she will. Luttrell never had much of a head for business – but Mrs Tobywould skin her grandmother!’

‘She’s so gushing with it all,’ I complained.

Boyd Carrington looked amused. ‘I know. All sweetness. But have youplayed bridge with them?’

I replied feelingly that I had.

‘On the whole I steer clear of women bridge players,’ said Boyd Carring-ton. ‘And if you take my tip you’ll do the same.’

I told him how uncomfortable Norton and myself had felt on the firstevening of my arrival.

‘Exactly. One doesn’t know where to look!’ He added: ‘Nice fellow,Norton. Very quiet, though. Always looking at birds and things. Doesn’tcare for shooting them, he told me. Extraordinary! No feeling for sport. Itold him he missed a lot. Can’t see myself what excitement there can bestalking about through cold woods peering at birds through glasses.’

How little we realized that Norton’s hobby might have an importantpart to play in the events that were to come.

 

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