大象的证词10

Chapter 10

Desmond

Two days later, as Hercule Poirot drank his morning chocolate, he read atthe same time a letter that had been among his correspondence thatmorning. He was reading it now for the second time. The handwriting wasa moderately good one, though it hardly bore thestamp of maturity.

Dear Monsieur Poirot,

I am afraid you will find this letter of mine somewhat peculiar, but I believeit would help if I mentioned a friend of yours. I tried to get in touch with her toask her if she would arrange for me to come and see you, but apparently shehad left home. Her secretary – I am referring to Mrs Ariadne Oliver, the novel-ist – her secretary seemed to say something about her having gone on a safariin East Africa. If so, I can see she may not return for some time. But I’m sureshe would help me. I would indeed like to see you so much. I am badly in needof advice of some kind.

Mrs Oliver, I understand, is acquainted with my mother, who met her at aliterary luncheon party. If you could give me an appointment to visit you oneday I should be very grateful. I can suit my time to anything you suggested. Idon’t know if it is helpful at all but Mrs Oliver’s secretary did mention theword ‘elephants’. I presume this has something to do with Mrs Oliver’s travelsin East Africa. The secretary spoke as though it was some kind of password. Idon’t really understand this but perhaps you will. I am in a great state ofworry and anxiety and I would be very grateful if you could see me.

Yours truly,

Desmond Burton-Cox.

‘Nom d’un petit bonhomme!’ said Hercule Poirot.

‘I beg your pardon, sir?’ said George.

‘A mere ejaculation,’ said Hercule Poirot. ‘There are some things, oncethey have invaded your life, which you find very difficult to get rid ofagain. With me it seems to be a question of elephants.’

He left the breakfast table, summoned his faithful secretary, MissLemon, handed her the letter from Desmond Cox and gave her directionsto arrange an appointment with the writer of the letter.

‘I am not too occupied at the present time,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow will bequite suitable.’

Miss Lemon reminded him of two appointments which he already had,but agreed that that left plenty of hours vacant and she would arrangesomething as he wished.

‘Something to do with the Zoological Gardens?’ she enquired.

‘Hardly,’ said Poirot. ‘No, do not mention elephants in your letter. Therecan be too much of anything. Elephants are large animals. They occupy agreat deal of the horizon. Yes. We can leave elephants. They will no doubtarise in the course of the conversation I propose to hold with DesmondBurton-Cox.’

‘Mr Desmond Burton-Cox,’ announced George, ushering in the expectedguest.

Poirot had risen to his feet and was standing beside the mantelpiece. Heremained for a moment or two without speaking, then he advanced, hav-ing summed up his own impression. A somewhat nervous and energeticpersonality. Quite naturally so, Poirot thought. A little ill at ease but man-aging to mask it very successfully. He said, extending a hand,‘Mr Hercule Poirot?’

‘That is right,’ said Poirot. ‘And your name is Desmond Burton-Cox. Praysit down and tell me what I can do for you, the reasons why you havecome to see me.’

‘It’s all going to be rather difficult to explain,’ said Desmond Burton-Cox.

‘So many things are difficult to explain,’ said Hercule Poirot, ‘but wehave plenty of time. Sit down.’

Desmond looked rather doubtfully at the figure confronting him. Really,a very comic personality, he thought. The egg-shaped head, the big mous-taches. Not somehow very imposing. Not quite, in fact, what he had expec-ted to encounter.

‘You – you are a detective, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘I mean you – you findout things. People come to you to find out, or to ask you to find out thingsfor them.’

‘Yes,’ said Poirot, ‘that is one of my tasks in life.’

‘I don’t suppose that you know what I’ve come about or that you knowanything much about me.’

‘I know something,’ said Poirot. ‘You mean Mrs Oliver, your friend MrsOliver. She’s told you something?’

‘She told me that she had had an interview with a goddaughter of hers, aMiss Celia Ravenscroft. That is right, is it not?’

‘Yes. Yes, Celia told me. This Mrs Oliver, is she – does she also know mymother – know her well, I mean?’

‘No. I do not think that they know each other well. According to MrsOliver, she met her at a literary luncheon recently and had a few wordswith her. Your mother, I understand, made a certain request to MrsOliver.’

‘She’d no business to do so,’ said the boy.

His eyebrows came down over his nose. He looked angry now, angry –almost revengeful.

‘Really,’ he said, ‘Mothers – I mean –’

‘I understand,’ said Poirot. ‘There is much feeling these days, indeed per-haps there always has been. Mothers are continually doing things whichtheir children would much rather they did not. Am I right?’

‘Oh you’re right enough. But my mother – I mean, she interferes inthings in which really she has no concern.’

‘You and Celia Ravenscroft, I understand, are close friends. Mrs Oliverunderstood from your mother that there was some question of marriage.

Perhaps in the near future?’

‘Yes, but my mother really doesn’t need to ask questions and worryabout things which are – well, no concern of hers.’

‘But mothers are like that,’ said Poirot. He smiled faintly. He added, ‘Youare, perhaps, very much attached to your mother?’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Desmond. ‘No, I certainly wouldn’t say that.

You see – well, I’d better tell you straight away, she’s not really mymother.’

‘Oh, indeed. I had not understood that.’

‘I’m adopted,’ said Desmond. ‘She had a son. A little boy who died. Andthen she wanted to adopt a child so I was adopted, and she brought me upas her son. She always speaks of me as her son, and thinks of me asherson, but I’m not really. We’re not a bit alike. We don’t look at things thesame way.’

‘Very understandable,’ said Poirot. ‘I don’t seem to be getting on,’ saidDesmond, ‘with what I want to ask you.’

‘You want me to do something to find out something, to cover a certainline of interrogation?’

‘I suppose that does cover it. I don’t know how much you know about –about well, what the trouble is all about.’

‘I know a little,’ said Poirot. ‘Not details. I do not know very much aboutyou or about Miss Ravenscroft, whom I have not yet met. I’d like to meether.’

‘Yes, well, I was thinking of bringing her to talk to you but I thought I’dbetter talk to you myself first.’

‘Well, that seems quite sensible,’ said Poirot. ‘You are unhappy aboutsomething? Worried? You have difficulties?’

‘Not really. No. No, there shouldn’t be any difficulties. There aren’t any.

What happened is a thing that happened years ago when Celia was only achild, or a schoolgirl at least. And there was a tragedy, the sort of thingthat happens – well, it happens every day, any time. Two people you knowwhom something has upset very much and they commit suicide. A sort ofsuicide pact, this was. Nobody knew very much about it or why, or any-thing like that. But, after all, it happens and it’s no business really ofpeople’s children to worry about it. I mean, if they know the facts that’squite enough, I should think. And it’s no business of my mother’s at all.’

‘As one journeys through life,’ said Poirot, ‘one finds more and morethat people are often interested in things that are none of their own busi-ness. Even more so than they are in things that could be considered astheir own business.’

‘But this is all over. Nobody knew much about it or anything. But, yousee, my mother keeps asking questions. Wants to know things, and she’sgot at Celia. She’s got Celia into a state where she doesn’t really knowwhether she wants to marry me or not.’

‘And you? You know if you want to marry her still?’

‘Yes, of course I know. I mean to marry her. I’m quite determined tomarry her. But she’s got upset. She wants to know things. She wants toknow why all this happened and she thinks – I’m sure she’s wrong – shethinks that my mother knows something about it. That she’s heard some-thing about it.’

‘Well, I have much sympathy for you,’ said Poirot, ‘but it seems to methat if you are sensible young people and if you want to marry, there is noreason why you should not. I may say that I have been given some inform-ation at my request about this sad tragedy. As you say, it is a matter thathappened years ago. There was no full explanation of it. There never hasbeen. But in life one cannot have explanations of all the sad things thathappen.’

‘It was a suicide pact,’ said the boy. ‘It couldn’t havebeen anything else.

But – well …’

‘You want to know the cause of it. Is that it?’

‘Well, yes, that’s it. That’s what Celia’s been worried about, and she’s al-most made me worried. Certainly my mother is worried, though, as I’vesaid, it’s absolutely no business of hers. I don’t think any fault is attachedto anyone. I mean, there wasn’t a row or anything. The trouble is, ofcourse, that we don’t know. Well, I mean, I shouldn’t know anyway be-cause I wasn’t there.’

‘You didn’t know General and Lady Ravenscroft or Celia?’

‘I’ve known Celia more or less all my life. You see, the people I went tofor holidays and her people lived next door to each other when we werevery young. You know – just children. And we always liked each other,and got on together and all that. And then of course, for a long time allthat passed over. I didn’t meet Celia for a great many years after that. Herparents, you see, were in Malaya, and so were mine. I think they met eachother again there – I mean my father and mother. My father’s dead, by theway. But I think when my mother was in Malaya she heard things andshe’s remembered now what she heard and she’sworked herself up aboutthem and she sort of – sort of thinks things that can’t possibly be true. I’msure they aren’t true. But she’s determined to worry Celia about them. Iwant to know what really happened. Celia wants to know what reallyhappened. What it was all about. And why? And how? Not just people’ssilly stories.’

‘Yes,’ said Poirot, ‘it is not unnatural perhaps that you should both feelthat. Celia, I should imagine, more than you. She is more disturbed by itthan you are. But, if I may say so, does it really matter? What matters isthe now, the present. The girl you want to marry, the girl who wants tomarry you – what has the past to do with you? Does it matter whether herparents had a suicide pact or whether they died in an aeroplane accidentor one of them was killed in an accident and the other one later commit-ted suicide? Whether there were love-affairs which came into their livesand made for unhappiness.’

‘Yes,’ said Desmond Burton-Cox, ‘yes, I think what you say is sensibleand quite right but – well, things have been built up in such a way that I’vegot to make sure that Celia is satisfied. She’s – she’s a person who mindsabout things although she doesn’t talk about them much.’

‘Has it not occurred to you,’ said Hercule Poirot, ‘that it may be very dif-ficult, if not impossible, to find out what really happened.’

‘You mean which of them killed the other or why, or that one shot theother and then himself. Not unless – not unless there had been something.’

‘Yes, but that something would have been in the past, so why does itmatter now?’

‘It oughtn’t to matter – it wouldn’t matter but for my mother interfering,poking about in things. It wouldn’t have mattered. I don’t suppose that,well, Celia’s ever thought much about it. I think probably that she wasaway at school in Switzerland at the time the tragedy happened andnobody told her much and, well, when you’re a teenager or younger stillyou just accept things as something that happened, but that’s not anythingto do with you really.’

‘Then don’t you think that perhaps you’re wanting the impossible?’

‘I want you to find out,’ said Desmond. ‘Perhaps it’s not the kind of thingthat you can find out, or that you like finding out –’

‘I have no objection to finding out,’ said Poirot. ‘In fact one has even acertain – curiosity, shall I say. Tragedies, things that arise as a matter ofgrief, surprise, shock, illness, they are human tragedies, human things,and it is only natural that if one’s attention is drawn to them one shouldwant to know. What I say is, is it wise or necessary to rake up things?’

‘Perhaps it isn’t,’ said Desmond, ‘but you see …’

‘And also,’ said Poirot, interrupting him, ‘don’t you agree with me that itis rather an impossible thing to do after all this time?’

‘No,’ said Desmond, ‘that’s where I don’t agree with you. I think it wouldbe quite possible.’

‘Very interesting,’ said Poirot. ‘Why do you think it would be quite pos-sible?’

‘Because –’

‘Of what? You have a reason.’

‘I think there are people who would know. I think there are people whocould tell you if they were willing to tell you. People, perhaps, who wouldnot wish to tell me, who would not wish to tell Celia, but you might find outfrom them.’

‘That is interesting,’ said Poirot.

‘Things happened,’ said Desmond. ‘Things happened in the past. I – I’vesort of heard about them in a vague way. There was some mental trouble.

There was someone – I don’t know who exactly, I think it might have beenLady Ravenscroft – I think she was in a mental home for years. Quite along time. Some tragedy had happened when she was quite young. Somechild who died or an accident. Something that – well, she was concernedin it in some way.’

‘It is not what you know of your own knowledge, I presume?’

‘No. It’s something my mother said. Something she heard. She heard itin Malaya, I think. Gossip there from other people. You know how they gettogether in the Services, people like that, and the women all gossip to-gether – all the memsahibs. Saying things that mightn’t be true at all.’

‘And you want to know whether they were true or were not true?’

‘Yes, and I don’t know how to find out myself. Not now, because it was along time ago and I don’t know who to ask. I don’t know who to go to, butuntil we really find out what did happen and why –’

‘What you mean is,’ said Poirot, ‘at least I think I am right only this ispure surmise on my part, Celia Ravenscroft does not want to marry youunless she is quite sure that there is no mental flaw passed to her presum-ably by her mother. Is that it?’

‘I think that is what she has got into her head somehow. And I think mymother put it there. I think it’s what my mother wants to believe. I don’tthink she’s any reason really for believing it except ill-mannered spite andgossip and all the rest of it.’

‘It will not be a very easy thing to investigate,’ said Poirot.

‘No, but I’ve heard things about you. They say that you’re very clever atfinding out what did happen. Asking people questions and getting them totell you things.’

‘Whom do you suggest I should question or ask? When you say Malaya, Ipresume you are not referring to people of Malayan nationality. You arespeaking of what you might call the memsahib days, the days when therewere Service communities in Malaya. You are speaking of English peopleand the gossip in some English station there.’

‘I don’t really mean that that would be any good now. I think whoever itwas who gossiped, who talked – I mean, it’s so long ago now that they’dhave forgotten all about it, that they are probably dead themselves. I thinkthat my mother’s got a lot of things wrong, that she’s heard things andmade up more things about them in her mind.’

‘And you still think that I would be capable –’

‘Well, I don’t mean that I want you to go out to Malaya and ask peoplethings. I mean, none of the people would be there now.’

‘So you think you could not give me names?’

‘Not those sort of names,’ said Desmond. ‘But some names?’

‘Well, I’ll come out with what I mean. I think there are two people whomight know what happened and why. Because, you see, they’d have beenthere. They’d have known, really known, of their own knowledge.’

‘You do not want to go to them yourself ?’

‘Well, I could. I have in a way, but I don’t think, you see, that they – Idon’t know. I wouldn’t like to ask some of the things I want to ask. I don’tthink Celia would. They’re very nice, and that’s why they’d know. Not be-cause they’re nasty, not because they gossip, but because they might havehelped. They might havedone something to make things better, or havetried to do so, only they couldn’t. Oh, I’m putting it all so badly.’

‘No,’ said Poirot, ‘you are doing it very well, and I am interested and Ithink you have something definite in your mind. Tell me, does CeliaRavenscroft agree with you?’

‘I haven’t said too much to her. You see, she was very fond of Maddyand of Zélie.’

‘Maddy and Zélie?’

‘Oh well, that’s their names. Oh, I must explain. I haven’t done it verywell. You see, when Celia was quite a child – at the time when I first knewher, as I say, when we were living next door in the country – she had aFrench sort of – well, I suppose nowadays we call it an au pair girl but itwas called a governess then. You know, a French governess. A mademois-elle. And you see, she was very nice. She played with all of us children andCelia always called her “Maddy” for short – and all the family called herMaddy.’

‘Ah yes. The mademoiselle.’

‘Yes, you see being French I thought – I thought perhaps she would tellyou things that she knew and wouldn’t wish to speak about to otherpeople.’

‘Ah. And the other name you mentioned?’

‘Zélie. The same sort of thing, you see. A mademoiselle. Maddy wasthere, I think, for about two or three years and then, later, she went backto France, or Switzerland I think it was, and this other one came. Youngerthan Maddy was and we didn’t call her Maddy. Celia called her Zélie. Shewas very young, pretty and great fun. We were all frightfully fond of her.

She played games with us and we all loved her. The family did. And Gen-eral Ravenscroft was very taken with her. They used to play games to-gether, picquet, you know and lots of things.’

‘And Lady Ravenscroft?’

‘Oh she was devoted to Zélie too, and Zélie was devoted to her. That’swhy she came back again after she’d left.’

‘Came back?’

‘Yes, when Lady Ravenscroft was ill, and had been in hospital, Zéliecame back and was sort of companion to her and looked after her. I don’tknow, but I believe, I think, I’m almost sure that she was there when it –the tragedy – happened. And so, you see she’d know – what reallyhappened.’

‘And you know her address? You know where she is now?’

‘Yes. I know where she is. I’ve got her address. I’ve got both their ad-dresses. I thought perhaps you could go and see her, or both of them. Iknow it’s a lot to ask –’ He broke off.

Poirot looked at him for some minutes. Then he said: ‘Yes, it is a possibil-ity – certainly – a possibility.’

 

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