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Chapter 9

It must have been about six o’clock when Colonel Luttrell came along thepath. He had a rook rifle with him and was carrying a couple of deadwood-pigeons.

He started when I hailed him and seemed surprised to see us.

‘Hullo, what are you two doing here? That tumble-down old place isn’tvery safe, you know. It’s falling to pieces. Probably break up about yourears. Afraid you’ll get dirty there, Elizabeth.’

‘Oh, that’s all right. Captain Hastings has sacrificed a pocket handker-chief in the good cause of keeping my dress clean.’

The Colonel murmured vaguely: ‘Oh really? Oh well, that’s all right.’

He stood there pulling at his lip and we got up and joined him.

His mind seemed far away this evening. He roused himself to say: ‘Beentrying to get some of these cursed wood-pigeons. Do a lot of damage, youknow.’

‘You’re a very fine shot, I hear,’ I told him. ‘Eh? Who told you that? Oh,Boyd Carrington. Used to be – used to be. Bit rusty nowadays. Age will tell.’

‘Eyesight,’ I suggested.

He negatived the suggestion immediately. ‘Non-sense. Eyesight’s as goodas ever it was. That is – have to wear glasses for reading, of course. But farsight’s all right.’

He repeated a minute or two later: ‘Yes – all right. Not that it matters …’

His voice trailed off into an absent-minded mutter.

Miss Cole said, looking round: ‘What a beautiful evening it is.’

She was quite right. The sun was drawing to the west and the light was arich golden, bringing out the deeper shades of green in the trees in a deepglowing effect. It was an evening, still and calm, and very English, such asone remembers when in far-off tropical countries. I said as much.

Colonel Luttrell agreed eagerly. ‘Yes, yes, often used to think of eveningslike this – out in India, you know. Makes you look forward to retiring andsettling down, what?’

I nodded. He went on, his voice changing: ‘Yes, settling down, cominghome – nothing’s ever quite what you picture it – no – no.’

I thought that that was probably particularly true in his case. He had notpictured himself running a guest house, trying to make it pay, with a nag-ging wife forever snapping at him and complaining.

We walked slowly towards the house. Norton and Boyd Carrington weresitting on the veranda and the Colonel and I joined them whilst Miss Colewent on into the house.

We chatted for a few minutes. Colonel Luttrell seemed to havebrightened up. He made a joke or two and seemed far more cheerful andwide awake than usual.

‘Been a hot day,’ said Norton. ‘I’m thirsty.’

‘Have a drink, you fellows. On the house, what?’ The Colonel soundedeager and happy.

We thanked him and accepted. He got up and went in.

The part of the terrace where we were sitting was just outside the din-ing-room window, and that window was open.

We heard the Colonel inside opening a cupboard, then heard the squeakof a corkscrew and the subdued pop as the cork of the bottle came out.

And then, sharp and high, came the unofficial voice of Mrs Colonel Lut-trell!

‘What are you doing, George?’

The Colonel’s voice was subdued to a mutter. We only heard a mumbledword here and there – ‘fellows outside’ – ‘drink’ –The sharp, irritating voice burst out indignantly: ‘You’ll do no suchthing, George. The idea now. How do you think we’ll ever make this placepay if you go round standing everybody drinks? Drinks here will be paidfor. I’ve got a business-head if you haven’t. Why, you’d be bankrupt tomor-row if it wasn’t for me! I’ve got to look after you like a child. Yes, just like achild. You’ve got no sense at all. Give me that bottle. Give it to me, I say.’

Again there was an agonized low protesting mumble. Mrs Luttrellanswered snappishly: ‘I don’t care whether they do or they don’t. Thebottle’s going back in the cupboard, and I’m going to lock the cupboardtoo.’

There was the sound of a key being turned in the lock.

‘There now. That’s the way of it.’

This time the Colonel’s voice came more clearly: ‘You’re going too far,Daisy. I won’t have it.’

‘You won’t haveit? And who areyou

I’d liketoknow? Who runs this house? I do. And don’t you forget it.’

There was a faint swish of draperies and Mrs Luttrell evidently flouncedout of the room.

It was some few moments before the Colonel reappeared. He looked inthose few moments to have grown much older and feebler.

There was not one of us who did not feel deeply sorry for him and whowould not willingly have murdered Mrs Luttrell.

‘Awfully sorry, you chaps,’ he said, his voice sounding stiff and unnat-ural. ‘Seem to have run out of whisky.’

He must have realized that we could not have helped overhearing whathad passed. If he had not realized it, our manner would soon have toldhim. We were all miserably uncomfortable, and Norton quite lost hishead, hurriedly saying first that he didn’t really want a drink – too neardinner, wasn’t it – and then elaborately changing the subject and making aseries of the most unconnected remarks. It was indeed a bad moment. Imyself felt paralysed and Boyd Carrington, who was the only one of uswho might conceivably have managed to pass it off, got no opportunitywith Norton’s babble.

Out of the tail of my eye I saw Mrs Luttrell stalking away down one ofthe paths equipped with gardening gloves and a dandelion weeder. Shewas certainly an efficient woman, but I felt bitterly towards her just then.

No human being has a right to humiliate another human being.

Norton was still talking feverishly. He had picked up a wood-pigeon,and from first telling us how he had been laughed at at his prep school forbeing sick when he saw a rabbit killed, had gone on to the subject ofgrouse moors, telling a long and rather pointless story of an accident thathad occurred in Scotland when a beater had been shot. We talked of vari-ous shooting accidents we had known, and then Boyd Carrington clearedhis throat and said:

‘Rather an amusing thing happened once with a batman of mine. Irishchap. He had a holiday and went off to Ireland for it. When he came back Iasked him if he had had a good holiday.

‘“Ah shure, your Honour, best holiday I’ve ever had in my life!”

‘“I’m glad of that,” I said, rather surprised at his enthusiasm.

‘“Ah yes, shure, it was a grand holiday! I shot my brother.”

‘“You shot your brother!” I exclaimed.

‘“Ah yes, indade. It’s years now that I’ve been wanting to do it. Andthere I was on a roof in Dublin and who should I see coming down thestreet but my brother and I there with a rifle in my hand. A lovely shot itwas, though I say it myself. Picked him off as clean as a bird. Ah, it was afoine moment, that, and I’ll never forget it!”’

Boyd Carrington told a story well, with exaggerated dramatic emphasis,and we all laughed and felt easier. When he got up and strolled off, sayinghe must get a bath before dinner, Norton voiced our feeling by saying withenthusiasm: ‘What a splendid chap he is!’

I agreed and Luttrell said: ‘Yes, yes, a good fellow.’

‘Always been a success everywhere, so I understand,’ said Norton.

‘Everything he’s turned his hand to has succeeded. Clear-headed, knowshis own mind – essentially a man of action. The true successful man.’

Luttrell said slowly: ‘Some men are like that. Everything they turn theirhand to succeeds. They can’t go wrong. Some people – have all the luck.’

Norton gave a quick shake of the head. ‘No, no, sir. Not luck.’ He quotedwith meaning: ‘Not in our stars, dear Brutus – but in ourselves.’

Luttrell said: ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

I said quickly: ‘At any rate he’s lucky to have inherited Knatton. What aplace! But he certainly ought to marry. He’ll be lonely there by himself.’

Norton laughed. ‘Marry and settle down? And suppose his wife bullieshim –’

It was the purest bad luck. The sort of remark that anyone could make.

But it was unfortunate in the circumstances, and Norton realized it just atthe moment that the words came out. He tried to catch them back, hesit-ated, stammered, and stopped awkwardly. It made the whole thing worse.

Both he and I began to speak at once. I made some idiotic remark aboutthe evening light. Norton said something about having some bridge afterdinner.

Colonel Luttrell took no notice of either of us. He said in a queer, inex-pressive voice: ‘No, Boyd Carrington won’t get bullied by his wife. He’s notthe sort of man who lets himself get bullied. He’s all right. He’s a man!’

It was very awkward. Norton began babbling about bridge again. In themiddle of it a large wood-pigeon came flapping over our heads and settledon the branch of a tree not far away.

Colonel Luttrell picked up his gun. ‘There’s one of the blighters,’ he said.

Before he could take aim the bird had flown off again through the treeswhere it was impossible to get a shot at it.

At the same moment, however, the Colonel’s attention was diverted by amovement on the far slope.

‘Damn, there’s a rabbit nibbling the bark of those young fruit trees.

Thought I’d wired the place.’

He raised the rifle and fired, and as I saw –There was a scream in a woman’s voice. It died in a kind of horriblegurgle.

The rifle fell from the Colonel’s hand, his body sagged – he caught hislip.

‘My God – it’s Daisy.’

I was already running across the lawn. Norton came behind me. Ireached the spot and knelt down. It was Mrs Luttrell. She had been kneel-ing, tying a stake against one of the small fruit trees. The grass was longthere so that I realized how it was that the Colonel had not seen herclearly and had only distinguished movements in the grass. The light toowas confusing. She had been shot through the shoulder and the blood wasgushing out.

I bent to examine the wound and looked up at Norton. He was leaningagainst a tree and was looking green and as though he were going to besick. He said apologetically: ‘I can’t stand blood.’

I said sharply: ‘Get hold of Franklin at once. Or the nurse.’

He nodded and ran off.

It was Nurse Craven who appeared first upon the scene. She was therein an incredibly short time and at once set about in a business-like way tostop the bleeding. Franklin arrived at a run soon afterwards. Betweenthem they got her into the house and to bed: Franklin dressed and band-aged the wound and sent for her own doctor and Nurse Craven stayedwith her.

I ran across Franklin just as he left the telephone.

‘How is she?’

‘Oh, she’ll pull through all right. It missed any vital spot, luckily. Howdid it happen?’

I told him. He said: ‘I see. Where’s the old boy? He’ll be feeling knockedout, I shouldn’t wonder. Probably needs attention more than she does. Ishouldn’t say his heart is any too good.’

We found Colonel Luttrell in the smoking-room. He was a blue colourround the mouth and looked completely dazed. He said brokenly: ‘Daisy?

Is she – how is she?’

Franklin said quickly: ‘She’ll be all right, sir. You needn’t worry.’

‘I – thought – rabbit – nibbling the bark – don’t know how I came tomake such a mistake. Light in my eyes.’

‘These things happen,’ said Franklin drily. ‘I’ve seen one or two of themin my time. Look here, sir, you’d better let me give you a pick-me-up.

You’re not feeling too good.’

‘I’m all right. Can I – can I go to her?’

‘Not just now. Nurse Craven is with her. But you don’t need to worry.

She’s all right. Dr Oliver will be here presently and he’ll tell you the same.’

I left the two of them together and went out into the evening sunshine.

Judith and Allerton were coming along the path towards me. His head wasbent to hers and they were both laughing.

Coming on top of the tragedy that had just happened, it made me feelvery angry. I called sharply to Judith and she looked up, surprised. In afew words I told them what had occurred.

‘What an extraordinary thing to happen,’ was my daughter’s comment.

She did not seem nearly as perturbed as she should have been, Ithought.

Allerton’s manner was outrageous. He seemed to take the whole thingas a good joke.

‘Serve the old harridan damn well right,’ he observed. ‘Think the oldboy did it on purpose?’

‘Certainly not,’ I said sharply. ‘It was an accident.’

‘Yes, but I know these accidents. Damned convenient sometimes. Myword, if the old boy shot her deliberately I take off my hat to him.’

‘It was nothing of the kind,’ I said angrily. ‘Don’t be too sure. I’ve knowntwo men who shot their wives. Cleaning his revolver one was. The otherfired point- blank at her as a joke, he said. Didn’t know the thing wasloaded. Got away with it, both of them. Damned good release, I should saymyself.’

‘Colonel Luttrell,’ I said coldly, ‘isn’t that type of man.’

‘Well you couldn’t say it wouldn’t be a blessed release, could you?’ de-manded Allerton pertinently. ‘They hadn’t just had a row or anything, hadthey?’

I turned away angrily, at the same time trying to hide a certain perturb-ation. Allerton had come a little too near the mark. For the first time adoubt crept into my mind.

It was not bettered by meeting Boyd Carrington. He had been for a strolldown towards the lake, he explained. When I told him the news he said atonce: ‘You don’t think he meant to shoot her, do you, Hastings?’

‘My dear man.’

‘Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was only, for the moment, onewondered … She – she gave him a bit of provocation, you know.’

We were both silent for a moment as we remembered the scene we hadso unwillingly overheard.

I went upstairs feeling unhappy and worried, and rapped on Poirot’sdoor.

He had already heard through Curtiss of what had occurred, but he waseager for full details. Since my arrival at Styles I had got into the way of re-porting most of my daily encounters and conversations in full detail. Inthis way I felt that the dear old fellow felt less cut off. It gave him the illu-sion of actually participating in everything that went on. I have alwayshad a good and accurate memory and found it a simple matter to repeatconversations verbatim.

Poirot listened very attentively. I was hoping that he would be able def-initely to pooh-pooh the dreadful suggestion that had by now taken easycontrol of my mind, but before he had a chance of telling me what hethought, there came a light tap on the door.

It was Nurse Craven. She apologized for disturbing us.

‘I’m sorry, but I thought Doctor was here. The old lady is conscious nowand she’s worrying about her husband. She’d like to see him. Do you knowwhere he is, Captain Hastings? I don’t want to leave my patient.’

I volunteered to go and look for him. Poirot nodded approval and NurseCraven thanked me warmly.

I found Colonel Luttrell in a little morning-room that was seldom used.

He was standing by the window looking out.

He turned sharply as I came in. His eyes asked a question. He looked, Ithought, afraid.

‘Your wife is conscious, Colonel Luttrell, and is asking for you.’

‘Oh.’ The colour surged up in his cheeks and I realized then how verywhite he had been before. He said slowly, fumblingly, like an old, old man:

‘She – she – is asking for me? I’ll – I’ll come – at once.’

He was so unsteady as he began shuffling towards the door that I cameand helped him. He leaned on me heavily as we went up the stairs. Hisbreathing was coming with difficulty. The shock, as Franklin had prophes-ied, was severe.

We came to the door of the sick- room. I tapped and Nurse Craven’sbrisk, efficient voice called: ‘Come in.’

Still supporting the old man, I went with him into the room. There was ascreen round the bed. We came round the corner of it.

Mrs Luttrell was looking very ill – white and frail, her eyes closed. Sheopened them as we came round the corner of the screen.

She said in a small, breathless voice: ‘George – George …’

‘Daisy – my dear …’

One of her arms was bandaged and supported. The other, the free one,moved unsteadily towards him. He took a step forward and clasped herfrail little hand in his. He said again: ‘Daisy …’ And then, gruffly … ‘ThankGod, you’re all right.’

And looking up at him, seeing his eyes slightly misty and the deep loveand anxiety in them, I felt bitterly ashamed of all our ghoulish imaginings.

I crept quietly out of the room. Camouflaged accident indeed! There wasno disguising that heartfelt note of thankfulness. I felt immeasurably re-lieved.

The sound of the gong startled me as I went along the passage. I hadcompletely forgotten the passage of time. The accident had upseteverything. Only the cook had gone on as usual and produced dinner atthe usual time.

Most of us had not changed and Colonel Luttrell did not appear. But MrsFranklin, looking quite attractive in a pale pink evening dress, was down-stairs for once and seemed in good health and spirits. Franklin, I thought,was moody and absorbed.

After dinner, to my annoyance, Allerton and Judith disappeared into thegarden together. I sat around a while, listening to Franklin and Norton dis-cussing tropical diseases. Norton was a sympathetic and interestedlistener, even if he knew little of the subject under discussion.

Mrs Franklin and Boyd Carrington were talking at the other end of theroom. He was showing her some patterns of curtains or cretonnes.

Elizabeth Cole had a book and seemed deeply absorbed in it. I fanciedthat she was slightly embarrassed and ill at ease with me. Perhaps not un-naturally so after the confidences of the afternoon. I was sorry about it, allthe same, and hoped she did not regret all she had told me. I should haveliked to have made it clear to her that I should respect her confidence andnot repeat it. However she gave me no chance.

After a while I went up to Poirot.

I found Colonel Luttrell sitting in the circle of light thrown by the onesmall electric lamp that was turned on.

He was talking and Poirot was listening. I think the Colonel was speak-ing to himself rather than to his listener.

‘I remember so well – yes, it was at a hunt ball. She wore white stuff,called tulle, I think it was. Floated all round her. Such a pretty girl –bowled me over then and there. I said to myself: “That’s the girl I’m goingto marry.” And by Jove I brought it off. Awfully pretty way she had withher – saucy, you know, plenty of backchat. Always gave as good as she got,bless her.’

He chuckled.

I saw the scene in my mind’s eye. I could imagine Daisy Luttrell with ayoung saucy face and that smart tongue – so charming then, so apt to turnshrewish with the years.

But it was as that young girl, his first real love, that Colonel Luttrell wasthinking of her tonight. His Daisy.

And again I felt ashamed of what we had said such a few hours previ-ously.

Of course, when Colonel Luttrell had at last taken himself off to bed, Iblurted out the whole thing to Poirot.

He listened very quietly. I could make nothing of the expression on hisface.

‘So that is what you thought, Hastings – that the shot was fired on pur-pose?’

‘Yes. I feel ashamed now –’

Poirot waved aside my present feelings.

‘Did the thought occur to you of your own accord, or did someone elsesuggest it to you?’

‘Allerton said something of the kind,’ I said resentfully. ‘He would, ofcourse.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘Boyd Carrington suggested it.’

‘Ah! Boyd Carrington.’

‘And after all, he’s a man of the world and has experience of thesethings.’

‘Oh, quite so, quite so. He did not see the thing happen, though?’

‘No, he’d gone for a walk. Bit of exercise before changing for dinner.’

‘I see.’

I said uneasily: ‘I don’t think I really believed that theory. It was only –’

Poirot interrupted me. ‘You need not be so remorseful about your suspi-cions, Hastings. It was an idea quite likely to occur to anyone given the cir-cumstances. Oh, yes, it was all quite natural.’

There was something in Poirot’s manner I did not quite understand. Areserve. His eyes were watching me with a curious expression.

I said slowly: ‘Perhaps. But seeing now how devoted he really is to her –’

Poirot nodded. ‘Exactly. That is often the case, remember. Underneaththe quarrels, the misunderstandings, the apparent hostility of everydaylife, a real and true affection can exist.’

I agreed. I remembered the gentle affectionate look in little Mrs Lut-trell’s eyes as she looked up at her husband stooping over her bed. Nomore vinegar, no impatience, no ill temper.

Married life, I mused, as I went to bed, was a curious thing.

That something in Poirot’s manner still worried me. That curious watch-ful look – as though he were waiting for me to see – what?

I was just getting into bed when it came to me. Hit me bang between theeyes.

If Mrs Luttrell had been killed, it would have been a case like those othercases. Colonel Luttrell would, apparently, have killed his wife. It wouldhave been accounted an accident, yet at the same time nobody would havebeen sure that it was an accident, or whether it had been done on pur-pose. Insufficient evidence to show it as murder, but quite enough evid-ence for murder to be suspected.

But that meant – that meant –

What did it mean?

It meant – if anything at all was to make sense – that it was not ColonelLuttrell who shot Mrs Luttrell, but X.

And that was clearly impossible. I had seen the whole thing. It was Col-onel Luttrell who had fired the shot. No other shot had been fired.

Unless – But surely that would be impossible. No, perhaps not impossible– merely highly improbable. But possible, yes … Supposing that someoneelse had waited his moment, and at the exact instant when Colonel Lut-trell had fired (at a rabbit), this other person had fired at Mrs Luttrell.

Then only the one shot would have been heard. Or, even with a slight dis-crepancy, it would have been put down as an echo. (Now I come to thinkof it, there had been an echo, surely.)

But no, that was absurd. There were ways of deciding exactly whatweapon a bullet had been fired from. The marks on the bullet must agreewith the rifling of the barrel.

But that, I remembered, was only when the police were anxious to es-tablish what weapon had fired the shot. There would have been no en-quiry in this business. For Colonel Luttrell would have been quite as cer-tain as everyone else that it was he who had fired the fatal shot. That factwould have been admitted, accepted without question; there would havebeen no question of tests. The only doubt would have been whether theshot was fired accidentally or with criminal intent – a question that couldnever be resolved.

And therefore the case fell into line exactly with those other cases – withthe case of the labourer Riggs who didn’t remember but supposed he musthave done it, with Maggie Litchfield who went out of her mind and gaveherself up – for a crime she had not committed.

Yes, this case fell into line with the rest and I knew now the meaning ofPoirot’s manner. He was waiting for me to appreciate the fact.

 

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