帷幕34

II

I went up again to the grassy knoll where we had been on that day.

Someone else was there already. Elizabeth Cole. She turned her head as Icame up the slope.

She said: ‘You look very excited, Captain Hastings. Is anything the mat-ter?’

I tried to calm myself.

‘No, no, nothing at all. I’m just out of breath with walking fast.’ I addedin an everyday, commonplace voice: ‘It’s going to rain.’

She looked up at the sky. ‘Yes, I think it is.’

We stood there silent for a minute or two. There was something aboutthis woman that I found very sympathetic. Ever since she had told mewho she really was, and the tragedy that had ruined her life, I had takenan interest in her. Two people who have suffered unhappiness have agreat bond in common. Yet for her there was, or so I suspected, a secondspring. I said now impulsively: ‘Far from being excited, I’m depressedtoday. I’ve had bad news about my dear old friend.’

‘About M. Poirot?’

Her sympathetic interest led me to unburden myself. When I had fin-ished she said softly: ‘I see. So – the end might come at any time?’

I nodded, unable to speak.

After a minute or two I said: ‘When he’s gone I shall indeed be alone inthe world.’

‘Oh, no, you’ve got Judith – and your other children.’

‘They’re scattered over the world, and Judith – well, she’s got her work,she doesn’t need me.’

‘I suspect that children don’t ever need their parents until they are introuble of some kind. I should make up your mind to that as to some fun-damental law. I’m far more lonely than you are. My two sisters are faraway, one in America and one in Italy.’

‘My dear girl,’ I said. ‘You’re life’s beginning.’

‘At thirty-five?’

‘What’s thirty-five? I wish I were thirty-five.’ I added maliciously: ‘I’mnot quite blind, you know.’

She turned an enquiring glance on me, then blushed. ‘You don’t think –oh! Stephen Norton and I are only friends. We’ve got a good deal in com-mon –’

‘All the better.’

‘He’s – he’s just awfully kind.’

‘Oh, my dear,’ I said. ‘Don’t believe it’s all kindness. We men aren’t madethat way.’

But Elizabeth Cole had turned suddenly white. She said in a low,strained voice: ‘You’re cruel – blind! How can I ever think of – of mar-riage? With my history. With my sister a murderess – or if not that, in-sane. I don’t know which is worse.’

I said strongly: ‘Don’t let that prey on your mind. Remember, it may notbe true.’

‘What do you mean? It is true.’

‘Don’t you remember saying to me once, “That wasn’t Maggie”?’

She caught her breath. ‘One feels like that.’

‘What one feels is often – true.’

She stared at me. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Your sister,’ I said, ‘did not kill her father.’

Her hand crept up to her mouth. Her eyes, wide and scared, looked intomine.

‘You’re mad,’ she said. ‘You must be mad. Who told you that?’

‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘It’s true. Some day I’ll prove it to you.’

 

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