帷幕35

III

Near the house I ran into Boyd Carrington.

‘This is my last evening,’ he told me. ‘I move out tomorrow.’

‘To Knatton?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s very exciting for you.’

‘Is it? I suppose it is.’ He gave a sigh. ‘Anyway,Hastings, I don’t mind telling you, I shall be glad to leave here.’

‘The food is certainly pretty bad and the service isn’t good.’

‘I don’t mean that. After all, it’s cheap, and you can’t expect much fromthese paying-guest places. No, Hastings, I mean more than discomfort. Idon’t like this house – there’s some malign influence about it. Things hap-pen here.’

‘They certainly do.’

‘I don’t know what it is. Perhaps a house that has once had a murder init is never quite the same afterwards … But I don’t like it. First there wasthat accident to Mrs Luttrell – a damned unlucky thing to happen. Andthen there was poor little Barbara.’ He paused. ‘The most unlikely personin the world to have committed suicide I should have said.’

I hesitated. ‘Well, I don’t know that I’d go as far as that –’

He interrupted me. ‘Well, I would. Hang it all, I was with her most of theday before. She was in good spirits – enjoyed our outing. The only thingshe was worrying about was whether John wasn’t getting too muchwrapped up in his experiments and might overdo things, or try some ofhis messes upon himself. Do you know what I think, Hastings?’

‘No.’

‘That husband of hers is the one who’s responsible for her death.

Nagged at her, I expect. She was always happy enough when she was withme. He let her see that she handicapped his precious career (I’d give him acareer!) and it broke her up. Damned callous, that fellow, hasn’t turned ahair. Told me as cool as anything he was off to Africa now. Really, youknow, Hastings, I shouldn’t be surprised if he’d actually murdered her.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ I said sharply.

‘No – no, I don’t really. Though, mind you, mainly because I can see thatif he murdered her, he wouldn’t do it that way. I mean, he was known tobe working on this stuff physostigmine, so it stands to reason if he’d doneher in, he wouldn’t have used that. But all the same, Hastings, I’m not theonly one to think that Franklin’s a suspicious character. I had the tip fromsomeone who ought to know.’

‘Who was that?’ I asked sharply.

Boyd Carrington lowered his voice. ‘Nurse Craven.’

‘What?’ I was intensely surprised.

‘Hush. Don’t shout. Yes, Nurse Craven put the idea into my head. She’s asmart girl, you know, got her wits about her. She doesn’t like Franklin –hasn’t liked him all along.’

I wondered. I should have said that it was her own patient whom NurseCraven had disliked. It occurred to me suddenly that Nurse Craven mustknow a good deal about the Franklin ménage.

‘She’s staying here tonight,’ said Boyd Carrington. ‘What?’ I was ratherstartled. Nurse Craven had left immediately after the funeral.

‘Just for a night between cases,’ explained Boyd Carrington.

‘I see.’

I was vaguely disquieted by Nurse Craven’s return, yet I could hardlyhave said why. Was there, I wondered, any reason for her coming back?

She didn’t like Franklin, Boyd Carrington had said …Reassuring myself I said with sudden vehemence: ‘She’s no right to hintthings about Franklin. After all, it was her evidence that helped to estab-lish suicide. That, and Poirot’s seeing Mrs Franklin coming out of the stu-dio with a bottle in her hand.’

Boyd Carrington snapped: ‘What’s a bottle? Women are always carryingbottles – scent bottles, hair lotion, nail polish. That wench of yours wasrunning about with a bottle in her hand that evening – it doesn’t mean shewas thinking of suicide, does it? Nonsense!’

He broke off as Allerton came up to us. Most appropriately, in melodra-matic fashion, there was a low rumble of thunder in the distance. I reflec-ted, as I had reflected before, that Allerton was certainly cast for the partof the villain.

But he had been away from the house on the night of Barbara Franklin’sdeath. And besides, what possible motive could he have had?

But then, I reflected, X never had a motive. That was the strength of hisposition. It was that, and that only, that was holding us up. And yet, at anyminute, that tiny flash of illumination might come.

 

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