Twenty-seven

THE EYEWITNESS¹

Suddenly Poirot laughed. He could not help it. His head went back, and his high Gallic laugh filledthe room.

“Pardon, madame,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I could not help it. Here we argue and we reason!

We ask questions! We invoke² the psychology—and all the time there was an eyewitness of thecrime. Tell me, I pray of you.”

“It was fairly late in the evening. Anne Meredith was dummy³. She got up and looked over herpartner’s hand, and then she moved about the room. The hand wasn’t very interesting — theconclusion was inevitable⁴. I didn’t need to concentrate on the cards. Just as we got to the last threetricks I looked over towards the fireplace. Anne Meredith was bent⁵ over Mr. Shaitana. As Iwatched, she straightened herself—her hand had been actually on his breast—a gesture whichawakened my surprise. She straightened herself, and I saw her face and her quick look overtowards us. Guilt⁶ and fear—that is what I saw on her face. Of course, I didn’t know what hadhappened then. I only wondered what on earth the girl could have been doing. Later—I knew.”

Poirot nodded.

“But she did not know that you knew. She did not know that you had seen her?”

“Poor child,” said Mrs. Lorrimer. “Young, frightened—her way to make in the world. Do youwonder that I—well, held my tongue?”

“No, no, I do not wonder.”

“Especially knowing that I—that I myself—” She finished the sentence with a shrug⁷. “It wascertainly not my place to stand accuser. It was up to the police.”

“Quite so—but today you have gone further than that.”

Mrs. Lorrimer said grimly:

“I’ve never been a very softhearted or compassionate⁹ woman, but I suppose these qualities growupon one in one’s old age. I assure you, I’m not often actuated by pity.”

“It is not always a very safe guide, madame. Mademoiselle Anne is young, she is fragile, shelooks timid and frightened—oh, yes, she seems a very worthy¹⁰ subject for compassion⁸. But I, I donot agree. Shall I tell you, madame, why Miss Anne Meredith killed Mr. Shaitana. It was becausehe knew that she had previously¹¹ killed an elderly lady to whom she was companion—because thatlady had found her out in a petty theft.”

Mrs. Lorrimer looked a little startled.

“Is that true, M. Poirot?”

“I have no doubt of it, whatsoever¹². She is so soft—so gentle—one would say. Pah! She isdangerous, madame, that little Mademoiselle Anne! Where her own safety, her own comfort, isconcerned, she will strike wildly—treacherously. With Mademoiselle Anne those two crimes willnot be the end. She will gain confidence from them….”

Mrs. Lorrimer said sharply:

“What you say is horrible, M. Poirot. Horrible!”

Poirot rose.

“Madame, I will now take my leave. Reflect on what I have said.”

Mrs. Lorrimer was looking a little uncertain of herself. She said with an attempt at her oldmanner:

“If it suits me, M. Poirot, I shall deny this whole conversation. You have no witnesses,remember. What I have just told you that I saw on that fatal evening is—well, private betweenourselves.”

Poirot said gravely:

“Nothing shall be done without your consent, madame. And be at peace; I have my ownmethods. Now that I know what I am driving at—”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips.

“Permit me to tell you, madame, that you are a most remarkable¹³ woman. All my homage¹⁴ andrespect. Yes, indeed, a woman in a thousand. Why, you have not even done what nine hundredand ninety-nine women out of a thousand could not have resisted doing.”

“What is that?”

“Told me just why you killed your husband—and how entirely¹⁵ justified¹⁶ such a proceedingreally was.”

Mrs. Lorrimer drew herself up.

“Really, M. Poirot,” she said stiffly. “My reasons were entirely my own business.”

“Magnifique!” said Poirot, and, once more raising her hand to his lips, he left the room.

It was cold outside the house, and he looked up and down for a taxi, but there was none in sight.

He began to walk in the direction of King’s Road.

As he walked he was thinking hard. Occasionally he nodded his head; once he shook it.

He looked back over his shoulder. Someone was going up the steps of Mrs. Lorrimer’s house.

In figure it looked very like Anne Meredith. He hesitated for a minute, wondering whether to turnback or not, but in the end he went on.

On arrival at home, he found that Battle had gone without leaving any message.

He proceeded to ring the superintendent¹⁷ up.

“Hallo.” Battle’s voice came through. “Got anything?”

“Je crois bien. Mon ami, we must get after the Meredith girl—and quickly.”

“I’m getting after her—but why quickly?”

“Because, my friend, she may be dangerous.”

Battle was silent for a minute or two. Then he said:

“I know what you mean. But there’s no one … Oh, well, we mustn’t take chances. As a matterof fact, I’ve written her. Official note, saying I’m calling to see her tomorrow. I thought it might bea good thing to get her rattled¹⁸.”

“It is a possibility, at least. I may accompany you?”

“Naturally. Honoured to have your company, M. Poirot.”

Poirot hung up the receiver with a thoughtful face.

His mind was not quite at rest. He sat for a long time in front of his fire, frowning to himself. Atlast, putting his fears and doubts aside, he went to bed.

“We will see in the morning,” he murmured.

But of what the morning would bring he had no idea.

 

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