清洁女工之死23

Twenty-three

IEve Carpenter came into the Summerhayes’ house in the casual way that most people did, usingany door or window that was convenient.

She was looking for Hercule Poirot and when she found him she did not beat about the bush.

“Look here,” she said. “You’re a detective, and you’re supposed to be good. All right, I’llhire you.”

“Suppose I am not for hire. Mon Dieu, I am not a taxicab!”

“You’re a private detective and private detectives get paid, don’t they?”

“It is the custom.”

“Well, that’s what I’m saying. I’ll pay you. I’ll pay you well.”

“For what? What do you want me to do?”

Eve Carpenter said sharply:

“Protect me against the police. They’re crazy. They seem to think I killed the Upwardwoman. And they’re nosing round, asking me all sorts of questions—ferreting out things. I don’tlike it. It’s driving me mental.”

Poirot looked at her. Something of what she said was true. She looked many years older thanwhen he had first seen her a few weeks ago. Circles under her eyes spoke¹ of sleepless² nights.

There were lines from her mouth to her chin, and her hand, when she lit a cigarette, shook badly.

“You’ve got to stop it,” she said. “You’ve got to.”

“Madame, what can I do?”

“Fend them off somehow or other. Damned cheek! If Guy was a man he’d stop all this. Hewouldn’t let them persecute³ me.”

“And—he does nothing?”

She said sullenly⁴:

“I’ve not told him. He just talks pompously⁵ about giving the police all the assistance possible.

It’s all right for him. He was at some ghastly political meeting that night.”

“And you?”

“I was just sitting at home. Listening to the radio actually.”

“But, if you can prove that—”

“How can I prove it? I offered the Crofts a fabulous⁶ sum to say they’d been in and out andseen me there—the damned swine refused.”

“That was a very unwise move on your part.”

“I don’t see why. It would have settled the business.”

“You have probably convinced your servants that you did commit the murder.”

“Well—I’d paid Croft anyway for—”

“For what?”

“Nothing.”

“Remember—you want my help.”

“Oh! It was nothing that matters. But Croft took the message from her.”

“From Mrs. Upward?”

“Yes. Asking me to go down and see her that night.”

“And you say you didn’t go?”

“Why should I go? Damned dreary⁷ old woman. Why should I go and hold her hand? I neverdreamed of going for a moment.”

“When did this message come?”

“When I was out. I don’t know exactly when—between five and six, I think. Croft took it.”

“And you gave him money to forget he had taken that message. Why?”

“Don’t be idiotic⁸. I didn’t want to get mixed up in it all.”

“And then you offer him money to give you an alibi⁹? What do you suppose he and his wifethink?”

“Who cares what they think?”

“A jury may care,” said Poirot gravely.

She stared at him.

“You’re not serious?”

“I am serious.”

“They’d listen to servants—and not to me?”

Poirot looked at her.

Such crass¹⁰ rudeness and stupidity! Antagonizing the people who might have been helpful. Ashortsighted stupid policy. Shortsighted—

Such lovely wide blue eyes.

He said quietly:

“Why don’t you wear glasses, madame? You need them.”

“What? Oh, I do sometimes. I did as a child.”

“And you had then a plate for your teeth.”

She stared.

“I did, as a matter of fact. Why all this?”

“The ugly duckling becomes a swan?”

“I was certainly ugly enough.”

“Did your mother think so?”

She said sharply:

“I don’t remember my mother. What the hell are we talking about anyway? Will you take onthe job?”

“I regret I cannot.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because in this affair I act for James Bentley.”

“James Bentley? Oh, you mean that half-wit who killed the charwoman. What’s he got to dowith the Upwards¹¹?”

“Perhaps—nothing.”

“Well, then! Is it a question of money? How much?”

“That is your great mistake, madame. You think always in terms of money. You have moneyand you think that only money counts.”

“I haven’t always had money,” said Eve Carpenter.

“No,” said Poirot. “I thought not.” He nodded his head gently. “That explains a good deal. Itexcuses some things. .?.?.”

II

Eve Carpenter went out the way she had come, blundering a little in the light as Poirotremembered her doing before.

Poirot said softly to himself: “Evelyn Hope .?.?.”

So Mrs. Upward had rung up both Deirdre Henderson and Evelyn Carpenter. Perhaps she hadrung up someone else. Perhaps—

With a crash Maureen came in.

“It’s my scissors now. Sorry lunch is late. I’ve got three pairs and I can’t find one of them.”

She rushed over to the bureau and the process with which Poirot was well-acquainted wasrepeated. This time, the objective was attained¹² rather sooner. With a cry of joy, Maureen departed.

Almost automatically, Poirot stepped over and began to replace the things in the drawer.

Sealing wax, notepaper, a work basket, photographs—Photographs .?.?.

He stood staring at the photograph he held in his hand.

Footsteps rushed back along the passage.

Poirot could move quickly in spite of his age. He had dropped the photograph on the sofa, puta cushion on it, and had himself sat on the cushion, by the time that Maureen reentered.

“Where the hell’ve I put a colander¹³ full of spinach¹⁴—”

“But it is there, madame.”

He indicated the colander as it reposed¹⁵ beside him on the sofa.

“So that’s where I left it.” She snatched it up. “Everything’s behind today .?.?.” Her glancetook in Hercule Poirot sitting bolt upright.

“What on earth do you want to sit there for? Even on a cushion, it’s the most uncomfortableseat in the room. All the springs are broken.”

“I know, madame. But I am—I am admiring that picture on the wall.”

Maureen glanced up at the oil painting of a naval¹⁶ officer complete with telescope.

“Yes—it’s good. About the only good thing in the house. We’re not sure that it isn’t aGainsborough.” She sighed. “Johnnie won’t sell it, though. It’s his great-great and I think a fewmore greats, grandfather and he went down with his ship or did something frightfully gallant¹⁷.

Johnnie’s terribly proud of it.”

“Yes,” said Poirot gently. “Yes, he has something to be proud about, your husband!”

III

It was three o’clock when Poirot arrived at Dr. Rendell’s house.

He had eaten rabbit stew¹⁸ and spinach and hard potatoes and a rather peculiar¹⁹ pudding, notscorched this time. Instead, “The water got in,” Maureen had explained. He had drunk half a cupof muddy coffee. He did not feel well.

The door was opened by the elderly housekeeper²⁰ Mrs. Scott, and he asked for Mrs. Rendell.

She was in the drawing room with the radio on and started up when he was announced.

He had the same impression of her that he had had the first time he saw her. Wary²¹, on herguard, frightened of him, or frightened of what he represented.

She seemed paler and more shadowy than she had done. He was almost certain that she wasthinner.

“I want to ask you a question, madame.”

“A question? Oh? Oh yes?”

“Did Mrs. Upward telephone to you on the day of her death?”

She stared at him. She nodded.

“At what time?”

“Mrs. Scott took the message. It was about six o’clock, I think.”

“What was the message? To ask you to go there that evening?”

“Yes. She said that Mrs. Oliver and Robin²² were going into Kilchester and she would be allalone as it was Janet’s night out. Could I come down and keep her company.”

“Was any time suggested?”

“Nine o’clock or after.”

“And you went?”

“I meant to. I really meant to. But I don’t know how it was, I fell fast asleep after dinner thatnight. It was after ten when I woke up. I thought it was too late.”

“You did not tell the police about Mrs. Upward’s call?”

Her eyes widened. They had a rather innocent childlike stare.

“Ought I to have done? Since I didn’t go, I thought it didn’t matter. Perhaps, even, I feltrather guilty. If I’d gone, she might have been alive now.” She caught her breath suddenly. “Oh, Ihope it wasn’t like that.”

“Not quite like that,” said Poirot.

He paused and then said:

“What are you afraid of, madame?”

She caught her breath sharply.

“Afraid? I’m not afraid.”

“But you are.”

“What nonsense. What—what should I be afraid of?”

Poirot paused for a moment before speaking.

“I thought perhaps you might be afraid of me. .?.?.”

She didn’t answer. But her eyes widened. Slowly, defiantly²³, she shook her head.

 

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