Seven

LUNCH AT THE GEORGE

As we emerged into the market square, I remarked that Mr. Gabler lived up to his name! Poirotassented with a smile.

“He’ll be rather disappointed when you don’t return,” I said. “I think he feels he has as good assold you that house already.”

“Indeed, yes, I fear there is a deception¹ in store for him.”

“I suppose we might as well have lunch here before returning to London, or shall we lunch atsome more likely spot on our way back?”

“My dear Hastings, I am not proposing to leave Market Basing so quickly. We have not yetaccomplished that which we came to do.”

I stared.

“Do you mean—but, my dear fellow, that’s all a washout. The old lady is dead.”

“Exactly.”

The tone of that one word made me stare at him harder than ever. It was evident that he hadsome bee in his bonnet² over this incoherent letter.

“But if she’s dead, Poirot,” I said gently, “what’s the use? She can’t tell you anything now.

Whatever the trouble was, it’s over and finished with.”

“How lightly and easily you put the matter aside! Let me tell you that no matter is finished withuntil Hercule Poirot ceases to concern himself with it!”

I should have known from experience that to argue with Poirot is quite useless. Unwarily Iproceeded.

“But since she is dead—”

“Exactly, Hastings. Exactly—exactly—exactly… You keep repeating the significant point witha magnificently obtuse³ disregard of its significance. Do you not see the importance of the point?

Miss Arundell is dead.”

“But my dear Poirot, her death was perfectly⁴ natural and ordinary! There wasn’t anything oddor unexplained about it. We have old Gabler’s word for that.”

“We have his word that Littlegreen House is a bargain at ?2,850. Do you accept that as gospelalso?”

“No, indeed. It struck me that Gabler was all out to get the place sold—it probably needsmodernizing from top to toe. I’d swear he—or rather his client—will be willing to accept a verymuch lower figure than that. These large Georgian houses fronting right on the street must be thedevil to get rid of.”

“Eh bien, then,” said Poirot. “Do not say, ‘But Gabler says so!’ as though he were an inspiredprophet who could not lie.”

I was about to protest further, but at this minute we passed the threshold of the George and withan emphatic⁵ “Chut!” Poirot put a damper on further conversation.

We were directed to the coffee room, a room of fine proportions, tightly shut windows and anodour of stale food. An elderly waiter attended to us, a slow, heavy-breathing man. We appearedto be the only lunchers. We had some excellent mutton, large slabs⁷ of watery⁸ cabbage and somedispirited potatoes. Some rather tasteless stewed⁹ fruit and custard followed. After gorgonzola andbiscuits the waiter brought us two cups of a doubtful fluid called coffee.

At this point Poirot produced his orders to view and invited the waiter’s aid.

“Yes, sir. I know where most of these are. Hemel Down is three miles away—on the MuchBenham road—quite a little place. Naylor’s Farm is about a mile away. There’s a kind of lanegoes off to it not long after the King’s Head. Bisset Grange? No, I’ve never heard of that.

Littlegreen House is just close by, not more than a few minutes’ walk.”

“Ah, I think I have already seen it from the outside. That is the most possible one, I think. It isin good repair—yes?”

“Oh, yes, sir. It’s in good condition—roof and drains and all that. Old-fashioned, of course. It’snever been modernized¹⁰ in any way. The gardens are a picture. Very fond of her garden MissArundell was.”

“It belongs, I see, to a Miss Lawson.”

“That’s right, sir. Miss Lawson, she was Miss Arundell’s companion and when the old lady diedeverything was left to her—house and all.”

“Indeed? I suppose she had no relations to whom to leave it?”

“Well, it was not quite like that, sir. She had nieces and nephews living. But, of course, MissLawson was with her all the time. And, of course, she was an old lady and—well—that’s how itwas.”

“In any case I suppose there was just the house and not much money?”

I have often had occasion to notice how, where a direct question would fail to elicit¹¹ a response,a false assumption brings instant information in the form of a contradiction.

“Very far from that, sir. Very far indeed. Everyone was surprised at the amount the old lady left.

The will was in the paper and the amount and everything. It seems she hadn’t lived up to herincome for many a long year. Something like three or four hundred thousand pounds she left.”

“You astonish me,” cried Poirot. “It is like a fairy tale—eh? The poor companion suddenlybecomes unbelievably wealthy. Is she still young, this Miss Lawson? Can she enjoy her newfoundwealth?”

“Oh, no, sir, she’s a aged¹³" target="_blank">middle-aged¹² person, sir.”

His enunciation¹⁴ of the word person was quite an artistic¹⁵ performance. It was clear that MissLawson, ex-companion, had cut no kind of a figure in Market Basing.

“It must have been disappointing for the nephews and nieces,” mused¹⁶ Poirot.

“Yes, sir, I believe it came as somewhat of a shock to them. Very unexpected. There’s beenfeeling over it here in Market Basing. There are those who hold it isn’t right to leave things awayfrom your own flesh and blood. But, of course, there’s others as hold that everyone’s got a right todo as they like with their own. There’s something to be said for both points of view, of course.”

“Miss Arundell had lived for many years here, had she not?”

“Yes, sir. She and her sisters and old General Arundell, their father, before them. Not that Iremember him, naturally, but I believe he was quite a character. Was in the Indian Mutiny.”

“There were several daughters?”

“Three of them that I remember, and I believe there was one that married. Yes, Miss Matilda,Miss Agnes, and Miss Emily. Miss Matilda, she died first, and then Miss Agnes, and finally MissEmily.”

“That was quite recently?”

“Beginning of May—or it may have been the end of April.”

“Had she been ill some time?”

“On and off—on and off. She was on the sickly side. Nearly went off a year ago with that therejaundice. Yellow as an orange she was for sometime after. Yes, she’d had poor health for the lastfive years of her life.”

“I suppose you have some good doctors down here?”

“Well, there’s Dr. Grainger. Been here close on forty years, he has, and folks mostly go to him.

He’s a bit crotchety and he has his fancies but he’s a good doctor, none better. He’s got a youngpartner, Dr. Donaldson. He’s more the newfangled kind. Some folk prefer him. Then, of course,there’s Dr. Harding, but he doesn’t do much.”

“Dr. Grainger was Miss Arundell’s doctor, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes. He’s pulled her through many a bad turn. He’s the kind that fair bullies¹⁷ you into livingwhether you want to or not.”

Poirot nodded.

“One should learn a little about a place before one comes to settle in it,” he remarked. “A gooddoctor is one of the most important people.”

“That’s very true, sir.”

Poirot then asked for his bill to which he added a substantial tip.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you very much, sir. I’m sure I hope you’ll settle here, sir.”

“I hope so, too,” said Poirot mendaciously¹⁸.

We set forth¹⁹ from the George.

“Satisfied yet, Poirot?” I asked as we emerged into the street.

“Not in the least, my friend.”

He turned in an unexpected direction.

“Where are you off to now, Poirot?”

“The church, my friend. It may be interesting. Some brasses—an old monument.” I shook myhead doubtfully.

Poirot’s scrutiny²⁰ of the interior of the church was brief. Though an attractive specimen²¹ of whatthe guidebook calls Early Perp., it had been so conscientiously²² restored in Victorian vandal daysthat little of interest remained.

Poirot next wandered seemingly aimlessly about the churchyard reading some of the epitaphs,commenting on the number of deaths in certain families, occasionally exclaiming over thequaintness of a name.

I was not surprised, however, when he finally halted before what I was pretty sure had been hisobjective from the beginning:

An imposing²³ marble slab⁶ bore a partly effaced²⁴ inscription²⁵:

SACRED

TO THE MEMORY OF

JOHN LAVERTON ARUNDELL

GENERAL 24TH SIKHS

WHO FELL ASLEEP IN CHRIST MAY 19TH 1888

AGED 69

“FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT WITH ALL THY MIGHT”

ALSO OF

MATILDA ANN ARUNDELL

DIED MARCH 10TH 1912

“I WILL ARISE AND GO TO MY FATHER”

ALSO OF

AGNES GEORGINA MARY ARUNDELL

DIED NOVEMBER 20TH 1921

“ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE”

Then came a brand new piece of lettering, evidently just done:

ALSO OF

EMILY HARRIET LAVERTON ARUNDELL DIED MAY 1ST 1936“THY WILL BE DONE”

Poirot stood looking for some time.

He murmured softly:

“May 1st… May 1st… And today, June 28th, I receive her letter. You see, do you not, Hastings,that that fact has got to be explained?”

I saw that it had.

That is to say, I saw that Poirot was determined²⁶ that it should be explained.

 

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