Sixteen

MRS. TANIOS

“Gentleman to see you, madame.”

The woman who was sitting writing at one of the tables in the writing room of the DurhamHotel turned her head and then rose, coming towards us uncertainly.

Mrs. Tanios might have been any age over thirty. She was a tall, thin woman with dark hair,rather prominent light “boiled gooseberry” eyes and a worried face. A fashionable hat was perchedon her head at an unfashionable angle and she wore a rather depressed-looking cotton frock.

“I don’t think—” she began vaguely¹.

Poirot bowed.

“I have just come from your cousin, Miss Theresa Arundell.”

“Oh! from Theresa? Yes?”

“Perhaps I could have a few minutes’ private conversation?”

Mrs. Tanios looked about her rather vacantly. Poirot suggested a leather sofa at the far end ofthe room.

As we made our way there a high voice squeaked² out:

“Mother, where are you going?”

“I shall be just over there. Go on with your letter, darling.”

The child, a thin, peaky-looking girl of about seven, settled down again to what was evidently alaborious task. Her tongue showed through her parted lips in the effort of composition.

The far end of the room was quite deserted³. Mrs. Tanios sat down, we did the same. She lookedinquiringly at Poirot.

He began:

“It is in reference to the death of your aunt, the late Miss Emily Arundell.”

Was I beginning to fancy things, or did a look of alarm spring up suddenly in those pale,prominent eyes.

“Yes?”

“Miss Arundell,” said Poirot, “altered her will a very short time before she died. By the newwill everything was left to Miss Wilhelmina Lawson. What I want to know, Mrs. Tanios, iswhether you will join with your cousins, Miss Theresa and Mr. Charles Arundell, in trying tocontest that will?”

“Oh!” Mrs. Tanios drew a deep breath. “But I don’t think that’s possible, is it? I mean, myhusband consulted a lawyer and he seemed to think that it was better not to attempt it.”

“Lawyers, madame, are cautious people. Their advice is usually to avoid litigation at all costs—and no doubt they are usually right. But there are times when it pays to take a risk. I am not alawyer myself and therefore I look at the matter differently. Miss Arundell — Miss TheresaArundell, I mean—is prepared to fight. What about you?”

“I—Oh! I really don’t know.” She twisted her fingers nervously⁴ together: “I should have toconsult my husband.”

“Certainly, you must consult your husband before anything definite is undertaken. But what isyour own feeling in the matter?”

“Well, really, I don’t know.” Mrs. Tanios looked more worried than ever. “It depends so muchon my husband.”

“But you yourself, what do you think, madame?”

Mrs. Tanios frowned, then she said slowly:

“I don’t think I like the idea very much. It seems—it seems rather indecent, doesn’t it?”

“Does it, madame?”

“Yes—after all if Aunt Emily chose to leave her money away from her family, I suppose wemust put up with it.”

“You do not feel aggrieved⁵ in the matter, then?”

“Oh, yes, I do.” A quick flush showed in her cheeks. “I think it was most unfair! Most unfair!

And so unexpected. It was so unlike Aunt Emily. And so very unfair on the children.”

“You think it is very unlike Miss Emily Arundell?”

“I think it was extraordinary of her!”

“Then isn’t it possible that she was not acting⁶ of her own free will? Don’t you think that perhapsshe was being unduly⁷ influenced?”

Mrs. Tanios frowned again. Then she said almost unwillingly⁸:

“The difficult thing is that I can’t see Aunt Emily being influenced by anybody! She was such adecided old lady.”

Poirot nodded approvingly.

“Yes, what you say is true. And Miss Lawson is hardly what one would describe as a strongcharacter.”

“No, she’s a nice creature really—rather foolish, perhaps—but very, very kind. That’s partlywhy I feel—”

“Yes, madame?” said Poirot as she paused.

Mrs. Tanios twisted her fingers nervously again as she answered:

“Well, that it would be mean to try and upset the will. I feel certain that it wasn’t in any wayMiss Lawson’s doing—I’m sure she’d be quite incapable⁹ of scheming and intriguing—”

“Again, I agree with you, madame.”

“And that’s why I feel that to go to law would be—well, would be undignified and spiteful, andbesides it would be very expensive, wouldn’t it?”

“It would be expensive, yes.”

“And probably useless, too. But you must speak to my husband about it. He’s got a much betterhead for business than I have.”

Poirot waited a minute or two, then he said:

“What reason do you think lay behind the making of that will?”

A quick colour rose in Mrs. Tanios’ cheeks as she murmured:

“I haven’t the least idea.”

“Madame, I have told you I am not a lawyer. But you have not asked me what my professionis.”

She looked at him inquiringly.

“I am a detective. And, a short time before she died, Miss Emily Arundell wrote me a letter.”

Mrs. Tanios leaned forward, her hands pressed themselves together.

“A letter?” she asked, abruptly¹⁰. “About my husband?”

Poirot watched her for a minute or two, then he said, slowly:

“I am afraid I am not at liberty to answer that question.”

“Then it was about my husband.” Her voice rose slightly. “What did she say? I can assure you,Mr.—er—I don’t know your name.”

“Poirot is my name. Hercule Poirot.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Poirot, that if anything was said in that letter against my husband, it wasentirely untrue! I know, too, who will have inspired that letter! And that is another reason why Iwould rather have nothing to do with any action undertaken by Theresa and Charles! Theresa hasnever liked my husband. She has said things! I know she has said things! Aunt Emily wasprejudiced against my husband because he was not an Englishman, and she may therefore havebelieved things that Theresa said about him. But they are not true, Mr. Poirot, you can take myword for that!”

“Mother—I’ve finished my letter.”

Mrs. Tanios turned quickly. With an affectionate smile she took the letter the little girl held outto her.

“That’s very nice, darling, very nice, indeed. And that’s a beautiful drawing of Mickey Mouse.”

“What shall I do now, Mother?”

“Would you like to get a nice postcard with a picture on it? Here’s the money. You go to thegentleman in the hall and choose one and then you can send it to Selim.”

The child moved away. I remembered what Charles Arundell had said. Mrs. Tanios wasevidently a devoted¹¹ wife and mother. She was also, as he had said, a little like an earwig.

“That is your only child, madame?”

“No, I have a little boy also. He is out with his father at the moment.”

“They did not accompany you to Littlegreen House on your visits?”

“Oh yes, sometimes, but you see, my aunt was rather old and children were inclined to worryher. But she was very kind and always sent them out nice presents at Christmas.”

“Let me see, when did you last see Miss Emily Arundell?”

“I think it was about ten days before she died.”

“You and your husband and your two cousins were all down there together, were you not?”

“Oh, no, that was the weekend before—at Easter.”

“And you and your husband were down there the weekend after Easter as well?”

“Yes.”

“And Miss Arundell was in good health and spirits then?”

“Yes, she seemed much as usual.”

“She was not ill in bed?”

“She was laid up with a fall she had had, but she came downstairs again while we were there.”

“Did she say anything to you about having made a new will?”

“No, nothing at all.”

“And her manner to you was quite unchanged?”

A slightly longer pause this time before Mrs. Tanios said:

“Yes.”

I feel sure that at that moment Poirot and I had the same conviction.

Mrs. Tanios was lying!

Poirot paused a minute and then said:

“Perhaps I should explain that when I asked if Miss Arundell’s manner to you was unchanged, Iwas not using the ‘you’ plural¹². I referred to you personally.”

Mrs. Tanios replied quickly.

“Oh! I see. Aunt Emily was very nice to me. She gave me a little pearl and diamond brooch andshe sent ten shillings to each of the children.”

There was no constraint¹³ in her manner now. The words came freely with a rush.

“And as regards your husband—was there no change in her manner to him?”

The constraint had returned. Mrs. Tanios did not meet Poirot’s eye as she replied:

“No, of course not—why should there be?”

“But since you suggest that your cousin Theresa Arundell might have tried to poison youraunt’s mind—”

“She did! I’m sure she did!” Mrs. Tanios leant forward eagerly. “You are quite right. There wasa change! Aunt Emily was suddenly far more distant to him. And she behaved very oddly. Therewas a special digestive mixture he recommended—even went to the trouble of getting her some—going to the chemist and having it made up. She thanked him and all that—but rather stiffly, andlater I actually saw her pouring the bottle down the sink!”

Her indignation was quite fierce.

Poirot’s eyes flickered¹⁴.

“A very odd procedure,” he said. His voice was carefully unexcited.

“I thought it most ungrateful,” said Dr. Tanios’ wife hotly.

“As you say, elderly ladies distrust foreigners sometimes,” said Poirot. “I am sure they thinkthat English doctors are the only doctors in the world. Insularity¹⁵ accounts for a lot.”

“Yes, I suppose it does.” Mrs. Tanios looked slightly mollified.

“When do you return to Smyrna, madame?”

“In a few weeks’ time. My husband—ah! here is my husband and Edward with him.”

 

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