Twenty

SECOND VISIT TO LITTLEGREEN HOUSE

On our way from Harchester to Market Basing, a matter of some ten miles, we discussed thesituation.

“Have you any grounds at all, Poirot, for that suggestion you threw out?”

“You mean that Miss Arundell may have believed that that particular will was destroyed? No,mon ami—frankly, no. But it was incumbent¹ upon me—you must perceive that—to make somesort of suggestion! Mr. Purvis is a shrewd man. Unless I threw out some hint of the kind I did, hewould ask himself what I could be doing in this affair.”

“Do you know what you remind me of, Poirot?” I said.

“No, mon ami.”

“Of a juggler² juggling³ with a lot of different coloured balls! They are all in the air at once.”

“The different coloured balls are the different lies I tell—eh?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“And some day, you think, there will come the grand crash?”

“You can’t keep it up forever,” I pointed⁴ out.

“That is true. There will come the grand moment when I catch the balls one by one, make mybow, and walk off the stage.”

“To the sound of thunderous applause from the audience.”

Poirot looked at me rather suspiciously.

“That well may be, yes.”

“We didn’t learn very much from Mr. Purvis,” I remarked, edging away from the danger point.

“No, except that it confirmed our general ideas.”

“And it confirmed Miss Lawson’s statement that she knew nothing about the will until after theold lady’s death.”

“Me, I do not see that it confirmed anything of the sort.”

“Purvis advised Miss Arundell not to tell her, and Miss Arundell replied that she had nointention of doing so.”

“Yes, that is all very nice and clear. But there are keyholes, my friend, and keys that unlocklocked drawers.”

“Do you really think that Miss Lawson would eavesdrop⁵ and poke⁶ and pry⁷ around?” I askedrather shocked.

Poirot smiled.

“Miss Lawson—she is not an old school tie, mon cher. We know that she overheard oneconversation which she was not supposed to have heard—I refer to the one in which Charles andhis aunt discussed the question of bumping off miserly relatives.”

I admitted the truth of that.

“So you see, Hastings, she may easily have overheard some of the conversation between Mr.

Purvis and Miss Arundell. He has a good resonant⁸ voice.”

“As for poking⁹ and prying,” went on Poirot. “More people do it than you would suppose. Timidand easily frightened people such as Miss Lawson often acquire a number of mildly dishonourablehabits which are a great solace¹⁰ and recreation to them.”

“Really, Poirot!” I protested.

He nodded his head a good many times.

“But yes, it is so, it is so.”

We arrived at the George and took a couple of rooms. Then we strolled off in the direction ofLittlegreen House.

When we rang the bell, Bob immediately answered the challenge. Dashing across the hall,barking furiously, he flung himself against the front door.

“I’ll have your liver and your lights!” he snarled¹¹. “I’ll tear you limb from limb! I’ll teach you totry and get into this house! Just wait until I get my teeth into you.”

A soothing¹² murmur¹³ added itself to the clamour.

“Now then, boy. Now then, there’s a good doggie. Come in here.”

Bob, dragged by the collar, was immured¹⁴ in the morning room much against his will.

“Always spoiling a fellow’s sport,” he grumbled¹⁵. “First chance I’ve had of giving anyone areally good fright for ever so long. Just aching to get my teeth into a trouser leg. You be careful ofyourself without me to protect you.”

The door of the morning room was shut on him, and Ellen drew back bolts and bars and openedthe front door.

“Oh, it’s you, sir,” she exclaimed.

She drew the door right back. A look of highly pleasurable excitement spread over her face.

“Come in, sir, if you please, sir.”

We entered the hall. From beneath the door on the left, loud snuffling sounds proceeded,interspersed with growls¹⁶. Bob was endeavouring to “place” us correctly.

“You can let him out,” I suggested.

“I will, sir. He’s quite all right, really, but he makes such a noise and rushes at people so itfrightens them. He’s a splendid watchdog though.”

She opened the morning room door, and Bob shot through like a suddenly projected cannonball.

“Who is it? Where are they? Oh, there you are. Dear me, don’t I seem to remember—” sniff¹⁷—sniff—sniff—prolonged snort. “Of course! We have met!”

“Hullo, old man,” I said. “How goes it?”

Bob wagged his tail perfunctorily.

“Nicely, thank you. Let me just see—” he resumed his researches. “Been talking to a spaniellately, I smell. Foolish dogs, I think. What’s this? A cat? That is interesting. Wish we had her here.

We’d have rare sport. H’m—not a bad bull terrier.”

Having correctly diagnosed a visit I had lately paid to some doggy friends, he transferred hisattention to Poirot, inhaled¹⁸ a noseful of benzine and walked away reproachfully.

“Bob,” I called.

He threw me a look over his shoulder.

“It’s all right. I know what I’m doing. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“The house is all shut up. I hope you’ll excuse—” Ellen hurried into the morning room andbegan to unfasten the shutters¹⁹.

“Excellent, this is excellent,” said Poirot, following her in and sitting down. As I was about tojoin him, Bob reappeared from some mysterious region, ball in mouth. He dashed up the stairs andsprawled himself on the top step, his ball between his paws. His tail wagged slowly.

“Come on,” he said. “Come on. Let’s have a game.”

My interest in detection momentarily eclipsed, we played for some minutes, then with a feelingof guilt²⁰ I hurried into the morning room.

Poirot and Ellen seemed to be well away on the subject of illness and medicines.

“Some little white pills, sir, that’s all she used to take. Two or three after every meal. That wasDr. Grainger’s orders. Oh, yes, she was very good about it. Tiny little things they were. And thenthere was some stuff Miss Lawson swore by. Capsules, they were, Dr. Loughbarrow’s LiverCapsules. You can see advertisements of them on all the hoardings.”

“She took those too?”

“Yes. Miss Lawson got her them to begin with, and she thought they did her good.”

“Did Dr. Grainger know?”

“Oh, sir, he didn’t mind. ‘You take ’em if you think they do you good,’ he’d say to her. And shesaid, ‘Well, you may laugh, but they do do me good. A lot better than any of your physic.’ AndDr. Grainger, he laughed, and said faith was worth all the drugs ever invented.”

“She didn’t take anything else?”

“No. Miss Bella’s husband, the foreign doctor, he went out and got her a bottle of something,but although she thanked him very politely she poured it away and that I know for a fact! And Ithink she was right. You don’t know where you are with these foreign things.”

“Mrs. Tanios saw her pouring it away, didn’t she?”

“Yes, and I’m afraid she was rather hurt about it, poor lady. I’m sorry, too, for no doubt it waskindly meant on the doctor’s part.”

“No doubt. No doubt. I suppose any medicines that were left in the house were thrown awaywhen Miss Arundell died?”

Ellen looked a little surprised at the question.

“Oh, yes, sir. The nurse threw away some and Miss Lawson got rid of all the old lot in themedicine cupboard in the bathroom.”

“Is that where the—er—Dr. Loughbarrow’s Liver Capsules were kept?”

“No, they were kept in the corner cupboard in the dining room so as to be handy for taking aftermeals as directed.”

“What nurse attended Miss Arundell? Can you give me her name and address?”

Ellen could supply that at once and did.

Poirot continued to ask questions about Miss Arundell’s last illness.

Ellen gave details with relish²¹, describing the sickness, the pain, the onset²² of jaundice, and thefinal delirium²³. I don’t know whether Poirot got any satisfaction out of the catalogue. He listenedpatiently enough and occasionally interpolated some pertinent²⁴ little question, usually about MissLawson and the amount of time she spent in the sickroom. He was also exceedingly interested inthe diet administered to the ill woman, comparing it with that administered to some dead relative(nonexistent) of his own.

Seeing that they were enjoying themselves so much, I stole out in the hall again. Bob had goneto sleep on the landing, his ball lying under his chin.

I whistled to him and he sprang up, alert at once. This time, however, doubtless out of offendeddignity, he made a protracted²⁵ business of despatching the ball down to me, several times catchingit back at the last minute.

“Disappointed, aren’t you? Well, perhaps I will let you have it this time.”

When I next went back to the morning room, Poirot was talking about Dr. Tanios’ surprise visiton the Sunday before the old lady’s death.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Charles and Miss Theresa were out for a walk. Dr. Tanios wasn’t expected, Iknow. The mistress was lying down and she was very surprised when I told her who it was. ‘Dr.

Tanios?’ she said. ‘Is Mrs. Tanios with him?’ I told her no, the gentleman had come alone. So shesaid to tell him she’d be down in a minute.”

“Did he stay long?”

“Not above an hour, sir. He didn’t look too pleased when he went away.”

“Have you any idea of the—er—purpose of his visit?”

“I couldn’t say, I’m sure, sir.”

“You did not happen to hear anything?”

Ellen’s face flushed suddenly.

“No, I did not, sir! I’ve never been one to listen at doors, no matter what some people will do—and people who ought to know better!”

“Oh, but you misunderstand me.” Poirot was eager, apologetic. “It just occurred to me thatperhaps you might have brought in tea while the gentleman was there and if so, you could hardlyhave helped hearing what he and your mistress were talking about.”

Ellen was mollified.

“I’m sorry, sir, I misunderstood you. No, Dr. Tanios didn’t stay for tea.”

Poirot looked up at her and twinkled a little.

“And if I want to know what he came down for—well, it is possible that Miss Lawson might bein a position to know? Is that it?”

“Well, if she doesn’t know, sir, nobody does,” said Ellen with a sniff.

“Let me see,” Poirot frowned as though trying to remember. “Miss Lawson’s bedroom—was itnext to Miss Arundell’s?”

“No, sir. Miss Lawson’s room is right at the top of the staircase. I can show you, sir.”

Poirot accepted the offer. As he went up the stairs he kept close to the wall side, and just as hereached the top uttered an exclamation²⁶ and stooped to his trouser leg.

“Ah—I have just caught a thread—ah, yes, there is a nail here in the skirting board.”

“Yes, there is, sir. I think it must have worked loose or something. I’ve caught my dress on itonce or twice.”

“Has it been like that long?”

“Well, some time, I’m afraid, sir. I noticed it first when the mistress was laid up—after heraccident, that was, sir—I tried to pull it out but I couldn’t.”

“It had a thread round it sometime, I think.”

“That’s right, sir, there was a little loop of thread, I remember. I can’t think what for, I’m sure.”

But there was no suspicion in Ellen’s voice. To her it was just one of the things that occur inhouses and which one does not bother to explain!

Poirot had stepped into the room at the top of the stairs. It was of moderate size. There were twowindows directly facing us. There was a dressing²⁷ table across one corner and between thewindows was a wardrobe with a long mirror. The bed was to the right behind the door facing thewindows. On the left-hand wall of the room was a big mahogany chest of drawers and a marble-topped washstand.

Poirot looked round the room thoughtfully and then came out again on the landing. He wentalong the passage, passing two other bedrooms and then came to the large bedchamber which hadbelonged to Emily Arundell.

“The nurse had the little room next door,” Ellen explained.

Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

As we descended²⁸ the stairs, he asked if he might walk round the garden.

“Oh, yes, sir, certainly. It looks lovely just now.”

“The gardener is still employed?”

“Angus? Oh, yes, Angus is still here. Miss Lawson wants everything kept nice because shethinks it will sell better that way.”

“I think she is wise. To let a place run to seed is not the good policy.”

The garden was very peaceful and beautiful. The wide borders were full of lupins anddelphiniums and great scarlet²⁹ poppies. The peonies were in bud. Wandering along we camepresently to a potting shed where a big, rugged³⁰ old man was busy. He saluted³¹ us respectfully andPoirot engaged him in conversation.

A mention that we had seen Mr. Charles that day thawed³² the old man and he became quitegarrulous.

“Always a one, he was! I’ve known him come out here with half a gooseberry pie and the cookhunting high and low for it! And he’d go back with such an innocent face that durned if theywouldn’t say it must have been the cat, though I’ve never known a cat eat a gooseberry pie! Oh,he’s a one, Mr. Charles is!”

“He was down here in April, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, down here two weekends. Just before the missus died, it was.”

“Did you see much of him?”

“A good bit, I did. There wasn’t much for a young gentleman to do down here, and that’s a fact.

Used to stroll up to the George and have one. And then he’d potter round here, asking mequestions about one thing and another.”

“About flowers?”

“Yes—flowers—and weeds too.” The old man chuckled³³.

“Weeds?”

Poirot’s voice held a sudden, tentative note. He turned his head and looked searchingly alongthe shelves. His eye stopped at a tin.

“Perhaps he wanted to know how you got rid of them?”

“He did that!”

“I suppose this is the stuff you use.”

Poirot turned the tin gently round and read the label.

“That’s it,” said Angus. “Very handy stuff it is.”

“Dangerous stuff?”

“Not if you use it right. It’s arsenic³⁴, of course. Had a bit of a joke about that, Mr. Charles and Idid. Said as how when he had a wife and didn’t like her, he’d come to me and get a little of thatstuff to put her away with! Maybe, I sez, she’ll be the one that wants to do away with you! Ah, thatmade him laugh proper, that did! It was a good one, that!”

We laughed as in duty bound. Poirot prised up the lid of the tin.

“Nearly empty,” he murmured.

The old man had a look.

“Aye, there’s more gone than I thought. No idea I’d used that much. I’ll be having to ordersome more.”

“Yes,” said Poirot smiling. “I’m afraid there’s hardly enough for you to spare me some for mywife!”

We all had another good laugh over this witticism³⁵.

“You’re not married, I take it, mister?”

“No.”

“Ah! it’s always them as isn’t that can afford to joke about it. Those that isn’t don’t know whattrouble is!”

“I gather that your wife—?” Poirot paused delicately.

“She’s alive all right—very much so.”

Angus seemed a little depressed³⁶ about it.

Complimenting him on his garden, we bade him farewell.

 

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