Twenty-two

THE WOMAN ON THE STAIRS

On the following morning a note arrived by hand. It was in a rather weak, uncertain handwritingslanting very much uphill.

Dear M. Poirot,

I hear from Ellen that you were at Littlegreen House yesterday. I shall be muchobliged if you would call and see me sometime today.

Yours truly,

Wilhelmina Lawson.

“So she’s down here,” I remarked.

“Yes.”

“Why has she come, I wonder?”

Poirot smiled.

“I do not suppose there is any sinister¹ reason. After all, the house belongs to her.”

“Yes, that’s true, of course. You know, Poirot, that’s the worst of this game of ours. Everysingle little thing that anyone does is open to the most sinister constructions.”

“It is true that I myself have enjoined² upon you the motto, ‘suspect everyone.’”

“Are you still in that state yourself?”

“No—for me it has boiled down to this. I suspect one particular person.”

“Which one?”

“Since, at the moment, it is only suspicion and there is no definite proof, I think I must leaveyou to draw your own deductions³, Hastings. And do not neglect the psychology⁴ — that isimportant. The character of the murder — implying as it does a certain temperament⁵ in themurderer—that is an essential clue to the crime.”

“I can’t consider the character of the murderer if I don’t know who the murderer is!”

“No, no, you have not paid attention to what I have just said. If you reflect sufficiently⁶ on thecharacter—the necessary character of the murder—then you will realize who the murderer is!”

“Do you really know, Poirot?” I asked, curiously⁷.

“I cannot say I know because I have no proofs. That is why I cannot say more at the present. ButI am quite sure—yes, my friend, in my own mind I am very sure.”

“Well,” I said, laughing, “mind he doesn’t get you! That would be a tragedy!”

Poirot started a little. He did not take the matter as a joke. Instead he murmured: “You are right.

I must be careful—extremely careful.”

“You ought to wear a coat of chain mail,” I said, chaffingly. “And employ a taster in case ofpoison! In fact, you ought to have a regular band of gunmen to protect you!”

“Merci, Hastings, I shall rely on my wits.”

He then wrote a note to Miss Lawson saying that he would call at Littlegreen House at eleveno’clock.

After that we breakfasted and then strolled out into the Square. It was about a quarter past tenand a hot sleepy morning.

I was looking into the window of the antique shop at a very nice set of Hepplewhite chairs whenI received a highly painful lunge in the ribs⁸, and a sharp, penetrating⁹ voice said: “Hi!”

I spun¹⁰ round indignantly to find myself face to face with Miss Peabody. In her hand (theinstrument of her assault upon me) was a large and powerful umbrella with a spiked¹¹ point.

Apparently¹² completely callous¹³ to the severe pain she had inflicted¹⁴, she observed in a satisfiedvoice:

“Ha! Thought it was you. Don’t often make a mistake.”

I said rather coldly:

“Er—Good morning. Can I do anything for you?”

“You can tell me how that friend of yours is getting on with his book — Life of GeneralArundell?”

“He hasn’t actually started to write it yet,” I said.

Miss Peabody indulged in a little silent but apparently satisfying laughter. She shook like ajelly. Recovering from that attack, she remarked:

“No, I don’t suppose he will be starting to write it.”

I said, smiling:

“So you saw through our little fiction?”

“What d’you take me for—a fool?” asked Miss Peabody. “I saw soon enough what your downyfriend was after! Wanted me to talk! Well, I didn’t mind. I like talking. Hard to get anyone tolisten nowadays. Quite enjoyed myself that afternoon.”

She cocked a shrewd eye at me.

“What’s it all about, eh? What’s it all about?”

I was hesitating what exactly to reply when Poirot joined us. He bowed with empressement toMiss Peabody.

“Good morning, mademoiselle. Enchanted¹⁵ to encounter you.”

“Good mornin’,” said Miss Peabody. “What are you this morning, Parotti or Poirot—eh?”

“It was very clever of you to pierce my disguise so rapidly,” said Poirot, smiling.

“Wasn’t much disguise to pierce! Not many like you about, are there? Don’t know if that’s agood thing or a bad one. Difficult to say.”

“I prefer, mademoiselle, to be unique.”

“You’ve got your wish, I should say,” said Miss Peabody, drily. “Now then, Mr. Poirot, I gaveyou all the gossip you wanted the other day. Now it’s my turn to ask questions. What’s it allabout? Eh? What’s it all about?”

“Are you not asking a question to which you already know the answer?”

“I wonder.” She shot a glance at him. “Something fishy¹⁷ about that will? Or is it something else?

Going to dig Emily up? Is that it?”

Poirot did not answer.

Miss Peabody nodded her head slowly and thoughtfully as though she had received a reply.

“Often wondered,” she said inconsequently, “what it would feel like… Readin’ the papers, youknow—wondered if anyone would ever be dug up in Market Basing… Didn’t think it would beEmily Arundell….”

She gave him a sudden, piercing look.

“She wouldn’t have liked it, you know. I suppose you’ve thought of that—hey?”

“Yes, I have thought of it.”

“I suppose you would do—you’re not a fool! Don’t think you’re particularly officious either.”

Poirot bowed.

“Thank you, mademoiselle.”

“And that’s more than most people would say—looking at your moustache. Why d’you have amoustache like that? D’you like it?”

I turned away convulsed with laughter.

“In England the cult¹⁶ of the moustache is lamentably¹⁸ neglected,” said Poirot. His handsurreptitiously caressed¹⁹ the hirsute²⁰ adornment²¹.

“Oh, I see! Funny,” said Miss Peabody. “Knew a woman who once had a goitre and was proudof it! Wouldn’t believe that, but it’s true! Well, what I say is, it’s lucky when you’re pleased withwhat the Lord has given you. It’s usually the other way about.” She shook her head and sighed.

“Never thought there would be a murder in this out of the world spot.” Again she shot a sudden,piercing look at Poirot. “Which of ’em did it?”

“Am I to shout that to you here in the street?”

“Probably means you don’t know. or do you? Oh, well—bad blood—bad blood. I’d like toknow whether that Varley woman poisoned her husband or not. Makes a difference.”

“You believe in heredity?”

Miss Peabody said, suddenly:

“I’d rather it was Tanios. An outsider! But wishes ain’t horses, worse luck. Well, I’ll be gettingalong. I can see you’re not goin’ to tell me anything… Who are you actin’ for, by the way?”

Poirot said, gravely:

“I am acting²² for the dead, mademoiselle.”

I am sorry to say that Miss Peabody received this remark with a sudden shriek²³ of laughter.

Quickly subduing²⁴ her mind she said:

“Excuse me. It sounded like Isabel Tripp—that’s all! What an awful woman! Julia’s worse, Ithink. So painfully girlish. Never did like mutton dressed lamb fashion. Well, good-bye. Seen Dr.

Grainger at all?”

“Mademoiselle, I have the bone to pick with you. You betrayed my secret.”

Miss Peabody indulged in her peculiar²⁵ throaty chuckle²⁶.

“Men are simple! He’d swallowed that preposterous²⁷ tissue of lies you told him. Wasn’t he madwhen I told him? Went away snorting with rage! He’s looking for you.”

“He found me last night.”

“Oh! I wish I’d been there.”

“I wish you had, mademoiselle,” said Poirot gallantly²⁸.

Miss Peabody laughed and prepared to waddle²⁹ away. She addressed me over her shoulder.

“Good-bye, young man. Don’t go buying those chairs. They’re a fake.”

She moved off, chuckling³⁰.

“That,” said Poirot, “is a very clever old woman.”

“Even although she did not admire your moustaches?”

“Taste is one thing,” said Poirot coldly. “Brains are another.”

We passed into the shop and spent a pleasant twenty minutes looking round. We emergedunscathed in pocket and proceeded in the direction of Littlegreen House.

Ellen, rather redder in the face than usual, admitted us and showed us into the drawing room.

Presently footsteps were heard descending³¹ the stairs and Miss Lawson came in. She seemedsomewhat out of breath and flustered³². Her hair was pinned up in a silk handkerchief.

“I hope you’ll excuse my coming in like this, M. Poirot. I’ve been going through some locked-up cupboards—so many things—old people are inclined to hoard³³ a little, I’m afraid—dear MissArundell was no exception—and one gets so much dust in one’s hair—astonishing, you know, thethings people collect—if you can believe me, two dozen needlebooks—actually, two dozen.”

“You mean that Miss Arundell had bought two dozen needlebooks?”

“Yes, and put them away and forgot about them—and, of course, now the needles are all rusty—such a pity. She used to give them to the maids as Christmas presents.”

“She was very forgetful—yes?”

“Oh, very. Especially in the way of putting things away. Like a dog with a bone, you know.

That’s what we used to call it between us. ‘Now don’t go and dog and bone it,’ I used to say toher.”

She laughed and then producing a small handkerchief from her pocket suddenly began to sniff³⁴.

“Oh, dear,” she said tearfully. “It seems so dreadful of me to be laughing here.”

“You have too much sensibility,” said Poirot. “You feel things too much.”

“That’s what my mother always used to say to me, M. Poirot. ‘You take things to heart toomuch, Minnie,’ she used to say. It’s a great drawback, M. Poirot, to be so sensitive. Especiallywhen one has one’s living to get.”

“Ah, yes, indeed, but that is all a thing of the past. You are now your own mistress. You canenjoy yourself—travel—you have absolutely no worries or anxieties.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Miss Lawson, rather doubtfully.

“Assuredly it is true. Now talking of Miss Arundell’s forgetfulness I see how it was that herletter to me never reached me for so long a time.”

He explained the circumstances of the finding of the letter. A red spot showed in Miss Lawson’scheek. She said sharply:

“Ellen should have told me! To send that letter off to you without a word was greatimpertinence! She should have consulted me first. Great impertinence, I call it! Not one word did Ihear about the whole thing. Disgraceful!”

“Oh, my dear lady, I am sure it was done in all good faith.”

“Well, I think it was very peculiar myself! Very peculiar! Servants really do the oddest things.

Ellen should have remembered that I am the mistress of the house now.”

She drew herself up, importantly.

“Ellen was very devoted³⁵ to her mistress, was she not?” said Poirot.

“Oh, I agree that it’s no good making a fuss after things have happened, but all the same I thinkEllen ought to be told that she mustn’t take it upon herself to do things without asking first!” Shestopped, a red spot on each cheekbone.

Poirot was silent for a minute, then he said:

“You wanted to see me today? In what way can I be of service to you?”

Miss Lawson’s annoyance³⁶ subsided³⁷ as promptly³⁸ as it had arisen. She began to be flustered andincoherent again.

“Well, really—you see, I just wondered… Well, to tell the truth, M. Poirot, I arrived down hereyesterday and, of course, Ellen told me you had been here, and I just wondered—well, as youhadn’t mentioned to me that you were coming—Well, it seemed rather odd—that I couldn’t see—”

“You couldn’t see what I was doing down here?” Poirot finished for her.

“I—well—no, that’s exactly it. I couldn’t.”

She looked at him, flushed but inquiring.

“I must make a little confession³⁹ to you,” said Poirot. “I have permitted you to remain under amisapprehension, I am afraid. You assumed that the letter I received from Miss Arundellconcerned itself with the question of a small sum of money, abstracted by—in all possibility—Mr.

Charles Arundell.”

Miss Lawson nodded.

“But that, you see, was not the case… In fact, the first I heard of the stolen money was fromyou… Miss Arundell wrote to me on the subject of her accident.”

“Her accident?”

“Yes, she had a fall down the stairs, I understand.”

“Oh, quite—quite—” Miss Lawson looked bewildered. She stared vacantly at Poirot. She wenton. “But—I’m sorry—I’m sure it’s very stupid of me—but why should she write to you? Iunderstand—in fact, I think you said so—that you are a detective. You’re not a—a doctor, too? Ora faith healer, perhaps?”

“No, I am not a doctor—nor a faith healer. But, like the doctor, I concern myself sometimeswith so-called accidental deaths.”

“With accidental deaths?”

“With so-called accidental deaths, I said. It is true that Miss Arundell did not die—but shemight have died!”

“Oh, dear me, yes, the doctor said so, but I don’t understand—”

Miss Lawson sounded still bewildered.

“The cause of the accident was supposed to be the ball of the little Bob, was it not?”

“Yes, yes, that was it. It was Bob’s ball.”

“Oh, no, it was not Bob’s ball.”

“But, excuse me, M. Poirot, I saw it there myself—as we all ran down.”

“You saw it—yes, perhaps. But it was not the cause of the accident. The cause of the accident,Miss Lawson, was a dark-coloured thread stretched about a foot above the top of the stairs!”

“But—but a dog couldn’t—”

“Exactly,” said Poirot quickly. “A dog could not do that—he is not sufficiently intelligent—or,if you like, he is not sufficiently evil…A human being put that thread in position….”

Miss Lawson’s face had gone deadly white. She raised a shaking hand to her face.

“Oh, M. Poirot—I can’t believe it—you don’t mean—but that is awful—really awful. Youmean it was done on purpose?”

“Yes, it was done on purpose.”

“But that’s dreadful. It’s almost like—like killing⁴⁰ a person.”

“If it had succeeded it would have been killing a person! In other words—it would have beenmurder!”

Miss Lawson gave a little shrill⁴¹ cry.

Poirot went on in the same grave tone.

“A nail was driven into the skirting board so that the thread could be attached. That nail wasvarnished so as not to show. Tell me, do you ever remember a smell of varnish⁴² that you could notaccount for?”

Miss Lawson gave a cry.

“Oh, how extraordinary! To think of that! Why, of course! And to think I never thought—neverdreamed—but then, how could I? And yet it did seem odd to me at the time.”

Poirot leant forward.

“So—you can help us, mademoiselle. Once again you can help us. C’est épatant!”

“To think that was it! Oh, well, it all fits in.”

“Tell me, I pray of you. You smelt⁴³ varnish—yes?”

“Yes. Of course, I didn’t know what it was. I thought—dear me—is it paint—no, it’s more likefloor stain, and then, of course, I thought I must have imagined it.”

“When was this?”

“Now let me see—when was it?”

“Was it during that Easter weekend when the house was full of guests?”

“Yes, that was the time—but I’m trying to recall just which day it was… Now, let me see, itwasn’t Sunday. No, and it wasn’t on Tuesday—that was the night Dr. Donaldson came to dinner.

And on the Wednesday they had all left. No, of course, it was the Monday—Bank Holiday. I’dbeen lying awake—rather worried, you know. I always think Bank Holiday is such a worryingday! There had been only just enough cold beef to go round at supper and I was afraid MissArundell might be annoyed about it. You see I’d ordered the joint⁴⁴ on the Saturday, and of course Iought to have said seven pounds but I thought five pounds would do nicely, but Miss Arundell wasalways so vexed⁴⁵ if there was any shortage—she was so hospitable—”

Miss Lawson paused to draw a deep breath and then rushed on.

“And so I was lying awake and wondering whether she’d say anything about it tomorrow, andwhat with one thing and another I was a long time dropping off—and then just as I was going offsomething seemed to wake me up—a sort of rap or tap—and I sat up in bed, and then I sniffed⁴⁶. Ofcourse, I’m always terrified of fire—sometimes I think I smell fire two or three times a night—(soawful wouldn’t it be if one were trapped?) Anyway there was a smell, and I sniffed hard but itwasn’t smoke or anything like that. And I said to myself it’s more like paint or floor stain—but ofcourse, one wouldn’t smell that in the middle of the night. But it was quite strong and I sat upsniffing and sniffing⁴⁷, and then I saw her in the glass—”

“Saw her? Saw whom?”

“In my looking glass, you know, it’s really most convenient. I left my door open a little always,so as to hear Miss Arundell if she were to call, and if she went up and down stairs I could see her.

The one light was always left switched on in the passage. That’s how I came to see her kneelingon the stair—Theresa, I mean. She was kneeling on about the third step with her head bent⁴⁸ downover something and I was just thinking, ‘How odd, I wonder if she’s ill?’ when she got up andwent away, so I supposed she’d just slipped or something. Or perhaps was stooping to picksomething up. But, of course, I never thought about it again one way or another.”

“The tap that aroused you would be the tap of the hammer on the nail,” mused⁴⁹ Poirot.

“Yes, I suppose it would. But oh, M. Poirot, how dreadful—how truly dreadful. I’ve always feltTheresa was, perhaps a little wild, but to do a thing like that.”

“You are sure it was Theresa?”

“Oh, dear me, yes.”

“It couldn’t have been Mrs. Tanios or one of the maids, for instance?”

“Oh, no, it was Theresa.”

Miss Lawson shook her head and murmured to herself:

“Oh dear. Oh dear,” several times.

Poirot was staring at her in a way I found it hard to understand.

“Permit me,” he said suddenly, “to make an experiment. Let us go upstairs and endeavour toreconstruct this little scene.”

“Reconstruction? Oh, really—I don’t know—I mean I don’t quite see—”

“I will show you,” said Poirot, cutting in upon these doubts in an authoritative⁵⁰ manner.

Somewhat flustered, Miss Lawson led the way upstairs.

“I hope the room’s tidy—so much to do—what with one thing and another—” she tailed offincoherently.

The room was indeed somewhat heavily littered with miscellaneous articles, obviously theresult of Miss Lawson’s turning out of cupboards. With her usual incoherence Miss Lawsonmanaged to indicate her own position and Poirot was able to verify for himself the fact that aportion of the staircase was reflected in the wall mirror.

“And now, mademoiselle,” he suggested, “if you will be so good as to go out and reproduce theactions that you saw.”

Miss Lawson, still murmuring, “Oh, dear—” bustled⁵¹ out to fulfil her part. Poirot acted the partof the observer.

The performance concluded, he went out on the landing and asked which electric light had beenleft switched on.

“This one—this one along here. Just outside Miss Arundell’s door.”

Poirot reached up, detached the bulb and examined it.

“A forty watt⁵² lamp, I see. Not very powerful.”

“No, it was just so that the passage shouldn’t be quite dark.”

Poirot retraced⁵³ his steps to the top of the stairs.

“You will pardon me, mademoiselle, but with the light being fairly dim and the way thatshadow falls it is hardly possible that you can have seen very clearly. Can you be positive it wasMiss Theresa Arundell and not just an indeterminate female figure in a dressing⁵⁴ gown?”

Miss Lawson was indignant.

“No, indeed, M. Poirot! I’m perfectly⁵⁵ sure! I know Theresa well enough, I should hope! Oh, itwas her all right. Her dark dressing gown and that big shining brooch she wears with the initials—I saw that plainly.”

“So that there is no possible doubt. You saw the initials?”

“Yes, T.A. I know the brooch. Theresa often wore it. Oh, yes, I could swear to its being Theresa—and I will swear to it if necessary!”

There was a firmness and decision in those last two sentences that was quite at variance⁵⁶ with herusual manner.

Poirot looked at her. Again there was something curious in his glance. It was aloof⁵⁷, appraising⁵⁸—and had also a queer appearance of finality about it.

“You would swear to that, yes?” he said.

“If—if—it’s necessary. But I suppose it—will it be necessary?”

Again Poirot turned that appraising glance upon her.

“That will depend on the result of the exhumation,” he said.

“Ex—exhumation?”

Poirot put out a restraining hand. In her excitement Miss Lawson very nearly went headlongdown the stairs.

“It may possibly be a question of exhumation,” he said.

“Oh, but surely—how very unpleasant! But I mean, I’m sure the family would oppose the ideavery strongly—very strongly indeed.”

“Probably they will.”

“I’m quite sure they won’t hear of such a thing!”

“Ah, but if it is an order from the Home Office.”

“But M. Poirot—why? I mean it’s not as though—not as though—”

“Not as though what?”

“Not as though there were anything—wrong.”

“You think not?”

“No, of course not. Why, there couldn’t be! I mean the doctor and the nurse and everything—”

“Do not upset yourself,” said Poirot calmly and soothingly⁵⁹.

“Oh, but I can’t help it! Poor dear Miss Arundell! It’s not even as though Theresa had been herein the house when she died.”

“No, she left on the Monday before she was taken ill, did she not?”

“Quite early in the morning. So you see, she can’t have had anything to do with it!”

“Let us hope not,” said Poirot.

“Oh, dear.” Miss Lawson clasped her hands together. “I’ve never known anything so dreadfulas all this! Really, I don’t know whether I’m on my head or my heels.”

Poirot glanced at his watch.

“We must depart. We are returning to London. And you, mademoiselle, you are remainingdown here some little time?”

“No—no… I have really no settled plans. Actually I’m going back myself today… I only camedown just for a night to—to settle things a little.”

“I see. Well, good-bye, mademoiselle, and forgive me if I have upset you at all.”

“Oh, M. Poirot. Upset me? I feel quite ill! Oh dear—Oh, dear, it’s such a wicked world! Such adreadfully wicked world.”

Poirot cut short her lamentations by taking her hand firmly in his.

“Quite so. And you are still ready to swear that you saw Theresa Arundell kneeling on the stairson the night of Easter Bank Holiday?”

“Oh, yes, I can swear to that.”

“And you can also swear that you saw a halo of light round Miss Arundell’s head during theséance?”

Miss Lawson’s mouth fell open.

“Oh, M. Poirot, don’t—don’t joke about these things.”

“I am not joking. I am perfectly serious.”

Miss Lawson said with dignity:

“It wasn’t exactly a halo. It was more like the beginning of a manifestation⁶⁰. A ribbon of someluminous material. I think it was beginning to form into a face.”

“Extremely interesting. Au revoir, mademoiselle, and please keep all this to yourself.”

“Oh, of course—of course. I shouldn’t dream of doing anything else….”

The last we saw of Miss Lawson was her rather sheeplike face gazing after us from the frontdoorstep.

 

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