Twenty-three

DR. TANIOS CALLS ON US

No sooner had we left the house than Poirot’s manner changed. His face was grim and set.

“Dépêchons nous, Hastings,” he said. “We must get back to London as soon as possible.”

“I’m willing.” I quickened my pace to suit his. I stole a look at his grave face.

“Who do you suspect, Poirot?” I asked. “I wish you’d tell me. Do you believe it was TheresaArundell on the stairs or not?”

Poirot did not reply to my questions. Instead he asked a question of his own.

“Did it strike you—reflect before you answer—did it strike you that there was something wrongwith that statement of Miss Lawson’s?”

“How do you mean—wrong with it?”

“If I knew that I should not be asking you!”

“Yes, but wrong in what way?”

“That is just it. I cannot be precise. But as she was talking I had, somehow, a feeling ofunreality…as though there was something—some small point that was wrong—that was, yes, thatwas the feeling—something that was impossible.…”

“She seemed quite positive it was Theresa!”

“Yes, yes.”

“But after all, the light couldn’t have been very good. I don’t see how she can be quite so sure.”

“No, no, Hastings, you are not helping¹ me. It was some small point—something connected with—yes, I am sure of it—with the bedroom.”

“With the bedroom?” I repeated, trying to recall the details of the room. “No,” I said at last. “Ican’t help you.”

Poirot shook his head, vexedly.

“Why did you bring up that spiritualistic business again?” I asked.

“Because it is important.”

“What is important? Miss Lawson’s luminous² ‘ribbon development?’”

“You remember the Misses Tripp’s description of the séance?”

“I know they saw a halo round the old lady’s head.” I laughed in spite of myself. “I shouldn’tthink she was a saint by all accounts! Miss Lawson seems to have been terrified by her. I felt quitesorry for the poor woman when she described how she lay awake, worried to death because shemight get into trouble over ordering too small a sirloin of beef.”

“Yes, it was an interesting touch that.”

“What are we going to do when we get to London?” I asked as we turned into the George andPoirot asked for the bill.

“We must go and see Theresa Arundell immediately.”

“And find out the truth? But won’t she deny the whole thing anyway?”

“Mon cher, it is not a criminal offence to kneel upon a flight of stairs! She may have beenpicking up a pin to bring her luck—something of that sort!”

“And the smell of varnish³?”

We could say no more just then, as the waiter arrived with the bill.

On the way to London we talked very little. I am not fond of talking and driving, and Poirot wasso busy protecting his moustaches with his muffler from the disastrous⁴ effects of wind and dustthat speech was quite beyond him.

We arrived at the flat at about twenty to two.

George, Poirot’s immaculate and extremely English manservant, opened the door.

“A Dr. Tanios is waiting to see you, sir. He has been here for half an hour.”

“Dr. Tanios? Where is he?”

“In the sitting room, sir. A lady also called to see you, sir. She seemed very distressed⁵ to findyou were absent from home. It was before I received your telephone message, sir, so I could nottell her when you would be returning to London.”

“Describe this lady.”

“She was about five foot seven, sir, with dark hair and light blue eyes. She was wearing a greycoat and skirt and a hat worn very much to the back of the head instead of over the right eye.”

“Mrs. Tanios,” I ejaculated in a low voice.

“She seemed in a condition of great nervous excitement, sir. Said it was of the utmostimportance she should find you quickly.”

“What time was this?”

“About half past ten, sir.”

Poirot shook his head as he passed on towards the sitting room.

“That is the second time I have missed hearing what Mrs. Tanios has to say. What would yousay, Hastings? Is there a fate in it?”

“Third time lucky,” I said consolingly.

Poirot shook his head doubtfully.

“Will there be a third time? I wonder. Come, let us hear what the husband has to say.”

Dr. Tanios was sitting in an armchair reading one of Poirot’s books on psychology⁶. He sprangup and greeted us.

“You must forgive this intrusion. I hope you don’t mind my forcing my way in and waiting foryou like this.”

“Du tout⁷, du tout. Pray sit down. Permit me to offer you a glass of sherry.”

“Thank you. As a matter of fact I have an excuse. M. Poirot, I am worried, terribly worried,about my wife.”

“About your wife? I’m very sorry. What’s the matter?”

Tanios said:

“You have seen her perhaps lately?”

It seemed quite a natural question, but the quick look that accompanied it was not so natural.

Poirot replied in the most matter-of-fact manner.

“No, not since I saw her at the hotel with you yesterday.”

“Ah—I thought perhaps she might have called upon you.”

Poirot was busy pouring out three glasses of sherry.

He said in a slightly abstracted voice:

“No. Was there any—reason for her calling on me?”

“No, no.” Dr. Tanios accepted his sherry. “Thank you. Thank you very much. No, there was noexact reason, but to be frank I am very much concerned about my wife’s state of health.”

“Ah, she is not strong?”

“Her bodily health,” said Tanios slowly, “is good. I wish I could say the same for her mind.”

“Ah?”

“I fear, M. Poirot, that she is on the verge⁸ of a complete nervous breakdown⁹.”

“My dear Dr. Tanios, I am extremely sorry to hear this.”

“This condition has been growing for some time. During the last two months her mannertowards me has completely changed. She is nervous, easily startled, and she has the oddest fancies—actually they are more than fancies—they are delusions¹⁰!”

“Really?”

“Yes. She is suffering from what is commonly known as persecution¹¹ mania—a fairly well-known condition.”

Poirot made a sympathetic noise with his tongue.

“You can understand my anxiety!”

“Naturally. Naturally. But what I do not quite understand is why you have come to me. Howcan I help you?”

Dr. Tanios seemed a little embarrassed.

“It occurred to me that my wife might have—or may yet—come to you with some extraordinarytale. She may conceivably say that she is in danger from me—something of the kind.”

“But why should she come to me?”

Dr. Tanios smiled—it was a charming smile—genial yet wistful.

“You are a celebrated¹² detective, M. Poirot. I saw—I could see at once—that my wife was veryimpressed at meeting you yesterday. The mere¹³ fact of meeting a detective would make a powerfulimpression on her in her present state. It seems to me highly probable that she might seek you outand—and—well, confide¹⁴ in you. That is the way these nervous affections go! There is a tendencyto turn against those nearest and dearest to you.”

“Very distressing¹⁵.”

“Yes, indeed. I am very fond of my wife.” There was a rich tenderness in his voice. “I alwaysfeel it was so brave of her to marry me—a man of another race—to come out to a far country—toleave all her own friends and surroundings. For the last few days I have been really distraught… Ican see only one thing for it….”

“Yes?”

“Perfect rest and quiet—and suitable psychological treatment. There is a splendid home I knowof run by a first-class man. I want to take her there—it is in Norfolk—straightaway. Perfect restand isolation¹⁶ from outside influence—that is what is needed. I feel convinced that once she hasbeen there a month or two under skilled treatment there will be a change for the better.”

“I see,” said Poirot.

He uttered the words in a matter-of-fact manner without any clue to the feelings that promptedhim.

Tanios again shot a quick glance at him.

“That is why, if she should come to you, I should be obliged if you will let me know at once.”

“But certainly. I will telephone you. You are at the Durham Hotel still?”

“Yes. I am going back there now.”

“And your wife is not there?”

“She went out directly after breakfast.”

“Without telling you where she was going?”

“Without saying a word. That is most unlike her.”

“And the children?”

“She took them with her.”

“I see.”

Tanios got up.

“I thank you so much, M. Poirot. I need hardly say that if she does tell you any high-flownstories of intimidation¹⁷ and persecution pay no attention to them. It is, unfortunately, a part of hermalady.”

“Most distressing,” said Poirot with sympathy.

“It is indeed. Although one knows, medically speaking, that it is part of a recognized mentaldisease, yet one cannot help being hurt when a person very near and dear to you turns against youand all their affection changes to dislike.”

“You have my deepest sympathy,” said Poirot as he shook hands with his guest.

“By the way—” Poirot’s voice recalled Tanios just as he was at the door.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever prescribe chloral for your wife?”

Tanios gave a startled movement.

“I—no—at least I may have done. But not lately. She seems to have taken an aversion to anyform of sleeping draught¹⁸.”

“Ah! I suppose because she does not trust you?”

“M. Poirot!”

Tanios came striding forward angrily.

“That would be part of the disease,” said Poirot smoothly¹⁹.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“She is probably highly suspicious of anything you give her to eat or drink. Probably suspectsyou of wanting to poison her?”

“Dear me, M. Poirot, you are quite right. You know something of such cases, then?”

“One comes across them now and then in my profession, naturally. But do not let me detainyou. You may find her waiting for you at the hotel.”

“True. I hope I shall. I feel terribly anxious.”

He hurried out of the room.

Poirot went swiftly to the telephone. He flicked²⁰ over the pages of the telephone directory andasked for a number.

“Allo—Allo—is that the Durham Hotel. Can you tell me if Mrs. Tanios is in? What? T A N I OS. Yes, that is right. Yes? Yes? Oh, I see.”

He replaced the receiver.

“Mrs. Tanios left the hotel this morning early. She returned at eleven, waited in the taxi whilsther luggage was brought down and drove away with it.”

“Does Tanios know she took away her luggage?”

“I think not as yet.”

“Where has she gone?”

“Impossible to tell.”

“Do you think she will come back here?”

“Possibly. I cannot tell.”

“Perhaps she will write.”

“Perhaps.”

“What can we do?”

Poirot shook his head. He looked worried and distressed.

“Nothing at the moment. A hasty lunch and then we will go and see Theresa Arundell.”

“Do you believe it was her on the stairs?”

“Impossible to tell. One thing I made sure of—Miss Lawson could not have seen her face. Shesaw a tall figure in a dark dressing²¹ gown, that is all.”

“And the brooch.”

“My dear friend, a brooch is not part of a person’s anatomy²²! It can be detached from thatperson. It can be lost—or borrowed—or even stolen.”

“In other words you don’t want to believe Theresa Arundell guilty.”

“I want to hear what she has to say on the matter.”

“And if Mrs. Tanios comes back?”

“I will arrange for that.”

George brought in an omelette.

“Listen, George,” said Poirot. “If that lady comes back, you will ask her to wait. If Dr. Tanioscomes while she is here on no account let him in. If he asks if his wife is here, you will tell himshe is not. You understand?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

Poirot attacked the omelette.

“This business complicates²³ itself,” he said. “We must step very carefully. If not—the murdererwill strike again.”

“If he did you might get him.”

“Quite possibly, but I prefer the life of the innocent to the conviction of the guilty. We must govery, very carefully.”

 

点击收听单词发音