Thirty

THE LAST WORD

There is very little more to tell.

Theresa married her doctor shortly afterwards. I know them fairly well now and I have learnt toappreciate Donaldson—his clarity of vision and the deep, underlying¹ force and humanity of theman. His manner I may say is just as dry and precise as ever, Theresa often mimics² him to hisface. She is, I think, amazingly happy and absolutely wrapped up in her husband’s career. He isalready making a big name for himself and is an authority on the functions of ductless glands³.

Miss Lawson, in an acute attack of conscience, had to be restrained forcibly from denudingherself of every penny. A settlement agreeable to all parties was drawn⁴ up by Mr. Purvis wherebyMiss Arundell’s fortune was shared out between Miss Lawson, the two Arundells and the Tanioschildren.

Charles went through his share in a little over a year and is now, I believe, in British Columbia.

Just two incidents.

“You’re a downy fellow, ain’t you?” said Miss Peabody, stopping us as we emerged from thegate of Littlegreen House one day. “Managed to hush⁵ everything up! No exhumation⁶. Everythingdone decently.”

“There seems to be no doubt that Miss Arundell died of yellow atrophy⁷ of the liver,” said Poirotgently.

“That’s very satisfactory,” said Miss Peabody. “Bella Tanios took an overdose of sleeping stuff,I hear.”

“Yes, it was very sad.”

“She was a miserable⁸ kind of woman—always wanting what she hadn’t got. People go a bitqueer sometimes when they’re like that. Had a kitchenmaid once. Same thing. Plain girl. Felt it.

Started writing anonymous⁹ letters. Queer kinks people get. Ah, well, I daresay it’s all for the best.”

“One hopes so, madame. One hopes so.”

“Well,” said Miss Peabody, preparing to resume her walk, “I’ll say this for you. You’ve hushedthings up nicely. Very nicely indeed.” She walked on.

There was a plaintive¹⁰ “Wuff” behind me.

I turned and opened the gate.

“Come on, old man.”

Bob bounced through. There was a ball in his mouth.

“You can’t take that for a walk.”

Bob sighed, turned and slowly ejected the ball inside the gate. He looked at it anxiously thenpassed through.

He looked up at me.

“If you say so, master, I suppose it’s all right.”

I drew a long breath.

“My word, Poirot, it’s good to have a dog again.”

“The spoils of war,” said Poirot. “But I would remind you, my friend, that it was to me thatMiss Lawson presented Bob, not to you.”

“Possibly,” I said. “But you’re not really any good with a dog, Poirot. You don’t understanddog psychology¹¹! Now Bob and I understand each other perfectly¹², don’t we?”

“Woof,” said Bob in energetic assent¹³.

 

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