Seven

“Hard work, that,” said Major Riddle¹, as the lawyer left the room. “Extracting information fromthese old-fashioned legal wallahs takes a bit of doing. The whole business seems to me to centreabout the girl.”

“It would seem so—yes.”

“Ah, here comes Burrows².”

Godfrey Burrows came in with a pleasant eagerness to be of use. His smile was discreetlytempered with gloom and showed only a fraction too much teeth. It seemed more mechanical thanspontaneous.

“Now, Mr.?Burrows, we want to ask you a few questions.”

“Certainly, Major Riddle. Anything you like.”

“Well, first and foremost, to put it quite simply, have you any ideas of your own about SirGervase’s suicide?”

“Absolutely none. It was the greatest shock to me.”

“You heard the shot?”

“No; I must have been in the library at the time, as far as I can make out. I came down ratherearly and went to the library to look up a reference I wanted. The library’s right the other side ofthe house from the study, so I shouldn’t hear anything.”

“Was anyone with you in the library?” asked Poirot.

“No one at all.”

“You’ve no idea where the other members of the household were at that time?”

“Mostly upstairs dressing³, I should imagine.”

“When did you come to the drawing room?”

“Just before M. Poirot arrived. Everybody was there then—except Sir Gervase, of course.”

“Did it strike you as strange that he wasn’t there?”

“Yes, it did, as a matter of fact. As a rule he was always in the drawing room before the firstgong sounded.”

“Have you noticed any difference in Sir Gervase’s manner lately? Has he been worried? Oranxious? Depressed⁴?”

Godfrey Burrows considered.

“No—I don’t think so. A little—well, preoccupied⁵, perhaps.”

“But he did not appear to be worried about any one definite matter?”

“Oh, no.”

“No—financial worries of any kind?”

“He was rather perturbed⁶ about the affairs of one particular company—the Paragon⁷ SyntheticRubber Company to be exact.”

“What did he actually say about it?”

Again Godfrey Burrows’ mechanical smile flashed out, and again it seemed slightly unreal.

“Well—as a matter of fact—what he said was, ‘Old Bury’s either a fool or a knave⁸. A fool, Isuppose. I must go easy with him for Vanda’s sake.’ ”

“And why did he say that—for Vanda’s sake?” inquired Poirot.

“Well, you see, Lady Chevenix-Gore was very fond of Colonel Bury, and he worshipped her.

Followed her about like a dog.”

“Sir Gervase was not—jealous at all?”

“Jealous?” Burrows stared and then laughed. “Sir Gervase jealous? He wouldn’t know howto set about it. Why, it would never have entered his head that anyone could ever prefer anotherman to him. Such a thing couldn’t be, you understand.”

Poirot said gently:

“You did not, I think, like Sir Gervase Chevenix-Gore very much?”

Burrows flushed.

“Oh, yes, I did. At least—well, all that sort of thing strikes one as rather ridiculousnowadays.”

“All what sort of thing?” asked Poirot.

“Well, the feudal⁹ motif¹⁰, if you like. This worship of ancestry¹¹ and personal arrogance¹². SirGervase was a very able man in many ways, and had led an interesting life, but he would havebeen more interesting if he hadn’t been so entirely¹³ wrapped up in himself and his own egoism.”

“Did his daughter agree with you there?”

Burrows flushed again—this time a deep purple.

He said:

“I should imagine Miss?Chevenix-Gore is quite one of the moderns! Naturally, I shouldn’tdiscuss her father with her.”

“But the moderns do discuss their fathers a good deal!” said Poirot. “It is entirely in themodern spirit to criticize your parents!”

Burrows shrugged¹⁴ his shoulders.

Major Riddle asked:

“And there was nothing else—no other financial anxiety? Sir Gervase never spoke¹⁵ of havingbeen victimized?”

“Victimized?” Burrows sounded very astonished. “Oh, no.”

“And you yourself were on quite good terms with him?”

“Certainly I was. Why not?”

“I am asking you, Mr.?Burrows.”

The young man looked sulky.

“We were on the best of terms.”

“Did you know that Sir Gervase had written to M. Poirot asking him to come down here?”

“No.”

“Did Sir Gervase usually write his own letters?”

“No, he nearly always dictated¹⁶ them to me.”

“But he did not do so in this case?”

“No.”

“Why was that, do you think?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“You can suggest no reason why he should have written this particular letter himself?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Ah!” said Major Riddle, adding smoothly¹⁷, “Rather curious. When did you last see SirGervase?”

“Just before I went to dress for dinner. I took him some letters to sign.”

“What was his manner then?”

“Quite normal. In fact I should say he was feeling rather pleased with himself aboutsomething.”

Poirot stirred a little in his chair.

“Ah?” he said. “So that was your impression, was it? That he was pleased about something.

And yet, not so very long afterwards, he shoots himself. It is odd, that!”

Godfrey Burrows shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m only telling you my impressions.”

“Yes, yes, they are very valuable. After all, you are probably one of the last people who sawSir Gervase alive.”

“Snell was the last person to see him.”

“To see him, yes, but not to speak to him.”

Burrows did not reply.

Major Riddle said:

“What time was it when you went up to dress for dinner?”

“About five minutes past seven.”

“What did Sir Gervase do?”

“I left him in the study.”

“How long did he usually take to change?”

“He usually gave himself a full three quarters of an hour.”

“Then, if dinner was at a quarter past eight, he would probably have gone up at half pastseven at the latest?”

“Very likely.”

“You yourself went to change early?”

“Yes, I thought I would change and then go to the library and look up the references Iwanted.”

Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Major Riddle said:

“Well, I think that’s all for the moment. Will you send Miss?What’s-her-name along?”

Little Miss?Lingard tripped in almost immediately. She was wearing several chains whichtinkled a little as she sat down and looked inquiringly from one to the other of thetwo men.

“This is all very—er—sad, Miss?Lingard,” began Major Riddle.

“Very sad indeed,” said Miss?Lingard decorously.

“You came to this house—when?”

“About two months ago. Sir Gervase wrote to a friend of his in the Museum—ColonelFotheringay it was—and Colonel Fotheringary recommended me. I have done a good deal ofhistorical research work.”

“Did you find Sir Gervase difficult to work for?”

“Oh, not really. One had to humour him a little, of course. But then I always find one has todo that with men.”

With an uneasy feeling that Miss?Lingard was probably humouring him at this moment,Major Riddle went on:

“Your work here was to help Sir Gervase with the book he was writing?”

“Yes.”

“What did it involve?”

For a moment, Miss?Lingard looked quite human. Her eyes twinkled as she replied:

“Well, actually, you know, it involved writing the book! I looked up all the information andmade notes, and arranged the material. And then, later, I revised what Sir Gervase had written.”

“You must have had to exercise a good deal of tact¹⁸, mademoiselle,” said Poirot.

“Tact and firmness. One needs them both,” said Miss?Lingard.

“Sir Gervase did not resent your—er—firmness?”

“Oh not at all. Of course I put it to him that he mustn’t be bothered with all the petty detail.”

“Oh, yes, I see.”

“It was quite simple, really,” said Miss?Lingard. “Sir Gervase was perfectly¹⁹ easy to manage ifone took him the right way.”

“Now, Miss?Lingard, I wonder if you know anything that can throw light on this tragedy?”

Miss?Lingard shook her head.

“I’m afraid I don’t. You see, naturally he wouldn’t confide²⁰ in me at all. I was practically astranger. In any case I think he was far too proud to speak to anyone of family troubles.”

“But you think it was family troubles that caused him to take his life?”

Miss?Lingard looked rather surprised.

“But of course! Is there any other suggestion?”

“You feel sure that there were family troubles worrying him?”

“I know that he was in great distress²¹ of mind.”

“Oh, you know that?”

“Why, of course.”

“Tell me, mademoiselle, did he speak to you of the matter?”

“Not explicitly²².”

“What did he say?”

“Let me see. I found that he didn’t seem to be taking in what I was saying—”

“One moment. Pardon. When was this?”

“This afternoon. We usually worked from three to five.”

“Pray go on.”

“As I say, Sir Gervase seemed to be finding it hard to concentrate—in fact, he said as much,adding that he had several grave matters preying²³ on his mind. And he said—let me see—something like this—(of course, I can’t be sure of the exact words): ‘It’s a terrible thing,Miss?Lingard, when a family has been one of the proudest in the land, that dishonour²⁴ should bebrought on it.’ ”

“And what did you say to that?”

“Oh, just something soothing²⁵. I think I said that every generation had its weaklings—that thatwas one of the penalties of greatness—but that their failings were seldom remembered byposterity.”

“And did that have the soothing effect you hoped?”

“More or less. We got back to Sir Roger Chevenix-Gore. I had found a most interestingmention of him in a contemporary manuscript. But Sir Gervase’s attention wandered again. In theend he said he would not do any more work that afternoon. He said he had had a shock.”

“A shock?”

“That is what he said. Of course, I didn’t ask any questions. I just said, ‘I am sorry to hear it,Sir Gervase.’ And then he asked me to tell Snell that M. Poirot would be arriving and to put offdinner until eight-fifteen, and send the car to meet the seven-fifty train.”

“Did he usually ask you to make these arrangements?”

“Well—no—that was really Mr.?Burrows’s business. I did nothing but my own literary work.

I wasn’t a secretary in any sense of the word.”

Poirot asked:

“Do you think Sir Gervase had a definite reason for asking you to make these arrangements,instead of asking Mr.?Burrows to do?so?”

Miss?Lingard considered.

“Well, he may have had . . . I did not think of it at the time. I thought it was just a matter ofconvenience. Still, it’s true now I come to think of it, that he did ask me not to tell anyone thatM.?Poirot was coming. It was to be a surprise, he said.”

“Ah! he said that, did he? Very curious, very interesting. And did you tell anyone?”

“Certainly not, M. Poirot. I told Snell about dinner and to send the chauffeur²⁶ to meet theseven-fifty as a gentleman was arriving by it.”

“Did Sir Gervase say anything else that may have had a bearing on the situation?”

Miss?Lingard thought.

“No—I don’t think so—he was very much strung up—I do remember that just as I wasleaving the room, he said, ‘Not that it’s any good his coming now. It’s too late.’ ”

“And you have no idea at all what he meant by that?”

“N—no.”

Just the faintest suspicion of indecision about the simple negative. Poirot repeated with afrown:

“ ‘Too late.’ That is what he said, is it? ‘Too late.’ ”

Major Riddle said:

“You can give us no idea, Miss?Lingard, as to the nature of the circumstance that sodistressed Sir Gervase?”

Miss?Lingard said slowly:

“I have an idea that it was in some way connected with Mr.?Hugo Trent.”

“With Hugo Trent? Why do you think that?”

“Well, it was nothing definite, but yesterday afternoon we were just touching²⁷ on Sir Hugo deChevenix (who, I’m afraid, didn’t bear too good a character in the Wars of the Roses), and SirGervase said, ‘My sister would choose the family name of Hugo for her son! It’s always been anunsatisfactory name in our family. She might have known no Hugo would turn out well.’ ”

“What you tell us there is suggestive,” said Poirot. “Yes, it suggests a new idea to me.”

“Sir Gervase said nothing more definite than that?” asked Major Riddle.

Miss?Lingard shook her head.

“No, and of course it wouldn’t have done for me to say anything. Sir Gervase was really justtalking to himself. He wasn’t really speaking to me.”

“Quite so.”

Poirot said:

“Mademoiselle, you, a stranger, have been here for two months. It would be, I think, veryvaluable if you were to tell us quite frankly²⁸ your impressions of the family and household.”

Miss?Lingard took off her pince-nez and blinked reflectively.

“Well, at first, quite frankly, I felt as though I’d walked straight into a madhouse! What withLady Chevenix-Gore continually seeing things that weren’t there, and Sir Gervase behaving like—like a king—and dramatizing himself in the most extraordinary way—well, I really did think theywere the queerest people I had ever come across. Of course, Miss?Chevenix-Gore was perfectlynormal, and I soon found that Lady Chevenix-Gore was really an extremely kind, nice woman.

Nobody could be kinder and nicer to me than she has been. Sir Gervase—well, I really think hewas mad. His egomania—isn’t that what you call it?—was getting worse and worse every day.”

“And the others?”

“Mr.?Burrows had rather a difficult time with Sir Gervase, I should imagine. I think he wasglad that our work on the book gave him a little more breathing space. Colonel Bury was alwayscharming. He was devoted²⁹ to Lady Chevenix-Gore and he managed Sir Gervase quite well.

Mr.?Trent, Mr.?Forbes and Miss?Cardwell have only been here a few days, so of course I don’tknow much about them.”

“Thank you, mademoiselle. And what about Captain Lake, the agent?”

“Oh, he’s very nice. Everybody liked him.”

“Including Sir Gervase?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve heard him say Lake was much the best agent he’d had. Of course, CaptainLake had his difficulties with Sir Gervase, too—but he managed pretty well on the whole. Itwasn’t easy.”

Poirot nodded thoughtfully. He murmured, “There was something—something—that I had inmind to ask you—some little thing . . . What was it now?”

Miss?Lingard turned a patient face towards him.

Poirot shook his head vexedly.

“Tchah! It is on the tip of my tongue.”

Major Riddle waited a minute or two, then as Poirot continued to frown perplexedly, he tookup the interrogation once more.

“When was the last time you saw Sir Gervase?”

“At teatime, in this room.”

“What was his manner then? Normal?”

“As normal as it ever was.”

“Was there any sense of strain among the party?”

“No, I think everybody seemed quite ordinary.”

“Where did Sir Gervase go after tea?”

“He took Mr.?Burrows with him into the study, as usual.”

“That was the last time you saw him?”

“Yes. I went to the small morning room where I worked, and typed a chapter of the bookfrom the notes I had gone over with Sir Gervase, until seven o’clock, when I went upstairs to restand dress for dinner.”

“You actually heard the shot, I understand?”

“Yes, I was in this room. I heard what sounded like a shot and I went out into the hall.

Mr.?Trent was there, and Miss?Cardwell. Mr.?Trent asked Snell if there was champagne³⁰ for dinner,and made rather a joke of it. It never entered our heads to take the matter seriously, I’m afraid. Wefelt sure it must have been a car backfiring.”

Poirot said:

“Did you hear Mr.?Trent say, ‘There’s always murder?’ ”

“I believe he did say something like that—joking, of course.”

“What happened next?”

“We all came in here.”

“Can you remember the order in which the others came down to dinner?”

“Miss?Chevenix-Gore was the first, I think, and then Mr.?Forbes. Then Colonel Bury andLady Chevenix-Gore together, and Mr.?Burrows immediately after them. I think that was theorder, but I can’t be quite sure because they more or less came in all together.”

“Gathered by the sound of the first gong?”

“Yes. Everyone always hustled³¹ when they heard that gong. Sir Gervase was a terrible sticklerfor punctuality in the evening.”

“What time did he himself usually come down?”

“He was nearly always in the room before the first gong went.”

“Did it surprise you that he was not down on this occasion?”

“Very much.”

“Ah, I have it!” cried Poirot.

As the other two looked inquiringly at him he went on:

“I have remembered what I wanted to ask. This evening, mademoiselle, as we all went alongto the study on Snell’s reporting it to be locked, you stooped and picked something up.”

“I did?” Miss?Lingard seemed very surprised.

“Yes, just as we turned into the straight passage to the study. Something small and bright.”

“How extraordinary—I don’t remember. Wait a minute—yes, I do. Only I wasn’t thinking.

Let me see—it must be in here.”

Opening her black satin bag, she poured the contents on a table.

Poirot and Major Riddle surveyed the collection with interest. There were two handkerchiefs,a powder compact, a small bunch of keys, a spectacle case and one other object on which Poirotpounced eagerly.

“A bullet, by jove!” said Major Riddle.

The thing was indeed shaped like a bullet, but it proved to be a small pencil.

“That’s what I picked up,” said Miss?Lingard. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

“Do you know who this belongs to, Miss?Lingard?”

“Oh, yes, it’s Colonel Bury’s. He had it made out of a bullet that hit him—or rather, didn’t hithim, if you know what I mean—in the South African War.”

“Do you know when he had it last?”

“Well, he had it this afternoon when they were playing bridge, because I noticed him writingwith it on the score when I came in to tea.”

“Who was playing bridge?”

“Colonel Bury, Lady Chevenix-Gore, Mr.?Trent and Miss?Cardwell.”

“I think,” said Poirot gently, “we will keep this and return it to the colonel ourselves.”

“Oh, please do. I am so forgetful, I might not rememberto?so.”

“Perhaps, mademoiselle, you would be so good as to ask Colonel Bury to come here now?”

“Certainly. I will go and find him at once.”

She hurried away. Poirot got up and began walking aimlessly round the room.

“We begin,” he said, “to reconstruct the afternoon. It is interesting. At half past two SirGervase goes over accounts with Captain Lake. He is slightly preoccupied. At three, he discussesthe book he is writing with Miss?Lingard. He is in great distress of mind. Miss?Lingard associatesthat distress of mind with Hugo Trent on the strength of a chance remark. At teatime his behaviouris normal. After tea, Godfrey Burrows tells us he was in good spirits over something. At fiveminutes to eight he comes downstairs, goes to his study, scrawls³² ‘Sorry’ on a sheet of paper, andshoots himself!”

Riddle said slowly:

“I see what you mean. It isn’t consistent.”

“Strange alteration³³ of moods in Sir Gervase Chevenix-Gore! He is preoccupied—he isseriously upset—he is normal—he is in high spirits! There is something very curious here! Andthen that phrase he used, ‘Too late.’ That I should get here ‘Too late.’ Well, it is true that. I did gethere too late—to see him alive.”

“I see. You really think—?”

“I shall never know now why Sir Gervase sent for me! That is certain!”

Poirot was still wandering round the room. He straightened one or two objects on themantelpiece; he examined a card table that stood against a wall, he opened the drawer of it andtook out the bridge-markers. Then he wandered over to the writing table and peered into thewastepaper basket. There was nothing in it but a paper bag. Poirot took it out, smelt³⁴ it, murmured“Oranges” and flattened³⁵ it out, reading the name on it. “Carpenter and Sons, Fruiterers,Hamborough St.?Mary.” He was just folding it neatly³⁶ into squares when Colonel Bury entered theroom.

 

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