Nine

That evening Poirot had only given Susan Cardwell a fleeting¹ glance. He examined her now moreattentively. An intelligent face, he thought, not strictly² good-looking, but possessing an attractionthat a merely pretty girl might envy. Her hair was magnificent, her face skilfully³ made-up. Hereyes, he thought, were watchful⁴.

After a few preliminary questions, Major Riddle⁵ said:

“I don’t know how close a friend you are of the family, Miss?Cardwell?”

“I don’t know them at all. Hugo arranged that I should be asked down here.”

“You are, then, a friend of Hugo Trent’s?”

“Yes, that’s my position. Hugo’s girlfriend.” Susan Cardwell smiled as she drawled out thewords.

“You have known him a long time?”

“Oh, no, just a month or so.”

She paused and then added:

“I’m by way of being engaged to him.”

“And he brought you down here to introduce you to his people?”

“Oh, dear no, nothing like that. We were keeping it very hush-hush. I just came down to spyout the land. Hugo told me the place was just like a madhouse. I thought I’d better come and seefor myself. Hugo, poor sweet, is a perfect pet, but he’s got absolutely no brains. The position, yousee, was rather critical. Neither Hugo nor I have any money, and old Sir Gervase, who was Hugo’smain hope, had set his heart on Hugo making a match of it with Ruth. Hugo’s a bit weak, youknow. He might agree to this marriage and count on being able to get out of it later.”

“That idea did not commend itself to you, mademoiselle?” inquired Poirot gently.

“Definitely not. Ruth might have gone all peculiar⁶ and refused to divorce him or something. Iput my foot down. No trotting⁷ off to St.?Paul’s, Knightsbridge, until I could be there dithering witha sheaf of lilies.”

“So you came down to study the situation for yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Eh bien!” said Poirot.

“Well, of course, Hugo was right! The whole family were bughouse! Except Ruth, whoseems perfectly⁸ sensible. She’d got her own boyfriend and wasn’t any keener on the marriage ideathan I?was.”

“You refer to M. Burrows⁹?”

“Burrows? Of course not. Ruth wouldn’t fall for a bogus person like that.”

“Then who was the object of her affection?”

Susan Cardwell paused, stretched for a cigarette, lit it, and remarked:

“You’d better ask her that. After all, it isn’t my business.”

Major Riddle asked:

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

“At tea.”

“Did his manner strike you as peculiar in any way?”

The girl shrugged¹⁰ her shoulders.

“Not more than usual.”

“What did you do after tea?”

“Played billiards¹¹ with Hugo.”

“You didn’t see Sir Gervase again?”

“No.”

“What about the shot?”

“That was rather odd. You see, I thought the first gong had gone, so I hurried up with mydressing, came dashing out of my room, heard, as I thought, the second gong and fairly raceddown the stairs. I’d been one minute late for dinner the first night I was here and Hugo told me ithad about wrecked¹² our chances with the old man, so I fairly hared down. Hugo was just ahead ofme and then there was a queer kind of pop-bang and Hugo said it was a champagne¹³ cork¹⁴, but Snellsaid ‘No’ to that and, anyway, I didn’t think it had come from the dining room. Miss?Lingardthought it came from upstairs, but anyway we agreed it was a backfire and we trooped into thedrawing room and forgot about it.”

“It did not occur to you for one moment that Sir Gervase might have shot himself?” askedPoirot.

“I ask you, should I be likely to think of such a thing? The Old Man seemed to enjoy himselfthrowing his weight about. I never imagined he’d do such a thing. I can’t think why he did it. Isuppose just because he was nuts.”

“An unfortunate occurrence.”

“Very—for Hugo and me. I gather he’s left Hugo nothing at all, or practically nothing.”

“Who told you that?”

“Hugo got it out of old Forbes.”

“Well, Miss?Cardwell—” Major Riddle paused a moment, “I think that’s all. Do you thinkMiss?Chevenix-Gore is feeling well enough to come down and talk to us?”

“Oh, I should think so. I’ll tell her.”

Poirot intervened.

“A little moment, mademoiselle. Have you seen this before?”

He held out the bullet pencil.

“Oh, yes, we had it at bridge this afternoon. Belongs to old Colonel Bury, I think.”

“Did he take it when the rubber was over?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Thank you, mademoiselle. That is all.”

“Right, I’ll tell Ruth.”

Ruth Chevenix-Gore came into the room like a queen. Her colour was vivid, her head heldhigh. But her eyes, like the eyes of Susan Cardwell, were watchful. She wore the same frock shehad had on when Poirot arrived. It was a pale shade of apricot. On her shoulder was pinned a deep,salmon-pink rose. It had been fresh and blooming an hour earlier, now it drooped¹⁵.

“Well?” said Ruth.

“I’m extremely sorry to bother you,” began Major Riddle.

She interrupted him.

“Of course you have to bother me. You have to bother everyone. I can save you time, though.

I haven’t the faintest idea why the Old Man killed himself. All I can tell you is that it wasn’t a bitlike him.”

“Did you notice anything amiss in his manner today? Was he depressed¹⁶, or unduly¹⁷ excited—was there anything at all abnormal?”

“I don’t think so. I wasn’t noticing—”

“When did you see him last?”

“Teatime.”

Poirot spoke¹⁸:

“You did not go to the study—later?”

“No. The last I saw of him was in this room. Sitting there.”

She indicated a chair.

“I see. Do you know this pencil, mademoiselle?”

“It’s Colonel Bury’s.”

“Have you seen it lately?”

“I don’t really remember.”

“Do you know anything of a—disagreement between Sir Gervase and Colonel Bury?”

“Over the Paragon¹⁹ Rubber Company, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I should think so. The Old Man was rabid about it!”

“He considered, perhaps, that he had been swindled?”

Ruth shrugged her shoulders.

“He didn’t understand the first thing about finance.”

Poirot said:

“May I ask you a question, mademoiselle—a somewhat impertinent question?”

“Certainly, if you like.”

“It is this—are you sorry that your—father is dead?”

She stared at him.

“Of course I’m sorry. I don’t indulge in sob²⁰ stuff. But I shall miss him . . . I was fond of theOld Man. That’s what we called him, Hugo and I, always. The ‘Old Man’—you know—something of the primitive—anthropoid-ape-original-Patriarch-of-the-tribe business. It soundsdisrespectful, but there’s really a lot of affection behind it. Of course, he was really the mostcomplete, muddleheaded old ass²¹ that ever lived!”

“You interest me, mademoiselle.”

“The Old Man had the brains of a louse! Sorry to have to say it, but it’s true. He wasincapable of any kind of headwork. Mind you, he was a character. Fantastically brave and all that!

Could go careering off to the Pole, or fighting duels²². I always think that he blustered²³ such a lotbecause he really knew that his brains weren’t up to much. Anyone could have got the better ofhim.”

Poirot took the letter from his pocket.

“Read this, mademoiselle.”

She read it through and handed it back to him.

“So that’s what brought you here!”

“Does it suggest anything to you, that letter?”

She shook her head.

“No. It’s probably quite true. Anyone could have robbed the poor old pet. John says the lastagent before him swindled him right and left. You see, the Old Man was so grand and so pompousthat he never really condescended²⁴ to look into details! He was an invitation to crooks²⁵.”

“You paint a different picture of him, mademoiselle, from the accepted one.”

“Oh, well—he put up a pretty good camouflage²⁶. Vanda (my mother) backed him for all shewas worth. He was so happy stalking round pretending he was God Almighty²⁷. That’s why, in away, I’m glad he’s dead. It’s the best thing for him.”

“I do not quite follow you, mademoiselle.”

Ruth said broodingly:

“It was growing on him. One of these days he would have had to be locked up . . . Peoplewere beginning to talk as it was.”

“Did you know, mademoiselle, that he was contemplating²⁸ a will whereby you could onlyinherit his money if you married Mr.?Trent?”

She cried:

“How absurd! Anyway, I’m sure that could be set aside by law . . . I’m sure you can’t dictateto people about whom they shall marry.”

“If he had actually signed such a will, would you have complied with its provisions,mademoiselle?”

She stared.

“I—I—”

She broke off. For two or three minutes she sat irresolute²⁹, looking down at her danglingslipper. A little piece of earth detached itself from the heel and fell on the carpet.

Suddenly Ruth Chevenix-Gore said:

“Wait!”

She got up and ran out of the room. She returned almost immediately with Captain Lake byher side.

“It’s got to come out,” she said rather breathlessly. “You might as well know now. John and Iwere married in London three weeks?ago.”

Ten

Of the two of them, Captain Lake looked far the more embarrassed.

“This is a great surprise, Miss?Chevenix-Gore—Mrs.?Lake, I should say,” said Major Riddle.

“Did no one know of this marriage of yours?”

“No, we kept it quite dark. John didn’t like that part of it much.”

Lake said, stammering³⁰ a little:

“I—I know that it seems rather a rotten way to set about things. I ought to have gone straightto Sir Gervase—”

Ruth interrupted:

“And told him you wanted to marry his daughter, and have been kicked out on your head andhe’d probably have disinherited me, raised hell generally in the house, and we could have toldeach other how beautifully we’d behaved! Believe me, my way was better! If a thing’s done, it’sdone. There would still have been a row—but he’d have come round.”

Lake still looked unhappy. Poirot asked:

“When did you intend to break the news to Sir Gervase?”

Ruth answered:

“I was preparing the ground. He’d been rather suspicious about me and John, so I pretendedto turn my attentions to Godfrey. Naturally, he was ready to go quite off the deep end about that. Ifigured it out that the news I was married to John would come almost as a relief!”

“Did anybody at all know of this marriage?”

“Yes, I told Vanda in the end. I wanted to get her on my side.”

“And you succeeded in doing so?”

“Yes. You see, she wasn’t very keen about my marrying Hugo—because he was a cousin, Ithink. She seemed to think the family was so batty already that we’d probably have completelybatty children. That was probably rather absurd, because I’m only adopted, you know. I believeI’m some quite distant cousin’s child.”

“You are sure Sir Gervase had no suspicion of the truth?”

“Oh, no.”

Poirot said:

“Is that true, Captain Lake? In your interview with SirGervase this afternoon, are you quite sure the matter was not mentioned?”

“No, sir. It was not.”

“Because, you see, Captain Lake, there is certain evidence to show that Sir Gervase was in ahighly-excitable condition after the time he spent with you, and that he spoke once or twice offamily dishonour³¹.”

“The matter was not mentioned,” Lake repeated. His face had gone very white.

“Was that the last time you saw Sir Gervase?”

“Yes, I have already told you so.”

“Where were you at eight minutes past eight this evening?”

“Where was I? In my house. At the end of the village, about half a mile away.”

“You did not come up to Hamborough Close round about that time?”

“No.”

Poirot turned to the girl.

“Where were you, mademoiselle, when your father shot himself?”

“In the garden.”

“In the garden? You heard the shot?”

“Oh, yes. But I didn’t think about it particularly. I thought it was someone out shootingrabbits, although now I remember I did think it sounded quite close at hand.”

“You returned to the house—which way?”

“I came in through this window.”

Ruth indicated with a turn of her head the window behind her.

“Was anyone in here?”

“No. But Hugo and Susan and Miss?Lingard came in from the hall almost immediately. Theywere talking about shooting and murders and things.”

“I see,” said Poirot. “Yes, I think I see now. . . .”

Major Riddle said rather doubtfully:

“Well—er—thank you. I think that’s all for the moment.”

Ruth and her husband turned and left the room.

“What the devil——” began Major Riddle, and ended rather hopelessly: “It gets more andmore difficult to keep track of this business.”

Poirot nodded. He had picked up the little piece of earth that had fallen from Ruth’s shoe andwas holding it thoughtfully in his hand.

“It is like the mirror smashed on the wall,” he said. “The dead man’s mirror. Every new factwe come across shows us some different angle of the dead man. He is reflected from everyconceivable point of view. We shall have soon a complete picture. . . .”

He rose and put the little piece of earth tidily in the waste-paper basket.

“I will tell you one thing, my friend. The clue to the whole mystery is the mirror. Go into thestudy and look for yourself, if you do not believe me.”

Major Riddle, said decisively:

“If it’s murder, it’s up to you to prove it. If you ask me, I say it’s definitely suicide. Did younotice what the girl said about a former agent having swindled old Gervase? I bet Lake told thattale for his own purposes. He was probably helping³² himself a bit, Sir Gervase suspected it, andsent for you because he didn’t know how far things had gone between Lake and Ruth. Then thisafternoon Lake told him they were married. That broke Gervase up. It was ‘too late’ now foranything to be done. He determined³³ to get out of it all. In fact his brain, never very well-balancedat the best of times, gave way. In my opinion that’s what happened. What have you got to sayagainst it?”

Poirot stood still in the middle of the room.

“What have I to say? This: I have nothing to say against your theory—but it does not go farenough. There are certain things it does not take into account.”

“Such as?”

“The discrepancies³⁴ in Sir Gervase’s moods today, the finding of Colonel Bury’s pencil, theevidence of Miss?Cardwell (which is very important), the evidence of Miss?Lingard as to the orderin which people came down to dinner, the position of Sir Gervase’s chair when he was found, thepaper bag which had held oranges and, finally, the all-important clue of the broken mirror.”

Major Riddle stared.

“Are you going to tell me that that rigmarole makes sense?” he asked.

Hercule Poirot replied softly:

“I hope to make it do so—by tomorrow.”

 

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