After the Funeral - Agatha Christie [15]
“Well, she almost said as much. ‘I always knew Maude would grow into one of those bossy interfering women,’ is what she said. And then she was very tired and said she’d go to bed at once— I’d got her hot-water bottle in all ready—and she went up.”
“She said nothing else that you can remember specially?”
“She had no premonition, Mr. Entwhistle, if that is what you mean. I’m sure of that. She was really, you know, in remarkably good spirits—apart from tiredness and the—the sad occasion. She asked me how I’d like to go to Capri. To Capri! Of course I said it would be too wonderful—it’s a thing I’d never dreamed I’d ever do—and she said, ‘We’ll go!’ Just like that. I gathered—of course it wasn’t actually mentioned—that her brother had left her an annuity or something of the kind.”
Mr. Entwhistle nodded.
“Poor dear. Well, I’m glad she had the pleasure of planning—at all events.” Miss Gilchrist sighed and murmured wistfully, “I don’t suppose I shall ever go to Capri now….”
“And the next morning?” Mr. Entwhistle prompted, oblivious of Miss Gilchrist’s disappointments.
“The next morning Mrs. Lansquenet wasn’t at all well. Really, she looked dreadful. She’d hardly slept at all, she told me. Nightmares. ‘It’s because you were overtired yesterday,’ I told her, and she said maybe it was. She had her breakfast in bed, and she didn’t get up all the morning, but at lunchtime she told me that she still hadn’t been able to sleep. ‘I feel so restless,’ she said. ‘I keep thinking of things and wondering.’ And then she said she’d take some sleeping tablets and try and get a good sleep in the afternoon. And she wanted me to go over by bus to Reading and change her two library books, because she’d finished them both on the train journey and she hadn’t got anything to read. Usually two books lasted her nearly a week. So I went off just after two and that—and that—was the last time—” Miss Gilchrist began to sniff. “She must have been asleep, you know. She wouldn’t have heard anything and the Inspector assures me that she didn’t suffer… He thinks the first blow killed her. Oh dear, it makes me quite sick even to think of it!”
“Please, please. I’ve no wish to take you any further over what happened. All I wanted was to hear what you could tell me about Mrs. Lansquenet before the tragedy.”
“Very natural, I’m sure. Do tell her relations that apart from having such a bad night she was really very happy and looking forward to the future.”
Mr. Entwhistle paused before asking his next question. He wanted to be careful not to lead the witness.
“She did not mention any of her relations in particular?”
“No, no, I don’t think so.” Miss Gilchrist considered. “Except what she said about being sorry not to see her brother Timothy.”
“She did not speak at all about her brother’s decease? The—er—cause of it? Anything like that?”
“No.”
There was no sign of alertness in Miss Gilchrist’s face. Mr. Entwhistle felt certain there would have been if Cora had plumped out her verdict of murder.
“He’d been ill for some time, I think,” said Miss Gilchrist vaguely, “though I must say I was surprised to hear it. He looked so very vigorous.”
Mr. Entwhistle said quickly:
“You saw him—when?”
“When he came down here to see Mrs. Lansquenet. Let me see—that was about three weeks ago.”
“Did he stay here?”
“Oh—no—just came for luncheon. It was quite a surprise. Mrs. Lansquenet hadn’t expected him. I gather there had been some family disagreement. She hadn’t seen him for years, she told me.”
“Yes, that is so.”
“It quite upset her—seeing him again—and probably realizing how ill he was—”
“She knew he was ill?”
“Oh yes, I remember quite well. Because I wondered—only in my own mind, you understand—if perhaps Mr. Abernethie might be suffering from softening of the brain. An aunt of mine—”
Mr. Entwhistle deftly sidetracked the aunt.
“Something Mrs. Lansquenet said caused you to think of softening of the brain?”
“Yes. Mrs. Lansquenet said something