After the Funeral - Agatha Christie [30]
“Ah! do not try to pull the wool upon my eyes. This Cora, she knows Richard Abernethie was killed, yet she acquiesces in the hushing up. She says, ‘I think you are all quite right.’ Therefore it must be one of the family who is concerned, someone whom the victim himself might prefer not to have openly accused. Otherwise, since Cora was fond of her brother, she would not agree to let the sleeping murderer lie. You agree to that, yes?”
“It was the way I reasoned—yes,” confessed Mr. Entwhistle. “Though how any of the family could possibly—”
Poirot cut him short.
“Where poison is concerned there are all sorts of possibilities. It must, presumably, have been a narcotic of some sort if he died in his sleep and if there were no suspicious appearances. Possibly he was already having some narcotic administered to him.”
“In any case,” said Mr. Entwhistle, “the how hardly matters. We shall never be able to prove anything.”
“In the case of Richard Abernethie, no. But the murder of Cora Lansquenet is different. Once we know ‘who’ then evidence ought to be possible to get.” He added with a sharp glance, “You have, perhaps, already done something.”
“Very little. My purpose was mainly, I think, elimination. It is distasteful to me to think that one of the Abernethie family is a murderer. I still can’t quite believe it. I hoped that by a few apparently idle questions I could exonerate certain members of the family beyond question. Perhaps, who knows, all of them? In which case, Cora would have been wrong in her assumption and her own death could be ascribed to some casual prowler who broke in. After all, the issue is very simple. What were the members of the Abernethie family doing on the afternoon that Cora Lansquenet was killed?”
“Eh bien,” said Poirot, “what were they doing?”
“George Crossfield was at Hurst Park races. Rosamund Shane was out shopping in London. Her husband—for one must include husbands—”
“Assuredly.”
“Her husband was fixing up a deal about an option on a play, Susan and Gregory Banks were at home all day, Timothy Abernethie, who is an invalid, was at his home in Yorkshire, and his wife was driving herself home from Enderby.”
He stopped.
Hercule Poirot looked at him and nodded comprehendingly.
“Yes, that is what they say. And is it all true?”
“I simply don’t know, Poirot. Some of the statements are capable of proof or disproof—but it would be difficult to do so without showing one’s hand pretty plainly. In fact to do so would be tantamount to an accusation. I will simply tell you certain conclusions of my own. George may have been at Hurst Park races, but I do not think he was. He was rash enough to boast that he had backed a couple of winners. It is my experience that so many offenders against the law ruin their own case by saying too much. I asked him the name of the winners, and he gave the names of two horses without any apparent hesitation. Both of them, I found, had been heavily tipped on the day in question and one had duly won. The other, though an odds on favourite, had unaccountably failed even to get a place.”
“Interesting. Had this George any urgent need for money at the time of his uncle’s death?”
“It is my impression that his need was very urgent. I have no evidence for saying so, but I strongly suspect that he has been speculating with his clients’ funds and that he was in danger of prosecution. It is only my impression but I have some experience in these matters. Defaulting solicitors, I regret to say, are not entirely uncommon. I can only tell you that I would not have cared to entrust my own funds to George, and I suspect that Richard Abernethie, a very shrewd judge of men, was dissatisfied with his nephew and placed no reliance on him.
“His mother,” the lawyer continued, “was a good-looking rather foolish girl and she married a man of what I should call dubious character.” He sighed. “The Abernethie girls were not good choosers.”
He paused and then went on:
“As for Rosamund, she is a lovely nitwit. I really cannot see her smashing