Dead Man's Folly - Agatha Christie [43]
Again he looked at her curiously.
‘What did you think would happen, then? Something?’
‘No, no. I didn’t mean that.’
Poirot persisted.
‘But you did expect something to happen – something out of the usual.’
‘You misunderstand me, M. Poirot. I only mean that it’s the last thing you would expect to happen in the middle of a fête like this.’
‘Lady Stubbs this morning also spoke of wickedness.’
‘Hattie did? Oh, don’t speak of her to me – don’t speak of her. I don’t want to think about her.’ She was silent for a moment or two, and then said, ‘What did she say – about wickedness?’
‘She was speaking of her cousin. Etienne de Sousa. She said that he was wicked, that he was a bad man. She said, too, that she was afraid of him.’
He watched, but she merely shook her head incredulously.
‘Etienne de Sousa – who is he?’
‘Of course, you were not at breakfast. I forgot, Mrs Folliat. Lady Stubbs received a letter from this cousin of hers whom she had not seen since she was a girl of fifteen. He told her that he proposed to call upon her today, this afternoon.’
‘And did he come?’
‘Yes. He arrived here about half-past four.’
‘Surely – d’you mean that rather handsome, dark young man who came up the ferry path? I wondered who he was at the time.’
‘Yes, Madame, that was Mr De Sousa.’
Mrs Folliat said energetically:
‘If I were you I should pay no attention to the things Hattie says.’ She flushed as Poirot looked at her in surprise and went on, ‘She is like a child – I mean, she uses terms like a child – wicked, good. No half shades. I shouldn’t pay any attention to what she tells you about this Etienne de Sousa.’
Again Poirot wondered. He said slowly:
‘You know Lady Stubbs very well, do you not, Mrs Folliat?’
‘Probably as well as anyone knows her. Possibly even better than her husband really knows her. And if I do?’
‘What is she really like, Madame?’
‘What a very odd question, M. Poirot.’
‘You know, do you not, Madame, that Lady Stubbs cannot be found anywhere?’
Again her answer surprised him. She expressed no concern or astonishment. She said:
‘So she has run away, has she? I see.’
‘It seems to you quite natural, that?’
‘Natural? Oh, I don’t know. Hattie is rather unaccountable.’
‘Do you think she has run away because she has a guilty conscience?’
‘What do you mean, M. Poirot?’
‘Her cousin was talking about her this afternoon. He mentioned casually that she had always been mentally subnormal. I think you must know, Madame, that people who are subnormal mentally are not always accountable for their actions.’
‘What are you trying to say, M. Poirot?’
‘Such people are, as you say, very simple – like children. In a sudden fit of rage they might even kill.’ Mrs Folliat turned on him in sudden anger.
‘Hattie was never like that! I won’t allow you to say such things. She was a gentle warm-hearted girl, even if she was – a little simple mentally. Hattie would never have killed anyone.’
She faced him, breathing hard, still indignant.
Poirot wondered. He wondered very much.
II
Breaking into this scene, P.C. Hoskinsmade his appearance.
He said in an apologetic manner:
‘I’ve been looking for you, ma’am.’
‘Good evening, Hoskins.’ Mrs Folliat was once more her poised self again, the mistress of Nasse House. ‘Yes, what is it?’
‘The inspector’s compliments, and he’d be glad to have a word with you – if you feels up to it, that is,’ Hoskins hastened to add; noting, as Hercule Poirot had done, the effects of shock.
‘Of course I feel up to it.’ Mrs Folliat rose to her feet. She followed Hoskins out of the room. Poirot, having risen politely, sat down again and stared up at the ceiling with a puzzled frown.
The inspector rose when Mrs Folliat entered and the constable held the chair for her to sit down.
‘I’m sorry to worry you, Mrs Folliat,’ said Bland. ‘But I imagine that you know all the people in the neighbourhood and I think you may be able to help us.’
Mrs Folliat smiled faintly. ‘I expect,’ she said, ‘that I