Death in the Clouds - Agatha Christie [61]
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Simply, Madame, because I am Hercule Poirot. Eh bien, have no fears—place yourself in my hands—I will deal with this Mr Robinson.’
‘Yes,’ said Cicely sharply. ‘And how much will you want?’
Hercule Poirot bowed.
‘I shall ask only a photograph, signed, of a very beautiful lady…’
She cried out, ‘Oh, dear, I don’t know what to do…My nerves…I’m going mad.’
‘No, no, all is well. Trust Hercule Poirot. Only, Madame, I must have the truth—the whole truth—do not keep anything back or my hands will be tied.’
‘And you’ll get me out of this mess?’
‘I swear to you solemnly that you will never hear of Mr Robinson again.’
She said, ‘All right. I’ll tell you everything.’
‘Good. Now then, you borrowed money from this woman Giselle?’
Lady Horbury nodded.
‘When was that? When did it begin, I mean?’
‘Eighteen months ago. I was in a hole.’
‘Gambling?’
‘Yes. I had an appalling run of luck.’
‘And she lent you as much as you wanted?’
‘Not at first. Only a small sum to begin with.’
‘Who sent you to her?’
‘Raymond—Mr Barraclough told me that he had heard she lent money to Society women.’
‘But later she lent you more?’
‘Yes—as much as I wanted. It seemed like a miracle at the time.’
‘It was Madame Giselle’s special kind of miracle,’ said Poirot drily. ‘I gather that before then you and Mr Barraclough had become—er—friends?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you were very anxious that your husband should not know about it?’
Cicely cried angrily, ‘Stephen’s a prig. He’s tired of me. He wants to marry someone else. He’d have jumped at the thought of divorcing me.’
‘And you did not want—divorce?’
‘No. I—I—’
‘You liked your position—and also you enjoyed the use of a very ample income. Quite so. Les femmes, naturally, they must look after themselves. To proceed—there arose the question of repayment?’
‘Yes, and I—I couldn’t pay back the money. And then the old devil turned nasty. She knew about me and Raymond. She’d found out places and dates and everything—I can’t think how.’
‘She had her methods,’ said Poirot drily. ‘And she threatened, I suppose, to send all this evidence to Lord Horbury?’
‘Yes, unless I paid up.’
‘And you couldn’t pay?’
‘No.’
‘So her death was quite providential?’
Cicely Horbury said earnestly, ‘It seemed too, too wonderful.’
‘Ah, precisely—too, too wonderful. But it made you a little nervous, perhaps?’
‘Nervous?’
‘Well, after all, Madame, you alone of anyone on the plane had a motive for desiring her death.’
She drew in her breath sharply.
‘I know. It was awful. I was in an absolute state about it.’
‘Especially since you had been to see her in Paris the night before, and had had something of a scene with her?’
‘The old devil! She wouldn’t budge an inch. I think she actually enjoyed it. Oh, she was a beast through and through! I came away like a rag.’
‘And yet you said at the inquest that you had never seen the woman before?’
‘Well, naturally, what else could I say?’
Poirot looked at her thoughtfully.
‘You, Madame, could say nothing else.’
‘It’s been too ghastly—nothing but lies—lies—lies. That dreadful inspector man has been here again and again badgering me with questions. But I felt pretty safe. I could see he was only trying it on. He didn’t know anything.’
‘If one does guess, one should guess with assurance.’
‘And then,’ continued Cicely, pursuing her own line of thought, ‘I couldn’t help feeling that if anything were to leak out, it would have leaked out at once. I felt safe—till that awful letter yesterday.’
‘You have not been afraid all this time?’
‘Of course I’ve been afraid!’
‘But of what? Of exposure, or of being arrested for murder?’
The colour ebbed away from her cheeks.
‘Murder—but I didn’t—Oh, you don’t believe that! I didn’t kill her. I didn’t!’
‘You wanted her dead…’
‘Yes, but I didn’t kill her…Oh, you must believe me—you must. I never moved from my seat. I—’
She broke off. Her beautiful blue eyes were fixed on him imploringly.
Hercule Poirot nodded soothingly.
‘I believe you, Madame, for two reasons—first, because of your sex, and secondly