Dumb Witness - Agatha Christie [50]
Theresa Arundell’s flat had been bare to the point of emptiness. Miss Lawson’s on the other hand was so crammed with furniture and odds and ends that one could hardly move about without the fear of knocking something over.
The door opened and a rather stout, middle-aged lady came in. Miss Lawson was very much as I had pictured her. She had an eager, rather foolish face, untidy greyish hair and pince-nez perched a little askew on her nose. Her style of conversation was spasmodic and consisted of gasps.
“Good morning—er—I don’t think—”
“Miss Wilhelmina Lawson?”
“Yes—yes—that is my name….”
“My name is Poirot—Hercule Poirot. Yesterday I was looking over Littlegreen House.”
“Oh, yes?”
Miss Lawson’s mouth fell a little wider open and she made some inefficient dabs at her untidy hair.
“Won’t you sit down?” she went on. “Sit here, won’t you? Oh, dear, I’m afraid that table is in your way. I’m just a leetle bit crowded here. So difficult! These flats! Just a teeny bit on the small side. But so central! And I do like being central. Don’t you?”
With a gasp she sat down on an uncomfortable-looking Victorian chair and, her pince-nez still awry, leaned forward breathlessly and looked at Poirot hopefully.
“I went to Littlegreen House in the guise of a purchaser,” went on Poirot. “But I should like to say at once—this is in the strictest confidence—”
“Oh, yes,” breathed Miss Lawson, apparently pleasurably excited.
“The very strictest confidence,” continued Poirot, “that I went there with another object… You may or may not be aware that shortly before she died Miss Arundell wrote to me—”
He paused and then went on:
“I am a well-known private detective.”
A variety of expressions chased themselves over Miss Lawson’s slightly flushed countenance. I wondered which one Poirot would single out as relevant to his inquiry. Alarm, excitement, surprise, puzzlement….
“Oh,” she said. Then after a pause, “Oh,” again.
And then, quite unexpectedly, she asked:
“Was it about the money?”
Poirot, even, was slightly taken aback. He said tentatively:
“You mean the money that was—”
“Yes, yes. The money that was taken from the drawer?”
Poirot said, quietly:
“Miss Arundell didn’t tell you she had written to me on the subject of that money?”
“No, indeed. I had no idea—Well, really, I must say I’m very surprised—”
“You thought she would not have mentioned it to anyone?”
“I certainly didn’t think so. You see, she had a very good idea—”
She stopped again. Poirot said, quickly:
“She had a very good idea who took it. That is what you would say, is it not?”
Miss Lawson nodded and continued breathlessly:
“And I shouldn’t have thought she would have wanted—well, I mean she said—that is, she seemed to feel—”
Again Poirot cut in neatly into the midst of these incoherencies.
“It was a family matter?”
“Exactly.”
“But me,” said Poirot, “I specialize in family matters. I am, you see, very very discreet.”
Miss Lawson nodded vigorously.
“Oh! of course—that makes a difference. It’s not like the police.”
“No, no. I am not at all like the police. That would not have done at all.”
“Oh, no. Dear Miss Arundell was such a proud woman. Of course, there had been trouble before with Charles, but it was always hushed up. Once, I believe, he had to go to Australia!”
“Just so,” said Poirot. “Now the facts of the case were as follows, were they not? Miss Arundell had a sum of money in a drawer—”
He paused. Miss Lawson hastened to confirm his statement.
“Yes—from the Bank. For the wages, you know, and the books.”
“And how much was missing exactly?”
“Four pound notes. No, no, I am wrong, three pound notes and two ten-shilling notes. One must be exact, I know, very exact, in such matters.” Miss Lawson looked at him earnestly and absentmindedly knocked her pince-nez a little farther awry. Her rather prominent eyes seemed to goggle at him.
“Thank you, Miss Lawson. I see you have an excellent business sense.”
Miss Lawson bridled a little and uttered a deprecatory laugh.
“Miss Arundell suspected, no doubt with reason, that her nephew Charles was responsible