Dumb Witness - Agatha Christie [53]
Her answer seemed quite natural and frank.
Poirot said, smiling:
“I think I saw Master Bob at Littlegreen House.”
“Oh, yes, I expect you did. He’s a dear little doggie.” Nothing annoys me more than to hear a sporting terrier called a dear little doggie. No wonder, I thought, that Bob despised Miss Lawson and refused to do anything she told him.
“And he is very intelligent?” went on Poirot.
“Oh, yes, very.”
“How upset he’d be if he knew he had nearly killed his mistress?”
Miss Lawson did not answer. She merely shook her head and sighed.
Poirot asked:
“Do you think it possible that that fall influenced Miss Arundell to remake her will?”
We were getting perilously near the bone here, I thought, but Miss Lawson seemed to find the question quite natural.
“You know,” she said, “I shouldn’t wonder if you weren’t right. It gave her a shock—I’m sure of that. Old people never like to think there’s any chance of their dying. But an accident like that makes one think. Or perhaps she might have had a premonition that her death wasn’t far off.”
Poirot said casually:
“She was in fairly good health, was she not?”
“Oh, yes. Very well, indeed.”
“Her illness must have come on very suddenly?”
“Oh, it did. It was quite a shock. We had had some friends that evening—” Miss Lawson paused.
“Your friends, the Misses Tripp. I have met those ladies. They are quite charming.”
Miss Lawson’s face flushed with pleasure.
“Yes, aren’t they? Such cultured women! Such wide interests! And so very spiritual! They told you, perhaps—about our sittings? I expect you are a sceptic—but indeed, I wish I could tell you the inexpressible joy of getting into touch with those who’ve passed over!”
“I am sure of it. I am sure of it.”
“Do you know, Mr. Poirot, my mother has spoken to me—more than once. It is such a joy to know that one’s dear ones are still thinking of one and watching over one.”
“Yes, yes, I can well understand that,” said Poirot, gently. “And was Miss Arundell also a believer?”
Miss Lawson’s face clouded over a little.
“She was willing to be convinced,” she said, doubtfully. “But I do not think she always approached the matter in the right frame of mind. She was sceptical and unbelieving—and once or twice her attitude attracted a most undesirable type of spirit! There were some very ribald messages—all due, I am convinced, to Miss Arundell’s attitude.”
“I should think very likely due to Miss Arundell,” agreed Poirot.
“But on that last evening—” continued Miss Lawson, “perhaps Isabel and Julia told you?—there were distinct phenomena. Actually the beginning of a materialization. Ectoplasm—you know what ectoplasm is perhaps?”
“Yes, yes, I am acquainted with its nature.”
“It proceeds, you know, from the medium’s mouth in the form of a ribbon and builds itself up into a form. Now I am convinced, Mr. Poirot, that unknown to herself Miss Arundell was a medium. On that evening I distinctly saw a luminous ribbon issuing from dear Miss Arundell’s mouth! Then her head became enveloped in a luminous mist.”
“Most interesting!”
“And then, unfortunately, Miss Arundell was suddenly taken ill and we had to break up the séance.”
“You sent for the doctor—when?”
“First thing the following morning.”
“Did he think the matter grave?”
“Well, he sent in a hospital nurse the following evening, but I think he hoped she would pull through.”
“The—excuse me—the relatives were not sent for?”
Miss Lawson flushed.
“They were notified as soon as possible—that is to say, when Dr. Grainger pronounced her to be in danger.”
“What was the cause of the attack? Something she had eaten?”
“No, I don’t think there was anything in particular. Dr. Grainger said she hadn’t been quite as careful in diet as she should have been. I think he thought the attack was probably brought on by a chill. The weather had been very treacherous.”
“Theresa and Charles Arundell had been down that weekend, had they not?”
Miss Lawson pursed her lips together.
“They had.”
“The visit was not a success,” Poirot suggested, watching her.
“It was not.” She added quite spitefully.