Dumb Witness - Agatha Christie [56]
“Then it was about my husband.” Her voice rose slightly. “What did she say? I can assure you, Mr.—er—I don’t know your name.”
“Poirot is my name. Hercule Poirot.”
“I can assure you, Mr. Poirot, that if anything was said in that letter against my husband, it was entirely untrue! I know, too, who will have inspired that letter! And that is another reason why I would rather have nothing to do with any action undertaken by Theresa and Charles! Theresa has never liked my husband. She has said things! I know she has said things! Aunt Emily was prejudiced against my husband because he was not an Englishman, and she may therefore have believed things that Theresa said about him. But they are not true, Mr. Poirot, you can take my word for that!”
“Mother—I’ve finished my letter.”
Mrs. Tanios turned quickly. With an affectionate smile she took the letter the little girl held out to her.
“That’s very nice, darling, very nice, indeed. And that’s a beautiful drawing of Mickey Mouse.”
“What shall I do now, Mother?”
“Would you like to get a nice postcard with a picture on it? Here’s the money. You go to the gentleman in the hall and choose one and then you can send it to Selim.”
The child moved away. I remembered what Charles Arundell had said. Mrs. Tanios was evidently a devoted wife and mother. She was also, as he had said, a little like an earwig.
“That is your only child, madame?”
“No, I have a little boy also. He is out with his father at the moment.”
“They did not accompany you to Littlegreen House on your visits?”
“Oh yes, sometimes, but you see, my aunt was rather old and children were inclined to worry her. But she was very kind and always sent them out nice presents at Christmas.”
“Let me see, when did you last see Miss Emily Arundell?”
“I think it was about ten days before she died.”
“You and your husband and your two cousins were all down there together, were you not?”
“Oh, no, that was the weekend before—at Easter.”
“And you and your husband were down there the weekend after Easter as well?”
“Yes.”
“And Miss Arundell was in good health and spirits then?”
“Yes, she seemed much as usual.”
“She was not ill in bed?”
“She was laid up with a fall she had had, but she came downstairs again while we were there.”
“Did she say anything to you about having made a new will?”
“No, nothing at all.”
“And her manner to you was quite unchanged?”
A slightly longer pause this time before Mrs. Tanios said:
“Yes.”
I feel sure that at that moment Poirot and I had the same conviction.
Mrs. Tanios was lying!
Poirot paused a minute and then said:
“Perhaps I should explain that when I asked if Miss Arundell’s manner to you was unchanged, I was not using the ‘you’ plural. I referred to you personally.”
Mrs. Tanios replied quickly.
“Oh! I see. Aunt Emily was very nice to me. She gave me a little pearl and diamond brooch and she sent ten shillings to each of the children.”
There was no constraint in her manner now. The words came freely with a rush.
“And as regards your husband—was there no change in her manner to him?”
The constraint had returned. Mrs. Tanios did not meet Poirot’s eye as she replied:
“No, of course not—why should there be?”
“But since you suggest that your cousin Theresa Arundell might have tried to poison your aunt’s mind—”
“She did! I’m sure she did!” Mrs. Tanios leant forward eagerly. “You are quite right. There was a change! Aunt Emily was suddenly far more distant to him. And she behaved very oddly. There was a special digestive mixture he recommended—even went to the trouble of getting her some—going to the chemist and having it made up. She thanked him and all that—but rather stiffly, and later I actually saw her pouring the bottle down the sink!”
Her indignation was quite fierce.
Poirot’s eyes flickered.
“A very odd procedure,” he said. His voice was carefully unexcited.
“I thought it most ungrateful,” said Dr. Tanios’ wife hotly.
“As you say, elderly ladies distrust foreigners sometimes,” said Poirot. “I am sure they think that English doctors are the only