Dumb Witness - Agatha Christie [77]
She drew herself up, importantly.
“Ellen was very devoted to her mistress, was she not?” said Poirot.
“Oh, I agree that it’s no good making a fuss after things have happened, but all the same I think Ellen ought to be told that she mustn’t take it upon herself to do things without asking first!” She stopped, a red spot on each cheekbone.
Poirot was silent for a minute, then he said:
“You wanted to see me today? In what way can I be of service to you?”
Miss Lawson’s annoyance subsided as promptly as it had arisen. She began to be flustered and incoherent again.
“Well, really—you see, I just wondered… Well, to tell the truth, M. Poirot, I arrived down here yesterday and, of course, Ellen told me you had been here, and I just wondered—well, as you hadn’t mentioned to me that you were coming—Well, it seemed rather odd—that I couldn’t see—”
“You couldn’t see what I was doing down here?” Poirot finished for her.
“I—well—no, that’s exactly it. I couldn’t.”
She looked at him, flushed but inquiring.
“I must make a little confession to you,” said Poirot. “I have permitted you to remain under a misapprehension, I am afraid. You assumed that the letter I received from Miss Arundell concerned itself with the question of a small sum of money, abstracted by—in all possibility—Mr. Charles Arundell.”
Miss Lawson nodded.
“But that, you see, was not the case… In fact, the first I heard of the stolen money was from you… Miss Arundell wrote to me on the subject of her accident.”
“Her accident?”
“Yes, she had a fall down the stairs, I understand.”
“Oh, quite—quite—” Miss Lawson looked bewildered. She stared vacantly at Poirot. She went on. “But—I’m sorry—I’m sure it’s very stupid of me—but why should she write to you? I understand—in fact, I think you said so—that you are a detective. You’re not a—a doctor, too? Or a faith healer, perhaps?”
“No, I am not a doctor—nor a faith healer. But, like the doctor, I concern myself sometimes with so-called accidental deaths.”
“With accidental deaths?”
“With so-called accidental deaths, I said. It is true that Miss Arundell did not die—but she might have died!”
“Oh, dear me, yes, the doctor said so, but I don’t understand—”
Miss Lawson sounded still bewildered.
“The cause of the accident was supposed to be the ball of the little Bob, was it not?”
“Yes, yes, that was it. It was Bob’s ball.”
“Oh, no, it was not Bob’s ball.”
“But, excuse me, M. Poirot, I saw it there myself—as we all ran down.”
“You saw it—yes, perhaps. But it was not the cause of the accident. The cause of the accident, Miss Lawson, was a dark-coloured thread stretched about a foot above the top of the stairs!”
“But—but a dog couldn’t—”
“Exactly,” said Poirot quickly. “A dog could not do that—he is not sufficiently intelligent—or, if you like, he is not sufficiently evil…A human being put that thread in position….”
Miss Lawson’s face had gone deadly white. She raised a shaking hand to her face.
“Oh, M. Poirot—I can’t believe it—you don’t mean—but that is awful—really awful. You mean it was done on purpose?”
“Yes, it was done on purpose.”
“But that’s dreadful. It’s almost like—like killing a person.”
“If it had succeeded it would have been killing a person! In other words—it would have been murder!”
Miss Lawson gave a little shrill cry.
Poirot went on in the same grave tone.
“A nail was driven into the skirting board so that the thread could be attached. That nail was varnished so as not to show. Tell me, do you ever remember a smell of varnish that you could not account for?”
Miss Lawson gave a cry.
“Oh, how extraordinary! To think of that! Why, of course! And to think I never thought—never dreamed—but then, how could I? And yet it did seem odd to me at the time.”
Poirot leant forward.
“So—you can help us, mademoiselle. Once again you can help us. C’est épatant!”
“To think that was it! Oh, well, it all fits in.”
“Tell me, I pray of you. You