Hallowe'en Party - Agatha Christie [48]
‘Oh yes, yes, but I hardly—I think it is an extremely far-fetched supposition.’
‘You had, also, I believe, a disappearance here of a foreign girl. Her name, I believe, was Olga or Sonia—I am not sure of the surname.’
‘Olga Seminoff. Yes, indeed.’
‘Not, I fear, a very reliable character?’
‘No.’
‘She was companion or nurse attendant to Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe, was she not, whom you described to me just now? Mrs Drake’s aunt–’
‘Yes. She had had several girls in that position—two other foreign girls, I think, one of them with whom she quarrelled almost immediately, and another one who was nice but painfully stupid. Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe was not one to suffer fools gladly. Olga, her last venture, seems to have suited her very well. She was not, if I remember rightly, a particularly attractive girl,’ said Mr Fullerton. ‘She was short, rather stocky, had rather a dour manner, and people in the neighbourhood did not like her very much.’
‘But Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe did like her,’ suggested Poirot.
‘She became very much attached to her—unwisely so, it seemed at one moment.’
‘Ah, indeed.’
‘I have no doubt,’ said Mr Fullerton, ‘that I am not telling you anything that you have not heard already. These things, as I say, go round the place like wild-fire.’
‘I understand that Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe left a large sum of money to the girl.’
‘A most surprising thing to happen,’ said Mr Fullerton.
‘Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe had not changed her fundamental testamentary disposition for many years, except for adding new charities or altering legacies left void by death. Perhaps I am telling you what you know already, if you are interested in this matter. Her money had always been left jointly to her nephew, Hugo Drake, and his wife, who was also his first cousin, and so also niece to Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe. If either of them predeceased her the money went to the survivor. A good many bequests were left to charities and to old servants. But what was alleged to be her final disposal of her property was made about three weeks before her death, and not, as heretofore, drawn up by our firm. It was a codicil written in her own handwriting. It included one or two charities—not so many as before—the old servants had no legacies at all, and the whole residue of her considerable fortune was left to Olga Seminoff in gratitude for the devoted service and affection she had shown her. A most astonishing disposition, one that seemed totally unlike anything Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe had ever done before.’
‘And then?’ said Poirot.
‘You have presumably heard more or less the developments. From the evidence of handwriting experts, it became clear that the codicil was a complete forgery. It bore only a faint resemblance to Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe’s handwriting, no more than that. Mrs Smythe had disliked the typewriter and had frequently got Olga to write letters of a personal nature, as far as possible copying her employer’s handwriting—sometimes, even, signing the letter with her employer’s signature. She had had plenty of practice in doing this. It seems that when Mrs Llewellyn-Smythe died the girl went one step further and thought that she was proficient enough to make the handwriting acceptable as that of her employer. But that sort of thing won’t do with experts. No, indeed it won’t.’
‘Proceedings were about to be taken to contest the document?’
‘Quite so. There was, of course, the usual legal delay before the proceedings actually came to court. During that period the young lady lost her nerve and well, as you said yourself just now, she—disappeared.’
Chapter 13
When Hercule Poirot had taken his leave and departed, Jeremy Fullerton sat before his desk drumming gently with his fingertips. His eyes, however, were far away—lost in thought.
He picked up a document in front of him and dropped his eyes down