Lord Edgware Dies - Agatha Christie [26]
‘Carlotta Adams, do you mean?’
‘Mais oui, mais oui. Quickly, Hastings, quickly. Every minute is of value. Do you not see?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t.’
Poirot swore under his breath.
‘The telephone book? No, she would not be in it. The theatre.’
At the theatre they were not disposed to give Carlotta’s address, but Poirot managed it. It was a flat in a block of mansions near Sloane Square. We drove there, Poirot in a fever of impatience.
‘If I am not too late, Hastings. If I am not too late.’
‘What is all this haste? I don’t understand. What does it mean?’
‘It means that I have been slow. Terribly slow to realize the obvious. Ah! mon Dieu, if only we may be in time.’
Chapter 9
The Second Death
Though I did not understand the reason for Poirot’s agitation, I knew him well enough to be sure that he had a reason for it.
We arrived at Rosedew Mansions, Poirot sprang out, paid the driver and hurried into the building. Miss Adams’ flat was on the first floor, as a visiting-card stuck on a board informed us.
Poirot hurried up the stairs, not waiting to summon the lift which was at one of the upper floors.
He knocked and rang. There was a short delay, then the door was opened by a neat middle-aged woman with hair drawn tightly back from her face. Her eyelids were reddened as though with weeping.
‘Miss Adams?’ demanded Poirot eagerly.
The woman looked at him.
‘Haven’t you heard?’
‘Heard? Heard what?’
His face had gone deadly pale, and I realized that this, whatever it was, was what he had feared.
The woman continued slowly to shake her head.
‘She’s dead. Passed away in her sleep. It’s terrible.’
Poirot leaned against the doorpost.
‘Too late,’ he murmured.
His agitation was so apparent that the woman looked at him with more attention.
‘Excuse me, sir, but are you a friend of hers? I do not remember seeing you come here before?’
Poirot did not reply to this directly. Instead he said:
‘You have had a doctor? What did he say?’
‘Took an overdose of a sleeping draught. Oh! the pity of it! Such a nice young lady. Nasty dangerous things – these drugs. Veronal he said it was.’
Poirot suddenly stood upright. His manner took on a new authority.
‘I must come in,’ he said.
The woman was clearly doubtful and suspicious.
‘I don’t think –’ she began.
But Poirot meant to have his way. He took probably the only course that would have obtained the desired result.
‘You must let me in,’ he said. ‘I am a detective and I have got to inquire into the circumstances of your mistress’s death.’
The woman gasped. She stood aside and we passed into the flat.
From there on Poirot took command of the situation.
‘What I have told you,’ he said authoritatively, ‘is strictly confidential. It must not be repeated. Everyone must continue to think that Miss Adams’ death was accidental. Please give me the name and address of the doctor you summoned.’
‘Dr Heath, 17 Carlisle Street.’
‘And your own name?’
‘Bennett – Alice Bennett.’
‘You were attached to Miss Adams, I can see, Miss Bennett.’
‘Oh! yes, sir. She were a nice young lady. I worked for her last year when she were over here. It wasn’t as though she were one of those actresses. She were a real young lady. Dainty ways she had and liked everything just so.’
Poirot listened with attention and sympathy. He had now no signs of impatience. I realized that to proceed gently was the best way of extracting the information he wanted.
‘It must have been a great shock to you,’ he observed gently.
‘Oh! it was, sir. I took her in her tea – at half-past nine as usual and there she was lying – asleep I thought. And I put the tray down. And I pulled the curtains – one of the rings caught, sir, and I had to jerk it hard. Such a noise it made. I was surprised when I looked round to see she hadn’t woken. And then all of a sudden something seemed to take hold of me. Something not quite natural about the way she lay. And I went to the side of the bed, and I touched her hand. Icy cold it was, sir, and I cried out.’
She stopped, tears coming into her eyes.
‘Yes, yes,’ said