Lord Edgware Dies - Agatha Christie [41]
‘Dear me, Poirot,’ I said. ‘You upset all my preconceived ideas about witnesses.’
‘In reply to my question as to Lord Edgware’s marrying again she ridicules the idea – simply because it has never occurred to her. She will not take the trouble to remember whether any infinitesimal signs may have pointed that way. Therefore we are exactly where we were before.’
‘She certainly did not seem at all taken aback when you pointed out she could not have seen Jane Wilkinson’s face,’ I remarked thoughtfully.
‘No. That is why I decided that she was one of those honestly inaccurate persons, rather than a deliberate liar. I can see no motive for deliberate lying unless – true, that is an idea!’
‘What is?’ I asked eagerly.
But Poirot shook his head.
‘An idea suggested itself to me. But it is too impossible – yes, much too impossible.’
And he refused to say more.
‘She seems very fond of the girl,’ I said.
‘Yes. She certainly was determined to assist at our interview. What was your impression of the Honourable Geraldine Marsh, Hastings?’
‘I was sorry for her – deeply sorry for her.’
‘You have always the tender heart, Hastings. Beauty in distress upsets you every time.’
‘Didn’t you feel the same?’
He nodded gravely.
‘Yes – she has not had a happy life. That is written very clearly on her face.’
‘At any rate,’ I said warmly, ‘you realize how preposterous Jane Wilkinson’s suggestion was – that she should have had anything to do with the crime, I mean.’
‘Doubtless her alibi is satisfactory, but Japp has not communicated it to me as yet.’
‘My dear Poirot – do you mean to say that even after seeing her and talking to her, you are still not satisfied and want an alibi?’
‘Eh bien, my friend, what is the result of seeing and talking to her? We perceive that she has passed through great unhappiness, she admits that she hated her father and is glad that he is dead, and she is deeply uneasy about what he may have said to us yesterday morning. And after that you say – no alibi is necessary!’
‘Her mere frankness proves her innocence,’ I said warmly.
‘Frankness is a characteristic of the family. The new Lord Edgware – with what a gesture he laid his cards on the table.’
‘He did indeed,’ I said, smiling at the remembrance. ‘Rather an original method.’
Poirot nodded.
‘He – what do you say? – cut the ground before our feet.’
‘From under,’ I corrected. ‘Yes – it made us look rather foolish.’
‘What a curious idea. You may have looked foolish. I didn’t feel foolish in the least and I do not think I looked it. On the contrary, my friend, I put him out of countenance.’
‘Did you?’ I said doubtfully, not remembering having seen signs of anything of the kind.
‘Si, si. I listen – and listen. And at last I ask a question about something quite different, and that, you may have noticed, disconcerts our brave Monsieur very much. You do not observe, Hastings.’
‘I thought his horror and astonishment at hearing of Carlotta Adams’ death was genuine,’ I said. ‘I suppose you will say it was a piece of clever acting.’
‘Impossible to tell. I agree it seemed genuine.’
‘Why do you think he flung all those facts at our head in that cynical way? Just for amusement?’
‘That is always possible. You English, you have the most extraordinary notions of humour. But it may have been policy. Facts that are concealed acquire a suspicious importance. Facts that are frankly revealed tend to be regarded as less important than they really are.’
‘The quarrel with his