Mrs McGinty's Dead - Agatha Christie [27]
Poirot cast a swift glance round the rather overcrowded little sitting-room in which he was sitting.
Was the weapon here, somewhere, in this house? Was that why Joe Burch was uneasy and conciliatory?
Poirot did not know. He did not really think so. But he was not absolutely sure…
Chapter 6
I
In the offices of Messrs Breather & Scuttle, Poirot was shown, after some demur, into the room of Mr Scuttle himself.
Mr Scuttle was a brisk, bustling man, with a hearty manner.
‘Good morning. Good morning.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘Now, what can we do for you?’
His professional eye shot over Poirot, trying to place him, making, as it were, a series of marginal notes.
Foreign. Good quality clothes. Probably rich. Restaurant proprietor? Hotel manager? Films?
‘I hope not to trespass on your time unduly. I wanted to talk to you about your former employee, James Bentley.’
Mr Scuttle’s expressive eyebrows shot up an inch and dropped.
‘James Bentley. James Bentley?’ He shot out a question. ‘Press?’
‘No.’
‘And you wouldn’t be police?’
‘No. At least—not of this country.’
‘Not of this country.’ Mr Scuttle filed this away rapidly as though for future reference. ‘What’s it all about?’
Poirot, never hindered by a pedantic regard for truth, launched out into speech.
‘I am opening a further inquiry into James Bentley’s case—at the request of certain relatives of his.’
‘Didn’t know he had any. Anyway, he’s been found guilty, you know, and condemned to death.’
‘But not yet executed.’
‘While there’s life, there’s hope, eh?’ Mr Scuttle shook his head. ‘Should doubt it, though. Evidence was strong. Who are these relations of his?’
‘I can only tell you this, they are both rich and powerful. Immensely rich.’
‘You surprise me.’ Mr Scuttle was unable to help thawing slightly. The words ‘immensely rich’ had an attractive and hypnotic quality. ‘Yes, you really do surprise me.’
‘Bentley’s mother, the late Mrs Bentley,’ explained Poirot, ‘cut herself and her son off completely from her family.’
‘One of these family feuds, eh? Well, well. And young Bentley without a farthing to bless himself with. Pity these relations didn’t come to the rescue before.’
‘They have only just become aware of the facts,’ explained Poirot. ‘They have engaged me to come with all speed to this country and do everything possible.’
Mr Scuttle leaned back, relaxing his business manner.
‘Don’t know what you can do. I suppose there’s insanity? A bit late in the day—but if you got hold of the big medicos. Of course I’m not up in these things myself.’
Poirot leaned forward.
‘Monsieur, James Bentley worked here. You can tell me about him.’
‘Precious little to tell—precious little. He was one of our junior clerks. Nothing against him. Seemed a perfectly decent young fellow, quite conscientious and all that. But no idea of salesmanship. He just couldn’t put a project over. That’s no good in this job. If a client comes to us with a house he wants to sell, we’re there to sell it for him. And if a client wants a house, we find him one. If it’s a house in a lonely place with no amenities, we stress its antiquity, call it a period piece—and don’t mention the plumbing! And if the house looks straight into the gasworks, we talk about amenities and facilities and don’t mention the view. Hustle your client into it—that’s what you’re here to do. All sorts of little tricks there are. “We advise you, madam, to make an immediate offer. There’s a Member of Parliament who’s very keen on it—very keen indeed. Going out to see it again this afternoon.” They fall for that every time—a Member of Parliament is always a good touch. Can’t think why! No member ever lives away from his constituency. It’s just the good solid sound of it.’ He laughed suddenly, displayed gleaming dentures. ‘Psychology—that’s what it is—just psychology.’
Poirot leapt at the word.
‘Psychology. How right you are. I see that you are a judge of men.’
‘Not too bad. Not too bad,’ said Mr Scuttle modestly.
‘So I ask you again what was your impression of James