Mrs McGinty's Dead - Agatha Christie [57]
‘She wouldn’t want to stab you, though, Robin.’
Robin considered.
‘No, perhaps not. As a matter of fact I was considering her strangling you. She wouldn’t mind doing that half as much.’
‘But I want you to be the victim. And the person who kills you can be Deirdre Henderson. The repressed plain girl whom nobody notices.’
‘There you are, Ariadne,’ said Robin. ‘The whole plot of your next novel presented to you. All you’ll have to do is work in a few false clues, and—of course—do the actual writing. Oh, goodness, what terrible dogs Maureen does have.’
They had turned in at the gate of Long Meadows, and two Irish wolfhounds had rushed forward, barking.
Maureen Summerhayes came out into the stableyard with a bucket in her hand.
‘Down, Flyn. Come here, Cormic. Hallo. I’m just cleaning out Piggy’s stable.’
‘We know that, darling,’ said Robin. ‘We can smell you from here. How’s Piggy getting along?’
‘We had a terrible fright about him yesterday. He was lying down and he didn’t want his breakfast. Johnnie and I read up all the diseases in the Pig Book and couldn’t sleep for worrying about him, but this morning he was frightfully well and gay and absolutely charged Johnnie when Johnnie came in with his food. Knocked him flat, as a matter of fact. Johnnie had to go and have a bath.’
‘What exciting lives you and Johnnie lead,’ said Robin.
Eve said: ‘Will you and Johnnie come in and have drinks with us this evening, Maureen?’
‘Love to.’
‘To meet Mrs Oliver,’ said Robin, ‘but actually you can meet her now. This is she.’
‘Are you really?’ said Maureen. ‘How thrilling. You and Robin are doing a play together, aren’t you?’
‘It’s coming along splendidly,’ said Robin. ‘By the way, Ariadne, I had a brainwave after you went out this morning. About casting.’
‘Oh, casting,’ said Mrs Oliver in a relieved voice.
‘I know just the right person to play Eric. Cecil Leech—he’s playing in the Little Rep at Cullenquay. We’ll run over and see the show one evening.’
‘We want your P.G.,’ said Eve to Maureen. ‘Is he about? I want to ask him tonight, too.’
‘We’ll bring him along,’ said Maureen.
‘I think I’d better ask him myself. As a matter of fact I was a bit rude to him yesterday.’
‘Oh! Well, he’s somewhere about,’ said Maureen vaguely. ‘In the garden, I think—Cormic—Flyn—those damned dogs—’ She dropped the bucket with a clatter and ran in the direction of the duck pond, whence a furious quacking had arisen.
Chapter 13
Mrs Oliver, glass in hand, approached Hercule Poirot towards the end of the Carpenters’ party. Up till that moment they had each of them been the centre of an admiring circle. Now that a good deal of gin had been consumed, and the party was going well, there was a tendency for old friends to get together and retail local scandal, and the two outsiders were able to talk to each other.
‘Come out on the terrace,’ said Mrs Oliver, in a conspirator’s whisper.
At the same time she pressed into his hand a small piece of paper.
Together they stepped out through the French windows and walked along the terrace. Poirot unfolded the piece of paper.
‘Dr Rendell,’ he read.
He looked questioningly at Mrs Oliver. Mrs Oliver nodded vigorously, a large plume of grey hair falling across her face as she did so.
‘He’s the murderer,’ said Mrs Oliver.
‘You think so? Why?’
‘I just know it,’ said Mrs Oliver. ‘He’s the type. Hearty and genial, and all that.’
‘Perhaps.’
Poirot sounded unconvinced.
‘But what would you say was his motive?’
‘Unprofessional conduct,’ said Mrs Oliver. ‘And Mrs McGinty knew about it. But whatever the reason was, you can be quite sure it was him. I’ve looked at all the others, and he’s the one.’
In reply, Poirot remarked conversationally:
‘Last night somebody tried to push me on to the railway line at Kilchester station.’
‘Good gracious. To kill you, do you mean?’
‘I have no doubt that was the idea.’
‘And Dr Rendell was out on a case, I know he was.’
‘I understand—yes—that Dr Rendell was out on a case.’
‘Then that settles it,’ said Mrs Oliver with satisfaction.