Mrs McGinty's Dead - Agatha Christie [64]
He said fretfully:
‘You know, I don’t feel a bit in the mood today. All that gin yesterday, perhaps. Let’s scrap work and go into the question of casting. If we can get Denis Callory, of course it will be too marvellous, but he’s tied up in films at the moment. And Jean Bellews for Ingrid would be just right—and she wants to play it which is so nice. Eric—as I say, I’ve had a brainwave for Eric. We’ll go over to the Little Rep tonight, shall we? And you’ll tell me what you think of Cecil for the part.’
Mrs Oliver agreed hopefully to this project and Robin went off to telephone.
‘There,’ he said returning. ‘That’s all fixed.’
IV
The fine morning had not lived up to its promise. Clouds had gathered and the day was oppressive with a threat of rain. As Poirot walked through the dense shrubberies to the front door of Hunter’s Close, he decided that he would not like to live in this hollow valley at the foot of the hill. The house itself was closed in by trees and its walls suffocated in ivy. It needed, he thought, the woodman’s axe.
(The axe? The sugar cutter?)
He rang the bell and after getting no response, rang it again.
It was Deirdre Henderson who opened the door to him. She seemed surprised.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘it’s you.’
‘May I come in and speak to you?’
‘I—well, yes, I suppose so.’
She led him into the small dark sitting-room where he had waited before. On the mantelpiece he recognized the big brother of the small coffee pot on Maureen’s shelf. Its vast hooked nose seemed to dominate the small Western room with a hint of Eastern ferocity.
‘I’m afraid,’ said Deirdre in an apologetic tone, ‘that we’re rather upset today. Our help, the German girl—she’s going. She’s only been here a month. Actually it seems she just took this post to get over to this country because there was someone she wanted to marry. And now they’ve fixed it up, and she’s going straight off tonight.’
Poirot clicked his tongue.
‘Most inconsiderate.’
‘It is, isn’t it? My stepfather says it isn’t legal. But even if it isn’t legal, if she just goes off and gets married, I don’t see what one can do about it. We shouldn’t even have known she was going if I hadn’t found her packing her clothes. She would just have walked out of the house without a word.’
‘It is, alas, not an age of consideration.’
‘No,’ said Deirdre dully. ‘I suppose it’s not.’
She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand.
‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘I’m very tired.’
‘Yes,’ said Poirot gently. ‘I think you may be very tired.’
‘What was it you wanted, M. Poirot?’
‘I wanted to ask you about a sugar hammer.’
‘A sugar hammer?’
Her face was blank, uncomprehending.
‘An instrument of brass, with a bird on it, and inlaid with blue and red and green stones.’ Poirot enunciated the description carefully.
‘Oh yes, I know.’
Her voice showed no interest or animation.
‘I understand it came from this house?’
‘Yes. My mother bought it in the bazaar at Baghdad. It’s one of the things we took to the Vicarage sale.’
‘The Bring and Buy sale, that is right?’
‘Yes. We have a lot of them here. It’s difficult to get people to give money, but there’s usually something you can rake up and send.’
‘So it was here, in this house, until Christmas, and then you sent it to the Bring and Buy sale? Is that right?’
Deirdre frowned.
‘Not the Christmas Bring and Buy. It was the one before. The Harvest Festival one.’
‘The Harvest Festival—that would be—when? October? September?’
‘The end of September.’
It was very quiet in the little room. Poirot looked at the girl and she looked back at him. Her face was mild, expressionless, uninterested. Behind the blank wall of her apathy, he tried to guess what