Mrs McGinty's Dead - Agatha Christie [73]
Containing himself, Poirot said:
‘Miss Williams interests herself in this affair. She is convinced you are innocent.’
‘I don’t see what she can know about it.’
‘She knows you.’
James Bentley blinked. He said, grudgingly:
‘I suppose she does, in a way, but not well.’
‘You worked together in the office, did you not? You had, sometimes, meals together?’
‘Well—yes—once or twice. The Blue Cat Café, it’s very convenient—just across the street.’
‘Did you never go for walks with her?’
‘As a matter of fact we did, once. We walked up on the downs.’
Hercule Poirot exploded.
‘Ma foi, is it a crime that I seek to drag from you? To keep the company with a pretty girl, is it not natural? Is it not enjoyable? Can you not be pleased with yourself about it?’
‘I don’t see why,’ said James Bentley.
‘At your age it is natural and right to enjoy the company of girls.’
‘I don’t know many girls.’
‘Ça se voit! But you should be ashamed of that, not smug! You knew Miss Williams. You had worked with her and talked with her and sometimes had meals with her, and once went for a walk on the downs. And when I mention her, you do not even remember her name!’
James Bentley flushed.
‘Well, you see—I’ve never had much to do with girls. And she isn’t quite what you’d call a lady, is she? Oh very nice—and all that—but I can’t help feeling that Mother would have thought her common.’
‘It is what you think that matters.’
Again James Bentley flushed.
‘Her hair,’ he said. ‘And the kind of clothes she wears—Mother, of course, was old-fashioned—’
He broke off.
‘But you found Miss Williams—what shall I say—sympathetic?’
‘She was always very kind,’ said James Bentley slowly. ‘But she didn’t—really—understand. Her mother died when she was only a child, you see.’
‘And then you lost your job,’ said Poirot. ‘You couldn’t get another. Miss Williams met you once at Broadhinny, I understand?’
James Bentley looked distressed.
‘Yes—yes. She was coming over there on business and she sent me a post-card. Asked me to meet her. I can’t think why. It isn’t as if I knew her at all well.’
‘But you did meet her?’
‘Yes. I didn’t want to be rude.’
‘And you took her to the pictures or a meal?’
James Bentley looked scandalized.
‘Oh no. Nothing of that kind. We—er—just talked whilst she was waiting for her bus.’
‘Ah, how amusing that must have been for the poor girl!’
James Bentley said sharply:
‘I hadn’t got any money. You must remember that. I hadn’t any money at all.’
‘Of course. It was a few days before Mrs McGinty was killed, wasn’t it?’
James Bentley nodded. He said unexpectedly:
‘Yes, it was on the Monday. She was killed on Wednesday.’
‘I’m going to ask you something else, Mr Bentley. Mrs McGinty took the Sunday Comet?’
‘Yes, she did.’
‘Did you ever see her Sunday Comet?’
‘She used to offer it sometimes, but I didn’t often accept. Mother didn’t care for that kind of paper.’
‘So you didn’t see that week’s Sunday Comet?’
‘No.’
‘And Mrs McGinty didn’t speak about it, or about anything in it?’
‘Oh yes, she did,’ said James Bentley unexpectedly. ‘She was full of it!’
‘Ah la la. So she was full of it. And what did she say? Be careful. This is important.’
‘I don’t remember very well now. It was all about some old murder case. Craig, I think it was—no, perhaps it wasn’t Craig. Anyway, she said somebody connected with the case was living in Broadhinny now. Full of it, she was. I couldn’t see why it mattered to her.’
‘Did she say who it was—in Broadhinny?’
James Bentley said vaguely:
‘I think it was that woman whose son writes plays.’
‘She mentioned