Mrs McGinty's Dead - Agatha Christie [84]
III
Back at Long Meadows, Poirot removed his shoes, and put on a pair of bedroom slippers. They were not chic, not in his opinion comme il faut—but there must be relief.
He sat down on the easy-chair again and began once more to think. He had by now a lot to think about.
There were things he had missed—little things.
The pattern was all there. It only needed cohesion.
Maureen, glass in hand, talking in a dreamy voice—asking a question…Mrs Oliver’s account of her evening at the Rep. Cecil? Michael? He was almost sure that she had mentioned a Michael—Eva Kane, nursery governess to the Craigs—
Evelyn Hope…
Of course! Evelyn Hope!
Chapter 23
I
Eve Carpenter came into the Summerhayes’ house in the casual way that most people did, using any door or window that was convenient.
She was looking for Hercule Poirot and when she found him she did not beat about the bush.
‘Look here,’ she said. ‘You’re a detective, and you’re supposed to be good. All right, I’ll hire you.’
‘Suppose I am not for hire. Mon Dieu, I am not a taxicab!’
‘You’re a private detective and private detectives get paid, don’t they?’
‘It is the custom.’
‘Well, that’s what I’m saying. I’ll pay you. I’ll pay you well.’
‘For what? What do you want me to do?’
Eve Carpenter said sharply:
‘Protect me against the police. They’re crazy. They seem to think I killed the Upward woman. And they’re nosing round, asking me all sorts of questions—ferreting out things. I don’t like it. It’s driving me mental.’
Poirot looked at her. Something of what she said was true. She looked many years older than when he had first seen her a few weeks ago. Circles under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights. There were lines from her mouth to her chin, and her hand, when she lit a cigarette, shook badly.
‘You’ve got to stop it,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to.’
‘Madame, what can I do?’
‘Fend them off somehow or other. Damned cheek! If Guy was a man he’d stop all this. He wouldn’t let them persecute me.’
‘And—he does nothing?’
She said sullenly:
‘I’ve not told him. He just talks pompously about giving the police all the assistance possible. It’s all right for him. He was at some ghastly political meeting that night.’
‘And you?’
‘I was just sitting at home. Listening to the radio actually.’
‘But, if you can prove that—’
‘How can I prove it? I offered the Crofts a fabulous sum to say they’d been in and out and seen me there—the damned swine refused.’
‘That was a very unwise move on your part.’
‘I don’t see why. It would have settled the business.’
‘You have probably convinced your servants that you did commit the murder.’
‘Well—I’d paid Croft anyway for—’
‘For what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Remember—you want my help.’
‘Oh! It was nothing that matters. But Croft took the message from her.’
‘From Mrs Upward?’
‘Yes. Asking me to go down and see her that night.’
‘And you say you didn’t go?’
‘Why should I go? Damned dreary old woman. Why should I go and hold her hand? I never dreamed of going for a moment.’
‘When did this message come?’
‘When I was out. I don’t know exactly when—between five and six, I think. Croft took it.’
‘And you gave him money to forget he had taken that message. Why?’
‘Don’t be idiotic. I didn’t want to get mixed up in it all.’
‘And then you offer him money to give you an alibi? What do you suppose he and his wife think?’
‘Who cares what they think?’
‘A jury may care,’ said Poirot gravely.
She stared at him.
‘You’re not serious?’
‘I am serious.’
‘They’d listen to servants—and not to me?’
Poirot looked at her.
Such crass rudeness and stupidity! Antagonizing the people who might have been helpful. A short-sighted stupid policy. Short-sighted—
Such lovely wide blue eyes.
He said quietly:
‘Why don’t you wear glasses, madame? You need them.’
‘What? Oh, I do sometimes. I did as a child.’
‘And you had then a plate for your teeth.’
She stared.
‘I did, as a matter of fact. Why all this?’
‘The ugly duckling becomes a swan?’
‘I was certainly ugly enough.’
‘Did your mother think so?’
She said sharply:
‘I don’t remember my mother. What