Mrs McGinty's Dead - Agatha Christie [85]
‘I regret I cannot.’
‘Why can’t you?’
‘Because in this affair I act for James Bentley.’
‘James Bentley? Oh, you mean that half-wit who killed the charwoman. What’s he got to do with the Upwards?’
‘Perhaps—nothing.’
‘Well, then! Is it a question of money? How much?’
‘That is your great mistake, madame. You think always in terms of money. You have money and you think that only money counts.’
‘I haven’t always had money,’ said Eve Carpenter.
‘No,’ said Poirot. ‘I thought not.’ He nodded his head gently. ‘That explains a good deal. It excuses some things…’
II
Eve Carpenter went out the way she had come, blundering a little in the light as Poirot remembered her doing before.
Poirot said softly to himself: ‘Evelyn Hope…’
So Mrs Upward had rung up both Deirdre Henderson and Evelyn Carpenter. Perhaps she had rung up someone else. Perhaps—
With a crash Maureen came in.
‘It’s my scissors now. Sorry lunch is late. I’ve got three pairs and I can’t find one of them.’
She rushed over to the bureau and the process with which Poirot was well acquainted was repeated. This time, the objective was attained rather sooner. With a cry of joy, Maureen departed.
Almost automatically, Poirot stepped over and began to replace the things in the drawer. Sealing wax, notepaper, a work basket, photographs—
Photographs…
He stood staring at the photograph he held in his hand.
Footsteps rushed back along the passage.
Poirot could move quickly in spite of his age. He had dropped the photograph on the sofa, put a cushion on it, and had himself sat on the cushion, by the time that Maureen re-entered.
‘Where the hell’ve I put a colander full of spinach—’
‘But it is there, madame.’
He indicated the colander as it reposed beside him on the sofa.
‘So that’s where I left it.’ She snatched it up. ‘Everything’s behind today…’ Her glance took in Hercule Poirot sitting bolt upright.
‘What on earth do you want to sit there for? Even on a cushion, it’s the most uncomfortable seat in the room. All the springs are broken.’
‘I know, madame. But I am—I am admiring that picture on the wall.’
Maureen glanced up at the oil painting of a naval officer complete with telescope.
‘Yes—it’s good. About the only good thing in the house. We’re not sure that it isn’t a Gainsborough.’ She sighed. ‘Johnnie won’t sell it, though. It’s his great-great and I think a few more greats, grandfather and he went down with his ship or did something frightfully gallant. Johnnie’s terribly proud of it.’
‘Yes,’ said Poirot gently. ‘Yes, he has something to be proud about, your husband!’
III
It was three o’clock when Poirot arrived at Dr Rendell’s house.
He had eaten rabbit stew and spinach and hard potatoes and a rather peculiar pudding, not scorched this time. Instead, ‘The water got in,’ Maureen had explained. He had drunk half a cup of muddy coffee. He did not feel well.
The door was opened by the elderly housekeeper Mrs Scott, and he asked for Mrs Rendell.
She was in the drawing-room with the radio on and started up when he was announced.
He had the same impression of her that he had had the first time he saw her. Wary, on her guard, frightened of him, or frightened of what he represented.
III
She seemed paler and more shadowy than she had done. He was almost certain that she was thinner.
‘I want to ask you a question, madame.’
‘A question? Oh? Oh yes?’
‘Did Mrs Upward telephone to you on the day of her death?’
She stared at him. She nodded.
‘At what time?’
‘Mrs Scott took the message. It was about six o’clock, I think.’
‘What was the message? To ask you to go there that evening?’
‘Yes. She said that Mrs Oliver and Robin were going into Kilchester and she would be all alone as it was Janet’s night out. Could I come down and keep her company.’
‘Was any time suggested?’
‘Nine o’clock or after.’
‘And you went?’
‘I meant to. I really meant to. But I don’t know how it was, I fell fast asleep after dinner that night. It was after ten when I woke up. I thought it was too late.’
‘You