Murder in the Mews - Agatha Christie [52]
‘Miss Chevenix-Gore is only their adopted daughter, I understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘A very handsome young lady.’
‘She’s a devilishly attractive girl. Has played havoc with most of the young fellows round here. Leads them all on and then turns round and laughs at them. Good seat on a horse, and wonderful hands.’
‘That, for the moment, does not concern us.’
‘Er — no, perhaps not…Well, about the other people. I know old Bury, of course. He’s here most of the time. Almost a tame cat about the house. Kind of A.D.C. to Lady Chevenix-Gore. He’s a very old friend. They’ve known him all their lives. I think he and Sir Gervase were both interested in some company of which Bury was a director.’
‘Oswald Forbes, do you know anything of him?’
‘I rather believe I’ve met him once.’
‘Miss Lingard?’
‘Never heard of her.’
‘Miss Susan Cardwell?’
‘Rather a good-looking girl with red hair? I’ve seen her about with Ruth Chevenix-Gore the last few days.’
‘Mr Burrows?’
‘Yes, I know him. Chevenix-Gore’s secretary. Between you and me, I don’t take to him much. He’s good-looking, and knows it. Not quite out of the top drawer.’
‘Had he been with Sir Gervase long?’
‘About two years, I fancy.’
‘And there is no one else —?’
Poirot broke off.
A tall, fair-haired man in a lounge suit came hurrying in. He was out of breath and looked disturbed.
‘Good evening, Major Riddle. I heard a rumour that Sir Gervase had shot himself, and I hurried up here. Snell tells me it’s true. It’s incredible! I can’t believe it!’
‘It’s true enough, Lake. Let me introduce you. This is Captain Lake, Sir Gervase’s agent for the estate. M. Hercule Poirot, of whom you may have heard.’
Lake’s face lit up with what seemed a kind of delighted incredulity.
‘M. Hercule Poirot? I’m most awfully pleased to meet you. At least —’ He broke off, the quick charming smile vanished — he looked disturbed and upset. ‘There isn’t anything — fishy — about this suicide, is there, sir?’
‘Why should there be anything “fishy,” as you call it?’ asked the chief constable sharply.
‘I mean, because M. Poirot is here. Oh, and because the whole business seems so incredible!’
‘No, no,’ said Poirot quickly. ‘I am not here on account of the death of Sir Gervase. I was already in the house — as a guest.’
‘Oh, I see. Funny, he never told me you were coming when I was going over accounts with him this afternoon.’
Poirot said quietly:
‘You have twice used the word “incredible,” Captain Lake. Are you, then, so surprised to hear of Sir Gervase commiting suicide?’
‘Indeed I am. Of course, he was mad as a hatter; everyone would agree about that. But all the same, I simply can’t imagine his thinking the world would be able to get on without him.’
‘Yes,’ said Poirot. ‘It is a point, that.’ And he looked with appreciation at the frank, intelligent countenance of the young man.
Major Riddle cleared his throat.
‘Since you are here, Captain Lake, perhaps you will sit down and answer a few questions.’
‘Certainly, sir.’
Lake took a chair opposite the other two.
‘When did you last see Sir Gervase?’
‘This afternoon, just before three o’clock. There were some accounts to be checked, and the question of a new tenant for one of the farms.’
‘How long were you with him?’
‘Perhaps half an hour.’
‘Think carefully, and tell me whether you noticed anything unusual in his manner.’
The young man considered.
‘No, I hardly think so. He was, perhaps, a trifle excited — but that wasn’t unusual with him.’
‘He was not depressed in any way?’
‘Oh, no, he seemed in good spirits. He was enjoying himself very much just now, writing up a history of the family.’
‘How long had he been doing this?’
‘He began it about six months ago.’
‘Is that when Miss Lingard came here?’
‘No. She arrived about two months ago when he had discovered that he could not manage the necessary research work by himself.’
‘And you consider he was enjoying himself?’
‘Oh, simply enormously! He really didn’t think that anything else mattered