Murder in the Mews - Agatha Christie [60]
‘All what sort of thing?’ asked Poirot.
‘Well, the feudal motif, if you like. This worship of ancestry and personal arrogance. Sir Gervase was a very able man in many ways, and had led an interesting life, but he would have been more interesting if he hadn’t been so entirely wrapped up in himself and his own egoism.’
‘Did his daughter agree with you there?’
Burrows flushed again — this time a deep purple.
He said:
‘I should imagine Miss Chevenix-Gore is quite one of the moderns! Naturally, I shouldn’t discuss her father with her.’
‘But the moderns do discuss their fathers a good deal!’ said Poirot. ‘It is entirely in the modern spirit to criticize your parents!’
Burrows shrugged his shoulders.
Major Riddle asked:
‘And there was nothing else — no other financial anxiety? Sir Gervase never spoke of having been victimized?’
‘Victimized?’ Burrows sounded very astonished. ‘Oh, no.’
‘And you yourself were on quite good terms with him?’
‘Certainly I was. Why not?’
‘I am asking you, Mr Burrows.’
The young man looked sulky.
‘We were on the best of terms.’
‘Did you know that Sir Gervase had written to M. Poirot asking him to come down here?’
‘No.’
‘Did Sir Gervase usually write his own letters?’
‘No, he nearly always dictated them to me.’
‘But he did not do so in this case?’
‘No.’
‘Why was that, do you think?’
‘I can’t imagine.’
‘You can suggest no reason why he should have written this particular letter himself?’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘Ah!’ said Major Riddle, adding smoothly, ‘Rather curious. When did you last see Sir Gervase?’
‘Just before I went to dress for dinner. I took him some letters to sign.’
‘What was his manner then?’
‘Quite normal. In fact I should say he was feeling rather pleased with himself about something.’
Poirot stirred a little in his chair.
‘Ah?’ he said. ‘So that was your impression, was it? That he was pleased about something. And yet, not so very long afterwards, he shoots himself. It is odd, that!’
Godfrey Burrows shrugged his shoulders.
‘I’m only telling you my impressions.’
‘Yes, yes, they are very valuable. After all, you are probably one of the last people who saw Sir Gervase alive.’
‘Snell was the last person to see him.’
‘To see him, yes, but not to speak to him.’
Burrows did not reply.
Major Riddle said:
‘What time was it when you went up to dress for dinner?’
‘About five minutes past seven.’
‘What did Sir Gervase do?’
‘I left him in the study.’
‘How long did he usually take to change?’
‘He usually gave himself a full three-quarters of an hour.’
‘Then, if dinner was at a quarter-past eight, he would probably have gone up at half-past seven at the latest?’
‘Very likely.’
‘You yourself went to change early?’
‘Yes, I thought I would change and then go to the library and look up the references I wanted.’
Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Major Riddle said:
‘Well, I think that’s all for the moment. Will you send Miss What’s-her-name along?’
Little Miss Lingard tripped in almost immediately. She was wearing several chains which tinkled a little as she sat down and looked inquiringly from one to the other of the two men.
‘This is all very — er — sad, Miss Lingard,’ began Major Riddle.
‘Very sad indeed,’ said Miss Lingard decorously.
‘You came to this house — when?’
‘About two months ago. Sir Gervase wrote to a friend of his in the Museum — Colonel Fotheringay it was — and Colonel Fotheringary recommended me. I have done a good deal of historical research work.’
‘Did you find Sir Gervase difficult to work for?’
‘Oh, not really. One had to humour him a little, of course. But then I always find one has to do that with men.’
With an uneasy feeling that Miss Lingard was probably humouring him at this moment, Major Riddle went on:
‘Your work here was to help Sir Gervase with the book he was writing?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did it involve?’
For a moment, Miss Lingard looked quite human. Her eyes twinkled as she replied:
‘Well, actually, you know, it involved writing the book! I looked up all the information and made