Murder in the Mews - Agatha Christie [67]
‘You refer to M. Burrows?’
‘Burrows? Of course not. Ruth wouldn’t fall for a bogus person like that.’
‘Then who was the object of her affection?’
Susan Cardwell paused, stretched for a cigarette, lit it, and remarked:
‘You’d better ask her that. After all, it isn’t my business.’
Major Riddle asked:
‘When was the last time you saw Sir Gervase?’
‘At tea.’
‘Did his manner strike you as peculiar in any way?’
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
‘Not more than usual.’
‘What did you do after tea?’
‘Played billiards with Hugo.’
‘You didn’t see Sir Gervase again?’
‘No.’
‘What about the shot?’
‘That was rather odd. You see, I thought the first gong had gone, so I hurried up with my dressing, came dashing out of my room, heard, as I thought, the second gong and fairly raced down the stairs. I’d been one minute late for dinner the first night I was here and Hugo told me it had about wrecked our chances with the old man, so I fairly hared down. Hugo was just ahead of me and then there was a queer kind of pop-bang and Hugo said it was a champagne cork, but Snell said “No” to that and, anyway, I didn’t think it had come from the dining-room. Miss Lingard thought it came from upstairs, but anyway we agreed it was a back-fire and we trooped into the drawing-room and forgot about it.’
‘It did not occur to you for one moment that Sir Gervase might have shot himself?’ asked Poirot.
‘I ask you, should I be likely to think of such a thing? The Old Man seemed to enjoy himself throwing his weight about. I never imagined he’d do such a thing. I can’t think why he did it. I suppose just because he was nuts.’
‘An unfortunate occurrence.’
‘Very — for Hugo and me. I gather he’s left Hugo nothing at all, or practically nothing.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Hugo got it out of old Forbes.’
‘Well, Miss Cardwell —’ Major Riddle paused a moment, ‘I think that’s all. Do you think Miss Chevenix-Gore is feeling well enough to come down and talk to us?’
‘Oh, I should think so. I’ll tell her.’
Poirot intervened.
‘A little moment, mademoiselle. Have you seen this before?’
He held out the bullet pencil.
‘Oh, yes, we had it at bridge this afternoon. Belongs to old Colonel Bury, I think.’
‘Did he take it when the rubber was over?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’
‘Thank you, mademoiselle. That is all.’
‘Right, I’ll tell Ruth.’
Ruth Chevenix-Gore came into the room like a queen. Her colour was vivid, her head held high. But her eyes, like the eyes of Susan Cardwell, were watchful. She wore the same frock she had had on when Poirot arrived. It was a pale shade of apricot. On her shoulder was pinned a deep, salmon-pink rose. It had been fresh and blooming an hour earlier, now it drooped.
‘Well?’ said Ruth.
‘I’m extremely sorry to bother you,’ began Major Riddle.
She interrupted him.
‘Of course you have to bother me. You have to bother everyone. I can save you time, though. I haven’t the faintest idea why the Old Man killed himself. All I can tell you is that it wasn’t a bit like him.’
‘Did you notice anything amiss in his manner today? Was he depressed, or unduly excited — was there anything at all abnormal?’
‘I don’t think so. I wasn’t noticing —’
‘When did you see him last?’
‘Tea-time.’
Poirot spoke:
‘You did not go to the study — later?’
‘No. The last I saw of him was in this room. Sitting there.’
She indicated a chair.
‘I see. Do you know this pencil, mademoiselle?’
‘It’s Colonel Bury’s.’
‘Have you seen it lately?’
‘I don’t really remember.’
‘Do you know anything of a — disagreement between Sir Gervase and Colonel Bury?’
‘Over the Paragon Rubber Company, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘I should think so. The Old Man was rabid about it!’
‘He considered, perhaps, that he had been swindled?’
Ruth shrugged her shoulders.
‘He didn’t understand the first thing about finance.’
Poirot said:
‘May I ask you a question, mademoiselle — a somewhat impertinent question?’
‘Certainly, if