One, two, buckle my shoe - Agatha Christie [52]
He was playing his part with a good deal of astuteness. He did not air any subversive views, he kept off politics. He told amusing stories of his hitch-hikes and tramps in wild places.
‘He is no longer the wolf,’ thought Poirot. ‘No, he has put on the sheep’s clothing. But underneath? I wonder…’
As Poirot was preparing for bed that night, there was a rap on the door. Poirot called, ‘Come in,’ and Howard Raikes entered.
He laughed at Poirot’s expression.
‘Surprised to see me? I’ve had my eye on you all evening. I didn’t like the way you were looking. Kind of thoughtful.’
‘Why should that worry you, my friend?’
‘I don’t know why, but it did. I thought maybe that you were finding certain things just a bit hard to swallow.’
‘Eh bien? And if so?’
‘Well, I decided that I’d best come clean. About yesterday, I mean. That was a fake show all right! You see, I was watching his lordship come out of 10, Downing Street and I saw Ram Lal fire at him. I know Ram Lal. He’s a nice kid. A bit excitable but he feels the wrongs of India very keenly. Well, there was no harm done, that precious pair of stuffed shirts weren’t harmed — the bullet had missed ’em both by miles — so I decided to put up a show and hope the Indian kid would get clear. I grabbed hold of a shabby little guy just by me and called out that I’d got the villain and hoped Ram Lal was beating it all right. But the dicks were too smart. They were on to him in a flash. That’s just how it was. See?’
Hercule Poirot said:
‘And today?’
‘That’s different. There weren’t any Ram Lals about today. Carter was the only man on the spot. He fired that pistol all right! It was still in his hand when I jumped on him. He was going to try a second shot, I expect.’
Poirot said:
‘You were very anxious to preserve the safety of M. Blunt?’
Raikes grinned — an engaging grin.
‘A bit odd, you think, after all I’ve said? Oh, I admit it. I think Blunt is a guy who ought to be shot — for the sake of Progress and Humanity — I don’t mean personally — he’s a nice enough old boy in his British way. I think that, and yet when I saw someone taking a pot-shot at him I leap in and interfere. That shows you how illogical the human animal is. It’s crazy, isn’t it?’
‘The gap between theory and practice is a wide one.’
‘I’ll say it is!’ Mr Raikes got up from the bed where he had been sitting.
His smile was easy and confiding.
‘I just thought,’ he said, ‘that I’d come along and explain the thing to you.’
He went out shutting the door carefully behind him.
V
‘Deliver me, O Lord, from the evil man: and preserve me from the wicked man,’ sang Mrs Olivera in a firm voice, slightly off the note.
There was a relentlessness about her enunciation of the sentiment which made Hercule Poirot deduce that Mr Howard Raikes was the wicked man immediately in her mind.
Hercule Poirot had accompanied his host and the family to the morning service in the village church.
Howard Raikes had said with a faint sneer: ‘So you always go to church, Mr Blunt?’
And Alistair had murmured vaguely something about it being expected of you in the country — can’t let the parson down, you know — which typically English sentiment had merely bewildered the young man, and had made Hercule Poirot smile comprehendingly.
Mrs Olivera had tactfully accompanied her host and commanded Jane to do likewise.
‘They have sharpened their tongues like a serpent,’ sang the choir boys in shrill treble, ‘adder’s poison is under their lips.’
The tenors and basses demanded with gusto:
‘Keep me, O Lord, from the hands of the ungodly. Preserve me from the wicked men who are purposed to overthrow my goings.’
Hercule Poirot essayed in a hesitant baritone.
‘The proud have laid a snare for me,’ he sang, ‘and spread a net with cords: yea, and set traps in my way…’
His mouth remained open.
He saw it — saw clearly the trap into which he had so nearly fallen!
Like a man in a trance Hercule Poirot remained, mouth open, staring into space. He remained there as the congregation seated themselves