Parker Pyne Investigates - Agatha Christie [52]
‘No.’ Mr Parker Pyne shook his head. ‘It’s not nearly as easy as that for you.’
For the first time a little look of fear crept into her eyes.
‘Do you know why I can’t go?’
‘I think so.’
‘Wrong.’ She shook her head. ‘The reason I can’t go is a reason you’d never guess.’
‘I don’t guess,’ said Mr Parker Pyne. ‘I observe–and I classify.’
She shook her head. ‘You don’t know anything at all.’
‘I shall have to convince you, I see,’ said Mr Parker Pyne pleasantly. ‘When you came out here, Lady Esther, you flew, I believe, by the new German Air Service from Baghdad?’
‘Yes?’
‘You were flown by a young pilot, Herr Schlagal, who afterwards came here to see you.’
‘Yes.’
A different ‘yes’ in some indescribable way–a softer ‘yes’.
‘And you had a friend, or companion who–died.’ A voice like steel now–cold, offensive.
‘My companion.’
‘Her name was–?’
‘Muriel King.’
‘Were you fond of her?’
‘What do you mean, fond?’ She paused, checked herself. ‘She was useful to me.’
She said it haughtily and Mr Parker Pyne was reminded of the consul’s saying: ‘You can see she is somebody, if you know what I mean.’
‘Were you sorry when she died?’
‘I–naturally! Really, Mr Pyne, is it necessary to go into all this?’ She spoke angrily, and went on without waiting for an answer: ‘It has been very good of you to come. But I am a little tired. If you will tell me what I owe you–?’
But Mr Parker Pyne did not move. He showed no signs of taking offence. He went quietly on with his questions. ‘Since she died, Herr Schlagal has not been to see you. Suppose he were to come, would you receive him?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘You refuse absolutely?’
‘Absolutely. Herr Schlagal will not be admitted.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Parker Pyne thoughtfully. ‘You could not say anything else.’
The defensive armour of her arrogance broke down a little. She said uncertainly: ‘I–I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Did you know, Lady Esther, that young Schlagal fell in love with Muriel King? He is a sentimental young man. He still treasures her memory.’
‘Does he?’ Her voice was almost a whisper.
‘What was she like?’
‘What do you mean, what was she like? How do I know?’
‘You must have looked at her sometimes,’ said Mr Parker Pyne mildly.
‘Oh, that! She was quite a nice-looking young woman.’
‘About your own age?’
‘Just about.’ There was a pause, and then she said:
‘Why do you think that–that Schlagal cared for her?’
‘Because he told me so. Yes, yes, in the most unmistakable terms. As I say, he is a sentimental young man. He was glad to confide in me. He was very upset at her dying the way she did.’
Lady Esther sprang to her feet. ‘Do you believe I murdered her?’
Mr Parker Pyne did not spring to his feet. He was not a springing kind of man.
‘No, my dear child,’ he said. ‘I do not believe that you murdered her, and that being so, I think the sooner you stop this play-acting and go home, the better.’
‘What do you mean, play-acting?’
‘The truth is, you lost your nerve. Yes, you did. You lost your nerve badly. You thought you’d be accused of murdering your employer.’
The girl made a sudden movement.
Mr Parker Pyne went on. ‘You are not Lady Esther Carr. I knew that before I came here, but I’ve tested you to make sure.’ His smile broke out, bland and benevolent.
‘When I said my little piece just now, I was watching you, and every time you reacted as Muriel King, not as Esther Carr. The cheap shops, the cinemas, the new garden suburbs, going home by bus and tram–you reacted to all those. Country-house gossip, new night clubs, the chatter of Mayfair, race meetings–none of these meant anything to you.’
His voice became even more persuasive and fatherly. ‘Sit down and tell me about it. You didn’t murder Lady Esther, but you thought you might be accused of doing so. Just tell me how it all came about.’
She took a long breath; then she sank down once more on the divan and began to speak. Her words came hurriedly,