Peril at End House - Agatha Christie [39]
When their first violence had died down a little, I stole across to the window and looked out. I had heard an outcry of voices a few minutes before. They were all there by now, a semi-circle round the scene of the tragedy, with Poirot like a fantastical sentinel, keeping them back.
As I watched, two uniformed figures came striding across the grass. The police had arrived.
Iwent quietly back to my place by the sofa. Nick lifted her tear-stained face.
‘Oughtn’t I to be doing something?’
‘No, my dear. Poirot will see to it. Leave it to him.’ Nick was silent for a minute or two, then she said:
‘Poor Maggie. Poor dear old Maggie. Such a good sort who never harmed a soul in her life. That this should happen to her. I feel as though I’d killed her—bringing her down in the way that I did.’
I shook my head sadly. How little one can foresee the future. When Poirot insisted on Nick’s inviting a friend, how little did he think that he was signing an unknown girl’s death warrant.
We sat in silence. I longed to know what was going on outside, but I loyally fulfilled Poirot’s instructions and stuck to my post.
It seemed hours later when the door opened and Poirot and a police inspector entered the room. With them came a man who was evidently Dr Graham. He came over at once to Nick.
‘And how are you feeling, Miss Buckley? This must have been a terrible shock.’ His fingers were on her pulse.
‘Not too bad.’
He turned to me.
‘Has she had anything?’
‘Some brandy,’ I said.
‘I’m all right,’ said Nick, bravely.
‘Able to answer a few questions, eh?’
‘Of course.’
The police inspector moved forward with a preliminary cough. Nick greeted him with the ghost of a smile.
‘Not impeding the traffic this time,’ she said.
I gathered they were not strangers to each other.
‘This is a terrible business, Miss Buckley,’ said the inspector. ‘I’m very sorry about it. Now Mr Poirot here, whose name I’m very familiar with (and proud we are to have him with us, I’m sure), tells me that to the best of his belief you were shot at in the grounds of the Majestic Hotel the other morning?’
Nick nodded.
‘I thought it was just a wasp,’ she explained. ‘But it wasn’t.’
‘And you’d had some rather peculiar accidents before that?’
‘Yes—at least it was odd their happening so close together.’
She gave a brief account of the various circumstances.
‘Just so. Now how came it that your cousin was wearing your shawl tonight?’
‘We came in to fetch her coat—it was rather cold watching the fireworks. I flung off the shawl on the sofa here. Then I went upstairs and put on the coat I’m wearing now—a light nutria one. I also got a wrap for my friend Mrs Rice out of her room. There it is on the floor by the window. Then Maggie called out that she couldn’t find her coat. I said it must be downstairs. She went down and called up she still couldn’t find it. I said it must have been left in the car—it was a tweed coat she was looking for—she hasn’t got an evening furry one—and I said I’d bring her down something of mine. But she said it didn’t matter—she’d take my shawl if I didn’t want it. And I said of course but would that be enough? And she said Oh, yes, because she really didn’t feel it particularly cold after Yorkshire. She just wanted something. And I said all right, I’d be out in a minute. And when I did—did come out—’
She stopped, her voice breaking…
‘Now, don’t distress yourself, Miss Buckley. Just tell me this. Did you hear a shot—or two shots?’
Nick shook her head.
‘No—only just the fireworks popping and the squibs going off.’
‘That’s just it,’ said the inspector. ‘You’d never notice a shot with all that going on. It’s no good asking you, I suppose, if you’ve any clue to who it is making these attacks upon you?’
‘I haven’t the least idea,’ said Nick. ‘I can’t imagine.’
‘And you wouldn’t be likely to,’ said the inspector. ‘Some homicidal maniac—that’s what it looks like to me. Nasty business. Well, I won’t need to ask you any more questions to-night, miss. I’m more sorry about this than I can say.’
Dr Graham stepped forward.
‘I’m going to suggest,