Peril at End House - Agatha Christie [58]
‘Yes, I do. I’m sure she’s never done such a thing before. Did she say why?’
‘She did not tell me the real reason—of that I am sure.’
Nick looked at him questioningly.
‘Is it—important?’
Poirot flung out his hands.
‘That is just what I cannot say, Mademoiselle. C’est curieux. I leave it like that.’
‘This panel business too,’ said Nick, reflectively. ‘I can’t help thinking that’s frightfully queer—and unconvincing. Did she show you where it was?’
‘She said she couldn’t remember.’
‘I don’t believe there is such a thing.’
‘It certainly looks like it.’
‘She must be going batty, poor thing.’
‘She certainly recounts the histories! She said also that End House was not a good house to live in.’
Nick gave a little shiver.
‘Perhaps she’s right there,’ she said slowly. ‘Sometimes I’ve felt that way myself. There’s a queer feeling in that house…’
Her eyes grew large and dark. They had a fated look. Poirot hastened to recall her to other topics.
‘We have wandered from our subject, Mademoiselle. The will. The last will and testament of Magdala Buckley.’
‘I put that,’ said Nick, with some pride. ‘I remember putting that, and I said pay all debts and testamentary expenses. I remembered that out of a book I’d read.’
‘You did not use a will form, then?’
‘No, there wasn’t time for that. I was just going off to the nursing home, and besides Mr Croft said will forms were very dangerous. It was better to make a simple will and not try to be too legal.’
‘M. Croft? He was there?’
‘Yes. It was he who asked me if I’d made one. I’d never have thought of it myself. He said if you died in—in—’
‘Intestate,’ I said.
‘Yes, that’s it. He said if you died intestate, the Crown pinched a lot and that would be a pity.’
‘Very helpful, the excellent M. Croft!’
‘Oh, he was,’ said Nick warmly. ‘He got Ellen in and her husband to witness it. Oh! of course! What an idiot I’ve been!’
We looked at her inquiringly.
‘I’ve been a perfect idiot. Letting you hunt round End House. Charles has got it, of course! My cousin, Charles Vyse.’
‘Ah! so that is the explanation.’
‘Mr Croft said a lawyer was the proper person to have charge of it.’
‘Très correct, ce bon M. Croft.’
‘Men are useful sometimes,’ said Nick. ‘A lawyer or the Bank—that’s what he said. And I said Charles would be best. So we stuck it in an envelope and sent it off to him straight away.’
She lay back on her pillows with a sigh.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been so frightfully stupid. But it is all right now. Charles has got it, and if you really want to see it, of course he’ll show it to you.’
‘Not without an authorization from you,’ said Poirot, smiling.
‘How silly.’
‘No, Mademoiselle. Merely prudent.’
‘Well, I think it’s silly.’ She took a piece of paper from a little stack that lay beside her bed. ‘What shall I say? Let the dog see the rabbit?’
‘Comment?’
I laughed at his startled face.
He dictated a form of words, and Nick wrote obediently.
‘Thank you, Mademoiselle,’ said Poirot, as he took it.
‘I’m sorry to have given you such a lot of trouble. But I really had forgotten. You know how one forgets things almost at once?’
‘With order and method in the mind one does not forget.’
‘I’ll have to have a course of some kind,’ said Nick. ‘You’re giving me quite an inferiority complex.’
‘That is impossible. Au revoir, Mademoiselle.’ He looked round the room. ‘Your flowers are lovely.’
‘Aren’t they? The carnations are from Freddie and the roses from George and the lilies from Jim Lazarus. And look here—’
She pulled the wrapping from a large basket of hothouse grapes by her side.
Poirot’s face changed. He stepped forward sharply.
‘You have not eaten any of them?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘Do not do so. You must eat nothing, Mademoiselle, that comes in from outside. Nothing. You comprehend?’
‘Oh!’
She stared at him, the colour ebbing slowly from her face.
‘I see. You think—you think it isn’t over yet. You think they’re still trying?’ she whispered.
He took her hand.
‘Do not think of it. You are safe here. But remember—nothing that comes in from outside.’
I was conscious of that