Poirot investigates - Agatha Christie [12]
‘I thank you for all your courtesy, madame. I do not think you need be troubled any further with this matter. By the way, do you know anything of your husband’s financial position?’
She shook her head.
‘Nothing whatever. I am very stupid over business things.’
‘I see. Then you can give us no clue as to why he suddenly decided to insure his life? He had not done so previously, I understand.’
‘Well, we had only been married a little over a year. But, as to why he insured his life, it was because he had absolutely made up his mind that he would not live long. He had a strong premonition of his own death. I gather that he had had one haemorrhage already, and that he knew that another one would prove fatal. I tried to dispel these gloomy fears of his, but without avail. Alas, he was only too right!’
Tears in her eyes, she bade us a dignified farewell. Poirot made a characteristic gesture as we walked down the drive together.
‘Eh bien, that is that! Back to London, my friend, there appears to be no mouse in this mouse-hole. And yet–’
‘Yet what?’
‘A slight discrepancy, that is all! You noticed it? You did not? Still, life is full of discrepancies, and assuredly the man cannot have taken his life–there is no poison that would fill his mouth with blood. No, no, I must resign myself to the fact that all here is clear and above board–but who is this?’
A tall young man was striding up the drive towards us. He passed us without making any sign, but I noted that he was not ill-looking, with a lean, deeply-bronzed face that spoke of life in a tropic clime. A gardener who was sweeping up leaves had paused for a minute in his task, and Poirot ran quickly up to him.
‘Tell me, I pray you, who is that gentleman? Do you know him?’
‘I don’t remember his name, sir, though I did hear it. He was staying down here last week for a night. Tuesday, it was.’
‘Quick, mon ami, let us follow him.’
We hastened up the drive after the retreating figure. A glimpse of a black-robed figure on the terrace at the side of the house, and our quarry swerved and we after him, so that we were witnesses of the meeting.
Mrs Maltravers almost staggered where she stood, and her face blanched noticeably.
‘You,’ she gasped. ‘I thought you were on the sea–on your way to East Africa?’
‘I got some news from my lawyers that detained me,’ explained the young man. ‘My old uncle in Scotland died unexpectedly and left me some money. Under the circumstances I thought it better to cancel my passage. Then I saw this bad news in the paper and I came down to see if there was anything I could do. You’ll want someone to look after things for you a bit perhaps.’
At that moment they became aware of our presence. Poirot stepped forward, and with many apologies explained that he had left his stick in the hall. Rather reluctantly, it seemed to me, Mrs Maltravers made the necessary introduction.
‘Monsieur Poirot, Captain Black.’
A few minutes’ chat ensued, in the course of which Poirot elicited the fact that Captain Black was putting up at the Anchor Inn. The missing stick not having been discovered (which was not surprising), Poirot uttered more apologies and we withdrew.
We returned to the village at a great pace, and Poirot made a beeline for the Anchor Inn.
‘Here we establish ourselves until our friend the Captain returns,’ he explained. ‘You noticed that I emphasized the point that we were returning to London by the first train? Possibly you thought I meant it. But no–you observed Mrs Maltravers’ face when she caught sight of this young Black? She was clearly taken aback, and he–eh bien, he was very devoted, did you not think so? And he was here on Tuesday night–the day before Mr Maltravers died. We must investigate the doings of Captain Black, Hastings.’
In about half an hour we espied our quarry approaching the inn. Poirot went out and accosted him and presently brought him up to the