Poirot's Early Cases - Agatha Christie [50]
‘An interesting family history,’ said Poirot thoughtfully. ‘But now his father is dying, and he, as the eldest son, succeeds?’
‘Exactly. A curse has gone rusty—unable to stand the strain of modern life.’
Poirot shook his head, as though deprecating the other’s jesting tone. Roger Lemesurier looked at his watch again, and declared that he must be off.
The sequel to the story came on the morrow, when we learned of the tragic death of Captain Vincent Lemesurier. He had been travelling north by the Scotch mail-train, and during the night must have opened the door of the compartment and jumped out on the line. The shock of his father’s accident coming on top of the shell-shock was deemed to have caused temporary mental aberration. The curious superstition prevalent in the Lemesurier family was mentioned, in connection with the new heir, his father’s brother, Ronald Lemesurier, whose only son had died on the Somme.
I suppose our accidental meeting with young Vincent on the last evening of his life quickened our interest in anything that pertained to the Lemesurier family, for we noted with some interest two years later the death of Ronald Lemesurier, who had been a confirmed invalid at the time of his succession to the family estates. His brother John succeeded him, a hale, hearty man with a boy at Eton.
Certainly an evil destiny overshadowed the Lemesuriers. On his very next holiday the boy managed to shoot himself fatally. His father’s death, which occurred quite suddenly after being stung by a wasp, gave the estate over to the youngest brother of the five—Hugo, whom we remembered meeting on the fatal night at the Carlton.
Beyond commenting on the extraordinary series of misfortunes which befell the Lemesuriers, we had taken no personal interest in the matter, but the time was now close at hand when we were to take a more active part.
II
One morning ‘Mrs Lemesurier’ was announced. She was a tall, active woman, possibly about thirty years of age, who conveyed by her demeanour a great deal of determination and strong common sense. She spoke with a faint transatlantic accent.
‘M. Poirot? I am pleased to meet you. My husband, Hugo Lemesurier, met you once many years ago, but you will hardly remember the fact.’
‘I recollect it perfectly, madame. It was at the Carlton.’
‘That’s quite wonderful of you. M. Poirot, I’m very worried.’
‘What about, Madame?’
‘My elder boy—I’ve two boys, you know. Ronald’s eight, and Gerald’s six.’
‘Proceed, madame: why should you be worried about little Ronald?’
‘M. Poirot, within the last six months he has had three narrow escapes from death: once from drowning—when we were all down at Cornwall this summer; once when he fell from the nursery window; and once from ptomaine poisoning.’
Perhaps Poirot’s face expressed rather too eloquently what he thought, for Mrs Lemesurier hurried on with hardly a moment’s pause: ‘Of course I know you think I’m just a silly fool of a woman, making mountains out of molehills.’
‘No, indeed, madame. Any mother might be excused for being upset at such occurrences, but I hardly see where I can be of any assistance to you. I am not le bon Dieu to control the waves; for the nursery window I should suggest some iron bars; and for the food—what can equal a mother’s care?’
‘But why should these things happen to Ronald and not to Gerald?’
‘The chance, madame—le hasard!’
‘You think so?’
‘What do you think, madame—you and your husband?’
A shadow crossed Mrs Lemesurier’s face.
‘It’s no good going to Hugo—he won’t listen. As perhaps you may have heard, there’s