Sad cypress - Agatha Christie [35]
‘This Roderick Welman, did he fall in love with her because she was a nice kid?’
Peter Lord smiled.
‘Oh, I get what you mean. She was beautiful, all right.’
‘And you yourself? You had no feeling for her?’
Peter Lord stared.
‘Good lord, no.’
Hercule Poirot reflected for a moment or two, then he said:
‘Roderick Welman says that there was affection between him and Elinor Carlisle, but nothing stronger. Do you agree to that?’
‘How the hell should I know?’
Poirot shook his head.
‘You told me when you came into this room that Elinor Carlisle had the bad taste to be in love with a long-nosed, supercilious ass. That, I presume, is a description of Roderick Welman. So, according to you, she does care for him.’
Peter Lord said in a low, exasperated voice:
‘She cares for him all right! Cares like hell!’
Poirot said:
‘Then there was a motive…’
Peter Lord swerved round on him, his face alight with anger.
‘Does it matter? She might have done it, yes! I don’t care if she did.’
Poirot said:
‘Aha!’
‘But I don’t want her hanged, I tell you! Supposing she was driven desperate? Love’s a desperate and twisting business. It can turn a worm into a fine fellow – and it can bring a decent, straight man down to the dregs! Suppose she did do it. Haven’t you got any pity?’
Hercule Poirot said:
‘I do not approve of murder.’
Peter Lord stared at him, looked away, stared again and finally burst out laughing.
‘Of all the things to say – so prim and smug, too! Who’s asking you to approve? I’m not asking you to tell lies! Truth’s truth, isn’t it? If you find something that tells in an accused person’s favour, you wouldn’t be inclined to suppress it because she’s guilty, would you?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Then why the hell can’t you do what I ask you?’
Hercule Poirot said:
‘My friend, I am perfectly prepared to do so…’
Chapter 2
Peter Lord stared at him, took out a handkerchief, wiped his face and threw himself down in a chair.
‘Whoof !’ he said. ‘You got me all worked up! I didn’t see in the least what you were getting at!’
Poirot said:
‘I was examining the case against Elinor Carlisle. Now I know it. Morphine was administered to Mary Gerrard; and, as far as I can see, it must have been given in the sandwiches. Nobody touched those sandwiches except Elinor Carlisle. Elinor Carlisle had a motive for killing Mary Gerrard, and she is, in your opinion, capable of killing Mary Gerrard, and in all probability she did kill Mary Gerrard. I see no reason for believing otherwise.
‘That, mon ami, is one side of the question. Now we will proceed to stage two. We will dismiss all those considerations from our mind and we will approach the matter from the opposite angle: If Elinor Carlisle did not kill Mary Gerrard, who did? Or did Mary Gerrard commit suicide?’
Peter Lord sat up. A frown creased his forehead. He said:
‘You weren’t quite accurate just now.’
‘I? Not accurate?’
Poirot sounded affronted.
Peter Lord pursued relentlessly:
‘No. You said nobody but Elinor Carlisle touched those sandwiches. You don’t know that.’
‘There was no one else in the house.’
‘As far as we know. But you are excluding a short period of time. There was a time during which Elinor Carlisle left the house to go down to the Lodge. During that period of time the sandwiches were on a plate in the pantry, and somebody could have tampered with them.’
Poirot drew a deep breath.
He said:
‘You are right, my friend. I admit it. There was a time during which somebody could have had access to the plate of sandwiches. We must try to form some idea who that somebody could be; that is to say, what kind of person…’
He paused.
‘Let us consider this Mary Gerrard. Someone, not Elinor Carlisle, desires her death. Why? Did anyone stand to gain by her death? Had she money to leave?’
Peter Lord shook his head.
‘Not now. In another month she would have had two thousand pounds. Elinor Carlisle was making that sum over to her because she believed her aunt would have wished it. But the old lady’s estate isn’t wound up yet.’
Poirot said:
‘Then we can wash out the money