Sad cypress - Agatha Christie [37]
Peter Lord cried out:
‘That’s fantastic. I tell you, she isn’t that kind of person! Money doesn’t really mean anything to her – or to Roderick Welman, either, I’m bound to admit. I’ve heard them both say as much!’
‘You have? That is very interesting. That is the kind of statement I always look upon with a good deal of suspicion myself.’
Peter Lord said:
‘Damn you, Poirot, must you always twist everything round so that it comes back to that girl?’
‘It is not I that twist things round: they come round of themselves. It is like the pointer at the fair. It swings round, and when it comes to rest it points always at the same name – Elinor Carlisle.’
Peter Lord said:
‘No!’
Hercule Poirot shook his head sadly.
Then he said:
‘Has she relations, this Elinor Carlisle? Sisters, cousins? A father or mother?’
‘No. She’s an orphan – alone in the world…’
‘How pathetic it sounds! Bulmer, I am sure, will make great play with that! Who, then, inherits her money if she dies?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought.’
Poirot said reprovingly:
‘One should always think of these things. Has she made a will, for instance?’
Peter Lord flushed. He said uncertainly:
‘I – I don’t know.’
Hercule Poirot looked at the ceiling and joined his fingertips.
He remarked:
‘It would be well, you know, to tell me.’
‘Tell you what?’
‘Exactly what is in your mind – no matter how damaging it may happen to be to Elinor Carlisle.’
‘How do you know –?’
‘Yes, yes, I know. There is something – some incident in your mind! It will be as well to tell me, otherwise I shall imagine it is something worse than it is!’
‘It’s nothing, really –’
‘We will agree it is nothing. But let me hear what it is.’
Slowly, unwillingly, Peter Lord allowed the story to be dragged from him – that scene of Elinor leaning in at the window of Nurse Hopkins’ cottage, and of her laughter.
Poirot said thoughtfully:
‘She said that, did she, “So you’re making your will, Mary? That’s funny – that’s very funny.” And it was very clear to you what was in her mind…She had been thinking, perhaps, that Mary Gerrard was not going to live long…’
Peter Lord said:
‘I only imagined that. I don’t know.’
Poirot said:
‘No, you did not only imagine it…’
Chapter 3
Hercule Poirot sat in Nurse Hopkins’ cottage.
Dr Lord had brought him there, had introducd him and had then, at a glance from Poirot, left him to a tête-à-tête.
Having, to begin with, eyed his foreign appearance somewhat askance, Nurse Hopkins was now thawing rapidly.
She said with a faintly gloomy relish:
‘Yes, it’s a terrible thing. One of the most terrible things I’ve ever known. Mary was one of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen. Might have gone on the films any time! And a nice steady girl, too, and not stuck-up, as she might have been with all the notice taken of her.’
Poirot, inserting a question adroitly, said:
‘You mean the notice taken of her by Mrs Welman?’
‘That’s what I mean. The old lady had taken a tremendous fancy to her – really, a tremendous fancy.’
Hercule Poirot murmured:
‘Surprising, perhaps?’
‘That depends. It might be quite natural, really. I mean…’ Nurse Hopkins bit her lip and looked confused. ‘What I mean is, Mary had a very pretty way with her: nice soft voice and pleasant manners. And it’s my opinion it does an elderly person good to have a young face about.’
Hercule Poirot said:
‘Miss Carlisle came down occasionally, I suppose, to see her aunt?’
Nurse Hopkins said sharply:
‘Miss Carlisle came down when it suited her.’
Poirot murmured:
‘You do not like Miss Carlisle.’
Nurse Hopkins cried out:
‘I should hope not, indeed! A poisoner! A cold-blooded poisoner!’
‘Ah,’ said Hercule Poirot, ‘I see you have made up your mind.’
Nurse Hopkins