Sad cypress - Agatha Christie [54]
‘And before Mr Roderick Welman entered it?’
‘Yes.’
Poirot said:
‘And he could have read it, too?’
Elinor’s voice was clear and scornful. She said:
‘I can assure you, M. Poirot, that my “cousin”, as you call him, does not read other people’s letters.’
Poirot said:
‘That is the accepted idea, I know. You would be surprised how many people do the things that “are not done”.’
Elinor shrugged her shoulders.
Poirot said in a casual voice:
‘Was it on that day that the idea of killing Mary Gerrard first came to you?’
For the third time colour swept over Elinor Carlisle’s face. This time it was a burning tide. She said:
‘Did Peter Lord tell you that?’
Poirot said gently:
‘It was then, wasn’t it? When you looked through the window and saw her making her will. It was then, was it not, that it struck you how funny it would be – and how convenient – if Mary Gerrard should happen to die…’
Elinor said in a low suffocated voice:
‘He knew – he looked at me and he knew…’
Poirot said:
‘Dr Lord knows a good deal…He is no fool, that young man with the freckled face and the red hair…’
Elinor said in a low voice:
‘Is it true that he sent you to – help me?’
‘It is true, Mademoiselle.’
She sighed and said:
‘I don’t understand. No, I don’t understand.’
Poirot said:
‘Listen, Miss Carlisle. It is necessary that you tell me just what happened that day when Mary Gerrard died: where you went, what you did; more than that, I want to know even what you thought.’
She stared at him. Then slowly a queer little smile came to her lips. She said:
‘You must be an incredibly simple man. Don’t you realize how easy it is for me to lie to you?’
Hercule Poirot said placidly:
‘It does not matter.’
She was puzzled.
‘Not matter?’
‘No. For lies, Mademoiselle, tell a listener just as much as truth can. Sometimes they tell more. Come, now, commence. You met your housekeeper, the good Mrs Bishop. She wanted to come and help you. You would not let her. Why?’
‘I wanted to be alone.’
‘Why?’
‘Why? Why? Because I wanted to – to think.’
‘You wanted to imagine – yes. And then what did you do next?’
Elinor, her chin raised defiantly, said:
‘I bought some paste for sandwiches.’
‘Two pots?’
‘Two.’
‘And you went to Hunterbury. What did you do there?’
‘I went up to my aunt’s room and began to go through her things.’
‘What did you find?’
‘Find?’ She frowned. ‘Clothes – old letters – photographs – jewellery.’
Poirot said:
‘No secrets?’
‘Secrets? I don’t understand you.’
‘Then let us proceed. What next?’
Elinor said:
‘I came down to the pantry and I cut sandwiches…’
Poirot said softly:
‘And you thought – what?’
Her blue eyes flushed suddenly. She said:
‘I thought of my namesake, Eleanor of Aquitaine…’
Poirot said:
‘I understand perfectly.’
‘Do you?’
‘Oh, yes. I know the story. She offered Fair Rosamund, did she not, the choice of a dagger or a cup of poison. Rosamund chose the poison…’
Elinor said nothing. She was white now.
Poirot said:
‘But perhaps, this time, there was to be no choice…Go on, Mademoiselle, what next?’
Elinor said:
‘I put the sandwiches ready on a plate and I went down to the Lodge. Nurse Hopkins was there as well as Mary. I told them I had some sandwiches up at the house.’
Poirot was watching her. He said softly:
‘Yes, and you all came up to the house together, did you not?’
‘Yes. We – ate the sandwiches in the morning-room.’
Poirot said in the same soft tone:
‘Yes, yes – still in the dream…And then…’
‘Then?’ She stared. ‘I left her – standing by the window. I went out into the pantry. It was still like you say – in a dream…Nurse was there washing up…I gave her the paste-pot.’
‘Yes – yes. And what happened then? What did you think of next?’
Elinor said dreamily:
‘There was a mark on Nurse’s wrist. I mentioned it and she said it was a thorn from the rose trellis by the Lodge. The roses by the Lodge…Roddy and I had a quarrel once – long ago – about the Wars of the Roses. I was Lancaster and he was York. He liked white roses. I said they weren’t real – they didn’t even smell! I liked red roses,