Taken at the Flood - Agatha Christie [65]
‘Ah, pardon.’ Poirot put the photo-frame down in some confusion.
‘My wife’s father,’ said Jeremy, a faint self-congratulatory note in his voice. ‘And one of his best horses, Chestnut Trenton. Ran second in the Derby in 1924. Are you interested in racing?’
‘Alas, no.’
‘Runs away with a lot of money,’ said Jeremy dryly. ‘Lord Edward came a crash over it — had to go and live abroad. Yes, an expensive sport.’
But there was still the note of pride in his voice.
He himself, Poirot judged, would as soon throw his money in the street as invest it in horseflesh, but he had a secret admiration and respect for those who did.
Cloade went on:
‘What can I do for you, M. Poirot? As a family, I feel we owe you a debt of gratitude — for finding Major Porter to give evidence of identification.’
‘The family seems very jubilant about it,’ said Poirot.
‘Ah,’ said Jeremy dryly. ‘Rather premature to rejoice. Lot of water’s got to pass under the bridge yet. After all, Underhay’s death was accepted in Africa. Takes years to upset a thing of this kind — and Rosaleen’s evidence was very positive — very positive indeed. She made a good impression you know.’
It seemed almost as though Jeremy Cloade was unwilling to bank upon any improvement in his prospects.
‘I wouldn’t like to give a ruling one way or the other,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t say how a case would go.’
Then, pushing aside some papers with a fretful, almost weary gesture, he said:
‘But you wanted to see me?’
‘I was going to ask you, Mr Cloade, if you are really quite certain your brother did not leave a will? A will made subsequent to his marriage, I mean?’
Jeremy looked surprised.
‘I don’t think there’s ever been any idea of such a thing. He certainly didn’t make one before leaving New York.’
‘He might have made one during the two days he was in London.’
‘Gone to a lawyer there?’
‘Or written one out himself.’
‘And got it witnessed? Witnessed by whom?’
‘There were three servants in the house,’ Poirot reminded him. ‘Three servants who died the same night he did.’
‘H’m — yes — but if by any chance he did do what you suggest, well, the will was destroyed too.’
‘That is just the point. Lately a great many documents believed to have perished completely have actually been deciphered by a new process. Incinerated inside home safes, for instance, but not so destroyed that they cannot be read.’
‘Well, really, M. Poirot, that is a most remarkable idea of yours…Most remarkable. But I don’t think — no, I really don’t believe there is anything in it…So far as I know there was no safe in the house in Sheffield Terrace. Gordon kept all valuable papers, etc., at his office — and there was certainly no will there.’
‘But one might make inquiries?’ Poirot was persistent. ‘From the A.R.P. officials, for instance? You would authorize me to do that?’
‘Oh, certainly — certainly. Very kind of you to offer to undertake such a thing. But I haven’t any belief whatever, I’m afraid, in your success. Still — well, it is an offchance, I suppose. You — you’ll be going back to London at once, then?’
Poirot’s eyes narrowed. Jeremy’s tone had been unmistakably eager. Going back to London…Did they all want him out of the way?
Before he could answer, the door opened and Frances Cloade came in.
Poirot was struck by two things. First, by the fact that she looked shockingly ill. Secondly, by her very strong resemblance to the photograph of her father.
‘M. Hercule Poirot has come to see us, my dear,’ said Jeremy rather unnecessarily.
She shook hands with him and Jeremy Cloade immediately outlined to her Poirot’s suggestion about a will.
Frances looked doubtful.
‘It seems a very outside chance.’
‘M. Poirot is going up to London and will very kindly make inquiries.’
‘Major Porter, I understand, was an Air Raid Warden in that district,’ said Poirot.
A curious expression passed over Mrs Cloade’s face. She