The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding - Agatha Christie [52]
Poirot was destined to hear Mr Victor Astwell some time before he saw him. A loud voice rang out from the hall.
‘Mind what you are doing, you damned idiot! That case has got glass in it. Curse you, Parsons, get out of the way! Put it down, you fool!’
Poirot skipped nimbly down the stairs. Victor Astwell was a big man. Poirot bowed to him politely.
‘Who the devil are you?’ roared the big man.
Poirot bowed again.
‘My name is Hercule Poirot.’
‘Lord!’ said Victor Astwell. ‘So Nancy sent for you, after all, did she?’
He put a hand on Poirot’s shoulder and steered him into the library.
‘So you are the fellow they make such a fuss about,’ he remarked, looking him up and down. ‘Sorry for my language just now. That chauffeur of mine is a damned ass, and Parsons always does get on my nerves, blithering old idiot.
‘I don’t suffer fools gladly, you know,’ he said, half-apologetically, ‘but by all accounts you are not a fool, eh, M. Poirot?’
He laughed breezily. ‘Those who have thought so have been sadly mistaken,’ said Poirot placidly.
‘Is that so? Well, so Nancy has carted you down here – got a bee in her bonnet about the secretary. There is nothing in that; Trefusis is as mild as milk – drinks milk, too, I believe. The fellow is a teetotaller. Rather a waste of your time isn’t it?’
‘If one has an opportunity to observe human nature, time is never wasted,’ said Poirot quietly.
‘Human nature, eh?’
Victor Astwell stared at him, then he flung himself down in a chair.
‘Anything I can do for you?’
‘Yes, you can tell me what your quarrel with your brother was about that evening.’
Victor Astwell shook his head.
‘Nothing to do with the case,’ he said decisively.
‘One can never be sure,’ said Poirot.
‘It had nothing to do with Charles Leverson.’
‘Lady Astwell thinks that Charles had nothing to do with the murder.’
‘Oh, Nancy!’
‘Parsons assumes that it was M. Charles Leverson who came in that night, but he didn’t see him. Remember nobody saw him.’
‘It’s very simple. Reuben had been pitching into young Charles – not without good reason, I must say. Later on he tried to bully me. I told him a few home truths and, just to annoy him, I made up my mind to back the boy. I meant to see him that night, so as to tell him how the land lay. When I went up to my room I didn’t go to bed. Instead, I left the door ajar and sat on a chair smoking. My room is on the second floor, M. Poirot, and Charles’s room is next to it.’
‘Pardon my interrupting you – Mr Trefusis, he, too, sleeps on that floor?’
Astwell nodded.
‘Yes, his room is just beyond mine.’
‘Nearer the stairs?’
‘No, the other way.’
A curious light came into Poirot’s face, but the other didn’t notice it and went on:
‘As I say, I waited up for Charles. I heard the front door slam, as I thought, about five minutes to twelve, but there was no sign of Charles for about ten minutes. When he did come up the stairs I saw that it was no good tackling him that night.’
He lifted his elbow significantly.
‘I see,’ murmured Poirot.
‘Poor devil couldn’t walk straight,’ said Astwell. ‘He was looking pretty ghastly, too. I put it down to his condition at the time. Of course, now, I realize that he had come straight from committing the crime.’
Poirot interposed a quick question.
‘You heard nothing from the Tower room?’
‘No, but you must remember that I was right at the other end of the building. The walls are thick, and I don’t believe you would even hear a pistol shot fired from there.’
Poirot nodded.
‘I asked if he would like some help getting to bed,’ continued Astwell. ‘But he said he was all right and went into his room and banged the door. I undressed and went to bed.’
Poirot was staring thoughtfully at the carpet.
‘You realize, M. Astwell,’ he said at last, ‘that your evidence is very important?’
‘I suppose so, at least – what do you mean?’
‘Your evidence that ten minutes elapsed between the slamming of the front door and Leverson’s appearance upstairs. He himself says, so I understand, that he came into the house and went