The Floating Admiral - Agatha Christie [88]
“But you would have inferred one?”
“No.”
“Was it you who spoke to her on the telephone?”
“No,” said Holland—a little reluctantly, Rudge thought. “It was my wife.”
“I see.” Rudge turned pointedly to Mrs. Holland. “What reason did you infer then, madam?”
“None.” Elma’s tone was as curt as ever.
“You did not ask for any?”
“No.”
“But it must have seemed strange to you that your late maid should want to meet you at the Vicarage?”
“I imagined she was upset about something and wanted advice, and did not care to come to the inn, where she might be recognised.”
“But why shouldn’t she be recognised?”
Elma shrugged her shoulders. “That I can’t tell you.”
“Did you know that she was Mrs. Mount?”
“Certainly not.”
“It surprises you?”
“Very much.”
“Perhaps,” said Rudge tentatively, “you can see some way in which that fact may throw light on your uncle’s death?”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Elma retorted. “But of course it gives a reason for her having left me—my service so abruptly.”
Rudge nodded. “Yes, that’s true enough. By the way, you say you imagined she was upset about something. Did she sound upset on the telephone?”
“Agitated, perhaps,” Elma said slowly. “Yes, she did.”
And yet not too agitated, Rudge thought, to eat greengages before the conference she had called.
“It never occurred to you,” he went on, “that the advice you thought she wanted might be on some matter connected with your uncle’s murder, Mrs. Holland?”
“Certainly not,” Elma replied sharply. “Why should it?”
Rudge might have given more than one reason for his question. Instead, he asked, slowly and significantly: “How much did Célie—know?”
His shot got home. Elma paled, then flushed, and sent a glance towards her husband which was a patent appeal for help. Holland supplied it at once.
His words took Rudge by surprise. He did not bluster or attempt to end the interview, merely remarking: “It’s curious you should say that, Inspector; I asked my wife that identical question not an hour ago. I too had considered the possibility that she might be about to give us some information on the Admiral’s death. But my wife was positive she could have known nothing.”
“How could she?” asked Elma, in relieved tones.
Rudge glanced from one to the other. He knew very well that Mrs. Holland had said nothing of the sort, at any rate just then. He was not sure that he had been wise. In an attempt to frighten information out of them, he had intimated to the pair that he had overheard their conversation while they were waiting; and Holland, of course, had seen him come out of the bushes. They could not know for certain that he had not been able to hear them too while Elma was in the hammock. And yet Holland had not been in the least frightened. He had taken the thing quietly out of Rudge’s hands, reassured his wife, and returned an answer which was admirable in its noncommittal quality. Rudge had to console himself with the fact that without doubt Elma had, just for an instant, lost her grip. These two must know something—but Rudge recognised that there was not the faintest hope of getting it out of them by direct questioning.
Anxious not to put them too much on their guard, he tried another line. “Now, will you tell me, sir, exactly what happened when you got into the house? You noticed the front door open, I think, and followed Mrs. Holland inside?”
Holland smiled slightly. “As you saw, Inspector, from your laurel bush, yes. By the way,” he added, more sternly, “had you some idea that anything like that was going to happen? Because if so …”
“I had no idea, sir; no more than yourself. Now, will you kindly give me those facts?”
“Well, I followed my wife into the hall. We thought that Célie—Mrs. Mount—must have come, as the door was ajar. We looked into the drawing-room first, then the dining-room. I think it was while we were in the dining-room (which adjoins the study, you know) that we heard a scream—”
“A terrible scream,” put in Mrs.