The Hollow - Agatha Christie [37]
Her mouth opened and she uttered an ‘Oh’ of consternation, turning her head to look at Poirot apologetically.
‘What a fool I am,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’
Poirot did not speak for a moment. He was staring into a pair of clear hazel eyes. They met his quite steadily and he wondered if his momentary suspicion had been unjust.
He said quietly:
‘Things should be handled as little as possible. Everything must be left exactly as it is for the police to see.’
There was a little stir then–very faint, just a ripple of uneasiness.
Lady Angkatell murmured distastefully: ‘Of course. I suppose–yes, the police–’
In a quiet, pleasant voice, tinged with fastidious repulsion, the man in the shooting-coat said: ‘I’m afraid, Lucy, it’s inevitable.’
Into that moment of silence and realization there came the sound of footsteps and voices, assured, brisk footsteps and cheerful, incongruous voices.
Along the path from the house came Sir Henry Angkatell and Midge Hardcastle, talking and laughing together.
At the sight of the group round the pool, Sir Henry stopped short, and exclaimed in astonishment:
‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’
His wife answered: ‘Gerda has–’ She broke off sharply. ‘I mean–John is–’
Gerda said in her flat, bewildered voice:
‘John has been shot. He’s dead.’
They all looked away from her, embarrassed.
Then Lady Angkatell said quickly:
‘My dear, I think you’d better go and–and lie down. Perhaps we had better all go back to the house? Henry, you and M. Poirot can stay here and–and wait for the police.’
‘That will be the best plan, I think,’ said Sir Henry. He turned to Gudgeon. ‘Will you ring up the police station, Gudgeon? Just state exactly what has occurred. When the police arrive, bring them straight out here.’
Gudgeon bent his head a little and said: ‘Yes, Sir Henry.’ He was looking a little white about the gills, but he was still the perfect servant.
The tall young woman said: ‘Come, Gerda,’ and putting her hand through the other woman’s arm, she led her unresistingly away and along the path towards the house. Gerda walked as though in a dream. Gudgeon stood back a little to let them pass, and then followed carrying the basket of eggs.
Sir Henry turned sharply to his wife. ‘Now, Lucy, what is all this? What happened exactly?’
Lady Angkatell stretched out vague hands, a lovely helpless gesture. Hercule Poirot felt the charm of it and the appeal.
‘My dear, I hardly know. I was down by the hens. I heard a shot that seemed very near, but I didn’t really think anything about it. After all,’ she appealed to them all, ‘one doesn’t! And then I came up the path to the pool and there was John lying there and Gerda standing over him with the revolver. Henrietta and Edward arrived almost at the same moment–from over there.’
She nodded towards the farther side of the pool, where two paths ran into the woods.
Hercule Poirot cleared his throat.
‘Who are they, this John and this Gerda? If I may know,’ he added apologetically.
‘Oh, of course.’ Lady Angkatell turned to him in quick apology. ‘One forgets–but then one doesn’t exactly introduce people–not when somebody has just been killed. John is John Christow, Dr Christow. Gerda Christow is his wife.’
‘And the lady who went with Mrs Christow to the house?’
‘My cousin, Henrietta Savernake.’
There was a movement, a very faint movement from the man on Poirot’s left.
‘Henrietta Savernake,’ thought Poirot, ‘and he does not like that she should say it–but it is, after all, inevitable that I should know…’
(‘Henrietta! ’ the dying man had said. He had said it in a very curious way. A way that reminded Poirot of something–of some incident…now, what was it? No matter, it would come to him.)
Lady Angkatell was going on, determined now on fulfilling her social duties.
‘And this is another cousin of ours, Edward Angkatell. And Miss Hardcastle.’
Poirot acknowledged the introductions with polite bows. Midge felt suddenly that she wanted to laugh hysterically; she controlled