The Hollow - Agatha Christie [73]
‘Putting yourself forward and jumping to conclusions in a way only an inexperienced girl would do.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mrs Medway.
‘If you see me with a pistol in my hand, the proper thing to do is to come to me and say: “Mr Gudgeon, will you be so kind as to give me an explanation?”’
‘Or you could have come to me,’ put in Mrs Medway. ‘I’m always willing to tell a young girl what doesn’t know the world what she ought to think.’
‘What you should not have done,’ said Gudgeon severely, ‘is to go babbling off to a policeman–and only a sergeant at that! Never get mixed up with the police more than you can help. It’s painful enough having them in the house at all.’
‘Inexpressibly painful,’ murmured Miss Simmons.
‘Such a thing never happened to me before.’
‘We all know,’ went on Gudgeon, ‘what her ladyship is like. Nothing her ladyship does would ever surprise me–but the police don’t know her ladyship the way we do, and it’s not to be thought of that her ladyship should be worried with silly questions and suspicions just because she wanders about with firearms. It’s the sort of thing she would do, but the police have the kind of mind that just sees murder and nasty things like that. Her ladyship is the kind of absent-minded lady who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but there’s no denying that she puts things in funny places. I shall never forget,’ added Gudgeon with feeling, ‘when she brought back a live lobster and put it in the card tray in the hall. Thought I was seeing things!’
‘That must have been before my time,’ said Simmons with curiosity.
Mrs Medway checked these revelations with a glance at the erring Doris.
‘Some other time,’ she said. ‘Now then, Doris, we’ve only been speaking to you for your own good. It’s common to be mixed up with the police, and don’t you forget it. You can get on with the vegetables now, and be more careful with the runner-beans than you were last night.’
Doris sniffed.
‘Yes, Mrs Medway,’ she said, and shuffled over to the sink.
Mrs Medway said forebodingly:
‘I don’t feel as I’m going to have a light hand with my pastry. That nasty inquest tomorrow. Gives me a turn every time I think of it. A thing like that–happening to us.’
Chapter 22
The latch of the gate clicked and Poirot looked out of the window in time to see the visitor who was coming up the path to the front door. He knew at once who she was. He wondered very much what brought Veronica Cray to see him.
She brought a delicious faint scent into the room with her, a scent that Poirot recognized. She wore tweeds and brogues as Henrietta had done–but she was, he decided, very different from Henrietta.
‘M. Poirot.’ Her tone was delightful, a little thrilled. ‘I’ve only just discovered who my neighbour is. And I’ve always wanted to know you so much.’
He took her outstretched hands, bowed over them.
‘Enchanted, Madame.’
She accepted the homage smilingly, refused his offer of tea, coffee or cocktail.
‘No, I’ve just come to talk to you. To talk seriously. I’m worried.’
‘You are worried? I am sorry to hear that.’
Veronica sat down and sighed.
‘It’s about John Christow’s death. The inquest’s tomorrow. You know that?’
‘Yes, yes, I know.’
‘And the whole thing has really been so extraordinary–’
She broke off.
‘Most people really wouldn’t believe it. But you would, I think, because you know something about human nature.’
‘I know a little about human nature,’ admitted Poirot.
‘Inspector Grange came to see me. He’d got it into his head that I’d quarrelled with John–which is true in a way though not in the way he meant. I told him that I hadn’t seen John for fifteen years–and he simply didn’t believe me. But it’s true, M. Poirot.’
Poirot said: ‘Since it is true, it can easily be proved, so why worry?’
She returned his smile in the friendliest fashion.
‘The real truth is that I simply haven’t dared to tell the inspector what actually happened on Saturday evening. It’s so absolutely fantastic that he certainly wouldn’t believe it. But I felt I must tell someone. That