The Mystery of the Blue Train - Agatha Christie [15]
As she sat at the breakfast table, staring in front of her, there was a ring at the bell, accompanied by a very energetic rat-a-tat-tat at the knocker. In another minute the little maidservant opened the door and announced rather breathlessly:
“Dr. Harrison.”
The big, middle-aged doctor came bustling in with the energy and breeziness that had been foreshadowed by his onslaught on the knocker.
“Good morning, Miss Grey.”
“Good morning, Dr. Harrison.”
“I dropped in early,” began the doctor, “in case you should have heard from one of those Harfield cousins. Mrs. Samuel, she calls herself—a perfectly poisonous person.”
Without a word, Katherine picked up Mrs. Harfield’s letter from the table and gave it to him. With a good deal of amusement she watched his perusal of it, the drawing together of the bushy eyebrows, the snorts and grunts of violent disapproval. He dashed it down again on the table.
“Perfectly monstrous,” he fumed. “Don’t you let it worry you, my dear. They’re talking through their hat. Mrs. Harfield’s intellect was as good as yours or mine, and you won’t get anyone to say the contrary. They wouldn’t have a leg to stand upon, and they know it. All that talk of taking it into court is pure bluff. Hence this attempt to get round you in a hole-and-corner way. And look here, my dear, don’t let them get round you with soft soap either. Don’t get fancying it’s your duty to hand over the cash, or any tomfoolery of conscientious scruples.”
“I’m afraid it hasn’t occurred to me to have scruples,” said Katherine. “All these people are distant relatives of Mrs. Harfield’s husband, and they never came near her or took any notice of her in her lifetime.”
“You’re a sensible woman,” said the doctor. “I know, none better, that you’ve had a hard life of it for the last ten years. You’re fully entitled to enjoy the old lady’s savings, such as they were.”
Katherine smiled thoughtfully.
“Such as they were,” she repeated. “You’ve no idea of the amount, doctor?”
“Well—enough to bring in five hundred a year or so, I suppose.”
Katherine nodded.
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “Now read this.”
She handed him the letter she had taken from the long blue envelope. The doctor read and uttered an exclamation of utter astonishment.
“Impossible,” he muttered. “Impossible.”
“She was one of the original shareholders in Mortaulds. Forty years ago she must have had an income of eight or ten thousand a year. She has never, I am sure, spent more than four hundred a year. She was always terribly careful about money. I always believed that she was obliged to be careful about every penny.”
“And all the time the income has accumulated at compound interest. My dear, you’re going to be a very rich woman.”
Katherine Grey nodded.
“Yes,” she said, “I am.”
She spoke in a detached, impersonal tone, as though she were looking at the situation from outside.
“Well,” said the doctor, preparing to depart, “you have all my congratulations.” He flicked Mrs. Samuel Harfield’s letter with his thumb. “Don’t worry about that woman and her odious letter.”
“It really isn’t an odious letter,” said Miss Grey tolerantly. “Under the circumstances, I think it’s really quite a natural thing to do.”
“I have the gravest suspicions of you sometimes,” said the doctor.
“Why?”
“The things that you find perfectly natural.”
Katherine Grey laughed.
Doctor Harrison retailed the great news to his wife at lunch-time. She was very excited about it.
“Fancy old Mrs. Harfield—with all that money. I’m glad she left it to Katherine Grey. That girl’s a saint.”
The doctor made a wry face.
“Saints I always imagined must have been difficult people. Katherine Grey is too human for a saint.”
“She’s a saint with a sense of humour,” said the doctor’s wife, twinkling. “And, though I don’t suppose you’ve ever noticed the fact, she’s extremely good looking.”
“Katherine Grey?” The doctor was honestly surprised. “She’s got very nice eyes, I know.”
“Oh, you men!” cried his wife.