Three Act Tragedy - Agatha Christie [71]
Perhaps he hoped to be questioned, but if so his expectation was disappointed. Mr Satterthwaite did indeed look up alertly, but Poirot remained lost in thought.
‘Well, I must be off,’ said the actor. ‘Oh, just one thing. I’m rather worried about—Miss Wills.’
‘What about her?’
‘She’s gone.’
Poirot stared at him.
‘Gone? Gone where?’
‘Nobody knows…I was thinking things over after I got your telegram. As I told you at the time, I felt convinced that that woman knew something she hadn’t told us. I thought I’d have a last shot at getting it out of her. I drove out to her house—it was about half-past nine when I got there—and asked for her. It appears she left home this morning—went up to London for the day—that’s what she said. Her people got a telegram in the evening saying she wasn’t returning for a day or so and not to worry.’
‘And were they worrying?’
‘I gather they were, rather. You see, she hadn’t taken any luggage with her.’
‘Odd,’ murmured Poirot.
‘I know. It seems as though—I don’t know. I feel uneasy.’
‘I warned her,’ said Poirot. ‘I warned everyone. You remember I said to them, “Speak now.”’
‘Yes, yes. Do you think that she, too—?’
‘I have my ideas,’ said Poirot. ‘For the moment I prefer not to discuss them.’
‘First, the butler—Ellis—then Miss Wills. Where is Ellis? It’s incredible that the police have never been able to lay hands on him.’
‘They have not looked for his body in the right place,’ said Poirot.
‘Then you agree with Egg. You think he is dead?’
‘Ellis will never be seen alive again.’
‘My God,’ burst out Sir Charles. ‘It’s a nightmare—the whole thing is utterly incomprehensible.’
‘No, no. It is sane and logical, on the contrary.’
Sir Charles stared at him.
‘You say that?’
‘Certainly. You see, I have the orderly mind.’
‘I don’t understand you.’
Mr Satterthwaite, too, looked curiously at the little detective.
‘What kind of a mind have I?’ demanded Sir Charles, slightly hurt.
‘You have the actor’s mind, Sir Charles, creative, original, seeing always dramatic values. Mr Satterthwaite here, he has the playgoer’s mind, he observes the characters, he has the sense of atmosphere. But me, I have the prosaic mind. I see only the facts without any dramatic trappings or footlights.’
‘Then we’re to leave you to it?’
‘That is my idea. For twenty-four hours.’
‘Good luck to you, then. Goodnight.’
As they went away together Sir Charles said to Mr Satterthwaite:
‘That chap thinks a lot of himself.’
He spoke rather coldly.
Mr Satterthwaite smiled. The star part! So that was it. He said:
‘What did you mean by saying you had other fish to fry, Sir Charles?’
On Sir Charles’s face appeared the sheepish expression that Mr Satterthwaite knew so well from attending weddings in Hanover Square.
‘Well, as a matter of fact, I—er—well, Egg and I—’
‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ said Mr Satterthwaite. ‘My best congratulations.’
‘Of course I’m years too old for her.’
‘She doesn’t think so—and she’s the best judge.’
‘That’s very nice of you, Satterthwaite. You know, I’d got it into my head she was fond of young Manders.’
‘I wonder what made you think that,’ said Mr Satterthwaite innocently.
‘Anyway,’ said Sir Charles firmly, ‘she isn’t…’
Chapter 14
Miss Milray
Poirot did not have quite the uninterrupted twenty-four hours for which he had stipulated.
At twenty minutes past eleven on the following morning Egg walked in unannounced. To her amazement she found the great detective engaged in building card houses. Her face showed such lively scorn that Poirot was impelled to defend himself.
‘It is not, mademoiselle, that I have become childish in my old age. No. But the building of card houses, I have always found it most stimulating to the mind. It is an old habit of mine. This morning, first thing, I go out and buy the pack of cards. Unfortunately I make an error, they are not real cards. But they do just as well.’
Egg looked more