AgathaChristie
TheHollow
AHerculePoirotMystery
Dedication
ForLarryandDanaeWithapologiesforusingtheirswimmingpoolasthesceneofamurder
Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Dedication
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
ChapterTwenty-Six
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ChapterTwenty-Nine
ChapterThirty
AbouttheAuthor
OtherBooksbyAgathaChristie
Credits
Copyright
AboutthePublisher
One
Atsixthirteena.m.onaFridaymorningLucyAngkatell’sbigblueeyesopeneduponanotherdayand,asalways,shewasatoncewideawakeandbeganimmediatelytodealwiththeproblemsconjuredupbyherincrediblyactivemind.Feelingurgentlytheneedofconsultationandconversation,andselectingforthepurposeheryoungcousin,MidgeHardcastle,whohadarrivedatTheHollowthenightbefore,LadyAngkatellslippedquicklyoutofbed,threwanégligéeroundherstillgracefulshoulders,andwentalongthepassagetoMidge’sroom.Sinceshewasawomanofdisconcertinglyrapidthoughtprocesses,LadyAngkatell,aswasherinvariablecustom,commencedtheconversationinherownmind,supplyingMidge’sanswersoutofherownfertileimagination.
TheconversationwasinfullswingwhenLadyAngkatellflungopenMidge’sdoor.
“—Andso,darling,youreallymustagreethattheweekendisgoingtopresentdifficulties!”
“Eh?Hwah!”Midgegruntedinarticulately,arousedthusabruptlyfromasatisfyinganddeepsleep.
LadyAngkatellcrossedtothewindow,openingtheshuttersandjerkinguptheblindwithabriskmovement,lettinginthepalelightofaSeptemberdawn.
“Birds!”sheobserved,peeringwithkindlypleasurethroughthepane.“Sosweet.”
“What?”
“Well,atanyrate,theweatherisn’tgoingtopresentdifficulties.Itlooksasthoughithassetinfine.That’ssomething.Becauseifalotofdiscordantpersonalitiesareboxedupindoors,I’msureyouwillagreewithmethatitmakesittentimesworse.Roundgamesperhaps,andthatwouldbelikelastyearwhenIshallneverforgivemyselfaboutpoorGerda.IsaidtoHenryafterwardsitwasmostthoughtlessofme—andonehastohaveher,ofcourse,becauseitwouldbesorudetoaskJohnwithouther,butitreallydoesmakethingsdifficult—andtheworstofitisthatsheissonice—reallyitseemsoddsometimesthatanyonesoniceasGerdaisshouldbesodevoidofanykindofintelligence,andifthatiswhattheymeanbythelawofcompensationIdon’treallythinkitisatallfair.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout,Lucy?”
“Theweekend,darling.Thepeoplewhoarecomingtomorrow.IhavebeenthinkingaboutitallnightandIhavebeendreadfullybotheredaboutit.Soitreallyisarelieftotalkitoverwithyou,Midge.Youarealwayssosensibleandpractical.”
“Lucy,”saidMidgesternly.“Doyouknowwhattimeitis?”
“Notexactly,darling.Ineverdo,youknow.”
“It’squarterpastsix.”
“Yes,dear,”saidLadyAngkatell,withnosignsofcontrition.
Midgegazedsternlyather.Howmaddening,howabsolutelyimpossibleLucywas!Really,thoughtMidge,Idon’tknowwhyweputupwithher!
Yetevenasshevoicedthethoughttoherself,shewasawareoftheanswer.LucyAngkatellwassmiling,andasMidgelookedather,shefelttheextraordinarypervasivecharmthatLucyhadwieldedallherlifeandthatevennow,atoversixty,hadnotfailedher.Becauseofit,peopleallovertheworld,foreignpotentates,ADCs,Governmentofficials,hadenduredinconvenience,annoyanceandbewilderment.Itwasthechildlikepleasureanddelightinherowndoingsthatdisarmedandnullifiedcriticism.Lucyhadbuttoopenthosewideblueeyesandstretchoutthosefragilehands,andmurmur,“Oh!butI’msosorry…”andresentmentimmediatelyvanished.
“Darling,”saidLadyAngkatell,“I’msosorry.Youshouldhavetoldme!”
“I’mtellingyounow—butit’stoolate!I’mthoroughlyawake.”
“Whatashame!Butyouwillhelpme,won’tyou?”
“Abouttheweekend?Why?What’swrongwithit?”
LadyAngkatellsatdownontheedgeofthebed.Itwasnot,Midgethought,likeanyoneelsesittingonyourbed.Itwasasinsubstantialasthoughafairyhadpoiseditselfthereforaminute.
LadyAngkatellstretchedoutflutteringwhitehandsinalovely,helplessgesture.
“Allthewrongpeoplecoming—thewrongpeopletobetogether,Imean—notinthemselves.They’reallcharmingreally.”
“Whoiscoming?”
Midgepushedthickwiryblackhairbackfromhersquareforeheadwithasturdybrownarm.Nothinginsubstantialorfairylikeabouther.
“Well,JohnandGerda.That’sallrightbyitself.Imean,Johnisdelightful—mostattractive.AndasforpoorGerda—well,Imean,wemustallbeverykind.Very,verykind.”
Movedbyanobscureinstinctofdefence,Midgesaid:
“Oh,comenow,she’snotasbadasthat.”
“Oh,darling,she’spathetic.Thoseeyes.Andsheneverseemstounderstandasinglewordonesays.”
“Shedoesn’t,”saidMidge.“Notwhatyousay—butIdon’tknowthatIblameher.Yourmind,Lucy,goessofast,thattokeeppacewithityourconversationtakesthemostamazingleaps.Alltheconnectinglinksareleftout.”
“Justlikeamonkey,”saidLadyAngkatellvaguely.
“ButwhoelseiscomingbesidestheChristows?Henrietta,Isuppose?”
LadyAngkatell’sfacebrightened.
“Yes—andIreallydofeelthatshewillbeatowerofstrength.Shealwaysis.Henrietta,youknow,isreallykind—kindallthrough,notjustontop.ShewillhelpalotwithpoorGerda.Shewassimplywonderfullastyear.Thatwasthetimeweplayedlimericks,orword-making,orquotations—oroneofthosethings,andwehadallfinishedandwerereadingthemoutwhenwesuddenlydiscoveredthatpoordearGerdahadn’tevenbegun.Shewasn’tevensurewhatthegamewas.Itwasdreadful,wasn’tit,Midge?”
“WhyanyoneevercomestostaywiththeAngkatells,Idon’tknow,”saidMidge.“Whatwiththebrainwork,andtheroundgames,andyourpeculiarstyleofconversation,Lucy.”
“Yes,darling,wemustbetrying—anditmustalwaysbehatefulforGerda,andIoftenthinkthatifshehadanyspiritshewouldstayaway—buthowever,thereitwas,andthepoordearlookedsobewilderedand—well—mortified,youknow.AndJohnlookedsodreadfullyimpatient.AndIsimplycouldn’tthinkofhowtomakethingsallrightagain—anditwasthenthatIfeltsogratefultoHenrietta.SheturnedrightroundtoGerdaandaskedaboutthepullovershewaswearing—reallyadreadfulaffairinfadedlettucegreen—toodepressingandjumblesale,darling—andGerdabrightenedupatonce,itseemsthatshehadknitteditherself,andHenriettaaskedherforthepattern,andGerdalookedsohappyandproud.AndthatiswhatImeanaboutHenrietta.Shecanalwaysdothatsortofthing.It’sakindofknack.”
“Shetakestrouble,”saidMidgeslowly.
“Yes,andsheknowswhattosay.”
“Ah,”saidMidge.“Butitgoesfurtherthansaying.Doyouknow,Lucy,thatHenriettaactuallyknittedthatpullover?”
“Oh,mydear.”LadyAngkatelllookedgrave.“Andworeit?”
“Andworeit.Henriettacarriesthingsthrough.”
“Andwasitverydreadful?”
“No.OnHenriettaitlookedverynice.”
“Well,ofcourseitwould.That’sjustthedifferencebetweenHenriettaandGerda.EverythingHenriettadoesshedoeswellanditturnsoutright.She’scleveraboutnearlyeverything,aswellasinherownline.Imustsay,Midge,thatifanyonecarriesusthroughthisweekend,itwillbeHenrietta.ShewillbenicetoGerdaandshewillamuseHenry,andshe’llkeepJohninagoodtemperandI’msureshe’llbemosthelpfulwithDavid.”
“DavidAngkatell?”
“Yes.He’sjustdownfromOxford—orperhapsCambridge.Boysofthatagearesodifficult—especiallywhentheyareintellectual.Davidisveryintellectual.Onewishesthattheycouldputoffbeingintellectualuntiltheywereratherolder.Asitis,theyalwaysgloweratonesoandbitetheirnailsandseemtohavesomanyspotsandsometimesanAdam’sappleaswell.Andtheyeitherwon’tspeakatall,orelseareveryloudandcontradictory.Still,asIsay,IamtrustingtoHenrietta.Sheisverytactfulandaskstherightkindofquestions,andbeingasculptresstheyrespecther,especiallyasshedoesn’tjustcarveanimalsorchildren’sheadsbutdoesadvancedthingslikethatcuriousaffairinmetalandplasterthatsheexhibitedattheNewArtistslastyear.ItlookedratherlikeaHeathRobinsonstepladder.ItwascalledAscendingThought—orsomethinglikethat.ItisthekindofthingthatwouldimpressaboylikeDavid…Ithoughtmyselfitwasjustsilly.”
“DearLucy!”
“ButsomeofHenrietta’sthingsIthinkarequitelovely.ThatWeepingAshtreefigure,forinstance.”
“Henriettahasatouchofrealgenius,Ithink.Andsheisaverylovelyandsatisfyingpersonaswell,”saidMidge
LadyAngkatellgotupanddriftedovertothewindowagain.Sheplayedabsentmindedlywiththeblindcord.
“Whyacorns,Iwonder?”shemurmured.
“Acorns?”
“Ontheblindcord.Likepineapplesongates.Imean,theremustbeareason.Becauseitmightjustaseasilybeafirconeorapear,butit’salwaysanacorn.Mast,theycallitincrosswords—youknow,forpigs.Socurious,Ialwaysthink.”
“Don’trambleoff,Lucy.YoucameinheretotalkabouttheweekendandIcan’tseewhyyouweresoanxiousaboutit.Ifyoumanagetokeepoffroundgames,andtrytobecoherentwhenyou’retalkingtoGerda,andputHenriettaontotameintellectualDavid,whereisthedifficulty?”
“Well,foronething,darling,Edwardiscoming.”
“Oh,Edward.”Midgewassilentforamomentaftersayingthename.
Thensheaskedquietly:
“WhatonearthmadeyouaskEdwardforthisweekend?”
“Ididn’t,Midge.That’sjustit.Heaskedhimself.Wiredtoknowifwecouldhavehim.YouknowwhatEdwardis.Howsensitive.IfI’dwiredback‘No,’he’dprobablyneverhaveaskedhimselfagain.He’slikethat.”
Midgenoddedherheadslowly.
Yes,shethought,Edwardwaslikethat.Foraninstantshesawhisfaceclearly,thatverydearlylovedface.AfacewithsomethingofLucy’sinsubstantialcharm;gentle,diffident,ironic….
“DearEdward,”saidLucy,echoingthethoughtinMidge’smind.
Shewentonimpatiently:
“IfonlyHenriettawouldmakeuphermindtomarryhim.Sheisreallyfondofhim,Iknowsheis.IftheyhadbeenheresomeweekendwithouttheChristows…Asitis,JohnChristowhasalwaysthemostunfortunateeffectonEdward.John,ifyouknowwhatImean,becomessomuchmoresoandEdwardbecomessomuchlessso.Youunderstand?”
AgainMidgenodded.
“AndIcan’tputtheChristowsoffbecausethisweekendwasarrangedlongago,butIdofeel,Midge,thatitisallgoingtobedifficult,withDavidgloweringandbitinghisnails,andwithtryingtokeepGerdafromfeelingoutofit,andwithJohnbeingsopositiveanddearEdwardsonegative—”
“Theingredientsofthepuddingarenotpromising,”murmuredMidge.
Lucysmiledather.
“Sometimes,”shesaidmeditatively,“thingsarrangethemselvesquitesimply.I’veaskedtheCrimemantolunchonSunday.Itwillmakeadistraction,don’tyouthinkso?”
“Crimeman?”
“Likeanegg,”saidLadyAngkatell.“HewasinBaghdad,solvingsomething,whenHenrywasHighCommissioner.Orperhapsitwasafterwards?WehadhimtolunchwithsomeotherDutypeople.Hehadonawhiteducksuit,Iremember,andapinkflowerinhisbuttonhole,andblackpatentleathershoes.Idon’tremembermuchaboutitbecauseIneverthinkit’sveryinterestingwhokilledwho.Imean,oncetheyaredeaditdoesn’tseemtomatterwhy,andtomakeafussaboutitallseemssosilly….”
“Buthaveyouanycrimesdownhere,Lucy?”
“Oh,no,darling.He’sinoneofthosefunnynewcottages—youknow,beamsthatbumpyourheadandalotofverygoodplumbingandquitethewrongkindofgarden.Londonpeoplelikethatsortofthing.There’sanactressintheother,Ibelieve.Theydon’tliveinthemallthetimelikewedo.Still,”LadyAngkatellmovedvaguelyacrosstheroom,“Idaresayitpleasesthem.Midge,darling,it’ssweetofyoutohavebeensohelpful.”
“Idon’tthinkIhavebeensoveryhelpful.”
“Oh,haven’tyou?”LucyAngkatelllookedsurprised.“Well,haveanicesleepnowanddon’tgetuptobreakfast,andwhenyoudogetup,dobeasrudeaseveryoulike.”
“Rude?”Midgelookedsurprised.“Why!Oh!”shelaughed.“Isee!Penetratingofyou,Lucy.PerhapsI’lltakeyouatyourword.”
LadyAngkatellsmiledandwentout.Asshepassedtheopenbathroomdoorandsawthekettleandgasring,anideacametoher.
Peoplewerefondoftea,sheknew—andMidgewouldn’tbecalledforhours.ShewouldmakeMidgesometea.Sheputthekettleonandthenwentondownthepassage.
Shepausedatherhusband’sdoorandturnedthehandle,butSirHenryAngkatell,thatableadministrator,knewhisLucy.Hewasextremelyfondofher,buthelikedhismorningsleepundisturbed.Thedoorwaslocked.
LadyAngkatellwentonintoherownroom.ShewouldhavelikedtohaveconsultedHenry,butlaterwoulddo.Shestoodbyheropenwindow,lookedoutforamomentortwo,thensheyawned.Shegotintobed,laidherheadonthepillowandintwominuteswassleepinglikeachild.
Inthebathroomthekettlecametotheboilandwentonboiling….
“Anotherkettlegone,Mr.Gudgeon,”saidSimmons,thehousemaid.
Gudgeon,thebutler,shookhisgreyhead.
Hetooktheburnt-outkettlefromSimmonsand,goingintothepantry,producedanotherkettlefromthebottomoftheplatecupboardwherehehadastockofhalfadozen.
“Thereyouare,MissSimmons.Herladyshipwillneverknow.”
“Doesherladyshipoftendothissortofthing?”askedSimmons.
Gudgeonsighed.
“Herladyship,”hesaid,“isatoncekindheartedandveryforgetful,ifyouknowwhatImean.Butinthishouse,”hecontinued,“Iseetoitthateverythingpossibleisdonetospareherladyshipannoyanceorworry.”
Two
HenriettaSavernakerolledupalittlestripofclayandpatteditintoplace.Shewasbuildinguptheclayheadofagirlwithswiftpractisedskill.
Inherears,butpenetratingonlytotheedgeofherunderstanding,wasthethinwhineofaslightlycommonvoice:
“AndIdothink,MissSavernake,thatIwasquiteright!‘Really,’Isaid,‘ifthat’sthelineyou’regoingtotake!’BecauseIdothink,MissSavernake,thatagirlowesittoherselftomakeastandaboutthesesortofthings—ifyouknowwhatImean.‘I’mnotaccustomed,’Isaid,‘tohavingthingslikethatsaidtome,andIcanonlysaythatyoumusthaveaverynastyimagination!’Onedoeshateunpleasantness,butIdothinkIwasrighttomakeastand,don’tyou,MissSavernake?”
“Oh,absolutely,”saidHenriettawithafervourinhervoicewhichmighthaveledsomeonewhoknewherwelltosuspectthatshehadnotbeenlisteningveryclosely.
“‘Andifyourwifesaysthingsofthatkind,’Isaid,‘well,I’msureIcan’thelpit!’Idon’tknowhowitis,MissSavernake,butitseemstobetroublewhereverIgo,andI’msureit’snotmyfault.Imean,menaresosusceptible,aren’tthey?”Themodelgaveacoquettishlittlegiggle.
“Frightfully,”saidHenrietta,hereyeshalf-closed.
“Lovely,”shewasthinking.“Lovelythatplanejustbelowtheeyelid—andtheotherplanecominguptomeetit.Thatanglebythejaw’swrong…Imustscrapeoffthereandbuildupagain.It’stricky.”
Aloudshesaidinherwarm,sympatheticvoice:
“Itmusthavebeenmostdifficultforyou.”
“Idothinkjealousy’ssounfair,MissSavernake,andsonarrow,ifyouknowwhatImean.It’sjustenvy,ifImaysayso,becausesomeone’sbetter-lookingandyoungerthantheyare.”
Henrietta,workingonthejaw,saidabsently:“Yes,ofcourse.”
Shehadlearnedthetrick,yearsago,ofshuttinghermindintowatertightcompartments.Shecouldplayagameofbridge,conductanintelligentconversation,writeaclearlyconstructedletter,allwithoutgivingmorethanafractionofheressentialmindtothetask.ShewasnowcompletelyintentonseeingtheheadofNausicaabuilditselfupunderherfingers,andthethin,spitefulstreamofchatterissuingfromthoseverylovelychildishlipspenetratednotatallintothedeeperrecessesofhermind.Shekepttheconversationgoingwithouteffort.Shewasusedtomodelswhowantedtotalk.Notsomuchtheprofessionalones—itwastheamateurswho,uneasyattheirforcedinactivityoflimb,madeupforitbyburstingintogarrulousself-revelation.SoaninconspicuouspartofHenriettalistenedandreplied,and,veryfarandremote,therealHenriettacommented,“Commonmeanspitefullittlepiece—butwhateyes…Lovelylovelylovelyeyes….”
Whilstshewasbusyontheeyes,letthegirltalk.Shewouldaskhertokeepsilentwhenshegottothemouth.Funnywhenyoucametothinkofit,thatthatthinstreamofspiteshouldcomeoutthroughthoseperfectcurves.
“Oh,damn,”thoughtHenriettawithsuddenfrenzy,“I’mruiningthateyebrowarch!Whatthehell’sthematterwithit?I’veoveremphasizedthebone—it’ssharp,notthick….”
Shestoodbackagainfrowningfromtheclaytothefleshandbloodsittingontheplatform.
DorisSaunderswenton:
“‘Well,’Isaid,‘Ireallydon’tseewhyyourhusbandshouldn’tgivemeapresentifhelikes,andIdon’tthink,’Isaid,‘yououghttomakeinsinuationsofthatkind.’Itwaseversuchanicebracelet,MissSavernake,reelyquitelovely—andofcourseIdaresaythepoorfellowcouldn’treelyaffordit,butIdothinkitwasniceofhim,andIcertainlywasn’tgoingtogiveitback!”
“No,no,”murmuredHenrietta.
“Andit’snotasthoughtherewasanythingbetweenus—anythingnasty,Imean—therewasnothingofthatkind.”
“No,”saidHenrietta,“I’msuretherewouldn’tbe….”
Herbrowcleared.Forthenexthalfhoursheworkedinakindoffury.Claysmeareditselfonherforehead,clungtoherhair,asshepushedanimpatienthandthroughit.Hereyeshadablindintenseferocity.Itwascoming…Shewasgettingit….
Now,inafewhours,shewouldbeoutofheragony—theagonythathadbeengrowinguponherforthelasttendays.
Nausicaa—shehadbeenNausicaa,shehadgotupwithNausicaaandhadbreakfastwithNausicaaandgoneoutwithNausicaa.Shehadtrampedthestreetsinanervousexcitablerestlessness,unabletofixhermindonanythingbutabeautifulblindfacesomewherejustbeyondhermind’seye—hoveringtherejustnotabletobeclearlyseen.Shehadinterviewedmodels,hesitatedoverGreektypes,feltprofoundlydissatisfied….
Shewantedsomething—somethingtogiveherthestart—somethingthatwouldbringherownalreadypartiallyrealizedvisionalive.Shehadwalkedlongdistances,gettingphysicallytiredoutandwelcomingthefact.Anddrivingher,harryingher,wasthaturgentincessantlonging—tosee—
Therewasablindlookinherowneyesasshewalked.Shesawnothingofwhatwasaroundher.Shewasstraining—strainingthewholetimetomakethatfacecomenearer…Shefeltsick,ill,miserable….
Andthen,suddenly,hervisionhadclearedandwithnormalhumaneyesshehadseenoppositeherinthebuswhichshehadboardedabsentmindedlyandwithnointerestinitsdestination—shehadseen—yes,Nausicaa!Aforeshortenedchildishface,half-partedlipsandeyes—lovelyvacant,blindeyes.
Thegirlrangthebellandgotout.Henriettafollowedher.
Shewasnowquitecalmandbusinesslike.Shehadgotwhatshewanted—theagonyofbaffledsearchwasover.
“Excusemespeakingtoyou.I’maprofessionalsculptorandtoputitfrankly,yourheadisjustwhatIhavebeenlookingfor.”
Shewasfriendly,charmingandcompellingassheknewhowtobewhenshewantedsomething.
DorisSaundershadbeendoubtful,alarmed,flattered.
“Well,Idon’tknow,I’msure.Ifit’sjustthehead.Ofcourse,I’veneverdonethatsortofthing!”
Suitablehesitations,delicatefinancialinquiry.
“OfcourseIshouldinsistonyouracceptingtheproperprofessionalfee.”
AndsoherewasNausicaa,sittingontheplatform,enjoyingtheideaofherattractions,beingimmortalized(thoughnotlikingverymuchtheexamplesofHenrietta’sworkwhichshecouldseeinthestudio!)andenjoyingalsotherevelationofherpersonalitytoalistenerwhosesympathyandattentionseemedtobesocomplete.
Onthetablebesidethemodelwereherspectacles…thespectaclesthatsheputonasseldomaspossibleowingtovanity,preferringtofeelherwayalmostblindlysometimes,sincesheadmittedtoHenriettathatwithoutthemshewassoshortsightedthatshecouldhardlyseeayardinfrontofher.
Henriettahadnoddedcomprehendingly.Sheunderstoodnowthephysicalreasonforthatblankandlovelystare.
Timewenton.Henriettasuddenlylaiddownhermodellingtoolsandstretchedherarmswidely.
“Allright,”shesaid,“I’vefinished.Ihopeyou’renottootired?”
“Oh,no,thankyou,MissSavernake.It’sbeenveryinteresting,I’msure.Doyoumean,it’sreallydone—sosoon?”
Henriettalaughed.
“Oh,no,it’snotactuallyfinished.Ishallhavetoworkonitquiteabit.Butit’sfinishedasfarasyou’reconcerned.I’vegotwhatIwanted—builtuptheplanes.”
Thegirlcamedownslowlyfromtheplatform.Sheputonherspectaclesandatoncetheblindinnocenceandvagueconfidingcharmofthefacevanished.Thereremainednowaneasy,cheapprettiness.
ShecametostandbyHenriettaandlookedattheclaymodel.
“Oh,”shesaiddoubtfully,disappointmentinhervoice.“It’snotverylikeme,isit?”
Henriettasmiled.
“Oh,no,it’snotaportrait.”
Therewas,indeed,hardlyalikenessatall.Itwasthesettingoftheeyes—thelineofthecheekbones—thatHenriettahadseenastheessentialkeynoteofherconceptionofNausicaa.ThiswasnotDorisSaunders,itwasablindgirlaboutwhomapoemcouldbemade.ThelipswerepartedasDoris’swereparted,buttheywerenotDoris’slips.TheywerelipsthatwouldspeakanotherlanguageandwouldutterthoughtsthatwerenotDoris’sthoughts—
Noneofthefeatureswereclearlydefined.ItwasNausicaaremembered,notseen….
“Well,”saidMissSaundersdoubtfully,“Isupposeit’lllookbetterwhenyou’vegotonwithitabit…Andyoureallydon’twantmeanymore?”
“No,thankyou,”saidHenrietta(“AndthankGodIdon’t!”saidherinnermind).“You’vebeensimplysplendid.I’mverygrateful.”
ShegotridofDorisexpertlyandreturnedtomakeherselfsomeblackcoffee.Shewastired—shewashorriblytired.Buthappy—happyandatpeace.
“Thankgoodness,”shethought,“nowIcanbeahumanbeingagain.”
AndatonceherthoughtswenttoJohn.
“John,”shethought.Warmthcreptintohercheeks,asuddenquickliftingoftheheartmadeherspiritssoar.
“Tomorrow,”shethought,“I’mgoingtoTheHollow…IshallseeJohn….”
Shesatquitestill,sprawledbackonthedivan,drinkingdownthehot,strongliquid.Shedrankthreecupsofit.Shefeltvitalitysurgingback.
Itwasnice,shethought,tobeahumanbeingagain…andnotthatotherthing.Nicetohavestoppedfeelingrestlessandmiserableanddriven.Nicetobeabletostopwalkingaboutthestreetsunhappily,lookingforsomething,andfeelingirritableandimpatientbecause,really,youdidn’tknowwhatyouwerelookingfor!Now,thankgoodness,therewouldbeonlyhardwork—andwhomindedhardwork?
SheputdowntheemptycupandgotupandstrolledbacktoNausicaa.Shelookedatitforsometime,andslowlyalittlefrowncreptbetweenherbrows.
Itwasn’t—itwasn’tquite—
Whatwasitthatwaswrong?…
Blindeyes.
Blindeyesthatweremorebeautifulthananyeyesthatcouldsee…Blindeyesthattoreatyourheartbecausetheywereblind…Hadshegotthatorhadn’tshe?
She’dgotit,yes—butshe’dgotsomethingelseaswell.Somethingthatshehadn’tmeantorthoughtabout…Thestructurewasallright—yes,surely.Butwherediditcomefrom—thatfaint,insidioussuggestion?….
Thesuggestion,somewhere,ofacommonspitefulmind.
Shehadn’tbeenlistening,notreallylistening.Yetsomehow,inthroughherearsandoutatherfingers,ithadworkeditswayintotheclay.
Andshewouldn’t,sheknewshewouldn’t,beabletogetitoutagain….
Henriettaturnedawaysharply.Perhapsitwasfancy.Yes,surelyitwasfancy.Shewouldfeelquitedifferentlyaboutitinthemorning.Shethoughtwithdismay:
“Howvulnerableoneis….”
Shewalked,frowning,uptotheendofthestudio.ShestoppedinfrontofherfigureofTheWorshipper.
Thatwasallright—alovelybitofpearwood,grainingjustright.She’dsaveditupforages,hoardingit.
Shelookedatitcritically.Yes,itwasgood.Nodoubtaboutthat.Thebestthingshehaddoneforalongtime—itwasfortheInternationalGroup.Yes,quiteaworthyexhibit.
She’dgotitallright:thehumility,thestrengthintheneckmuscles,thebowedshoulders,theslightlyupraisedface—afeaturelessface,sinceworshipdrivesoutpersonality.
Yes,submission,adoration—andthatfinaldevotionthatisbeyond,notthisside,idolatry….
Henriettasighed.Ifonly,shethought,Johnhadnotbeensoangry.
Ithadstartledher,thatanger.Ithadtoldhersomethingabouthimthathedidnot,shethought,knowhimself.
Hehadsaidflatly:“Youcan’texhibitthat!”
Andshehadsaid,asflatly:“Ishall.”
ShewentslowlybacktoNausicaa.Therewasnothingthere,shethought,thatshecouldn’tputright.Shesprayeditandwrappeditupinthedampcloths.ItwouldhavetostandoveruntilMondayorTuesday.Therewasnohurrynow.Theurgencyhadgone—alltheessentialplaneswerethere.Itonlyneededpatience.
AheadofherwerethreehappydayswithLucyandHenryandMidge—andJohn!
Sheyawned,stretchedherselflikeacatstretchesitselfwithrelishandabandon,pullingouteachmuscletoitsfullestextent.Sheknewsuddenlyhowverytiredshewas.
Shehadahotbathandwenttobed.Shelayonherbackstaringatastarortwothroughtheskylight.Thenfromtherehereyeswenttotheonelightalwayslefton,thesmallbulbthatilluminatedtheglassmaskthathadbeenoneofherearliestbitsofwork.Ratheranobviouspiece,shethoughtnow.Conventionalinitssuggestion.
Lucky,thoughtHenrietta,thatoneoutgrewoneself….
Andnow,sleep!Thestrongblackcoffeethatshehaddrunkdidnotbringwakefulnessinitstrainunlessshewishedittodoso.Longagoshehadtaughtherselftheessentialrhythmthatcouldbringoblivionatcall.
Youtookthoughts,choosingthemoutofyourstore,andthen,notdwellingonthem,youletthemslipthroughthefingersofyourmind,neverclutchingatthem,neverdwellingonthem,noconcentration…justlettingthemdriftgentlypast.
OutsideintheMewsacarwasbeingrevvedup—somewheretherewashoarseshoutingandlaughing.Shetookthesoundsintothestreamofhersemiconsciousness.
Thecar,shethought,wasatigerroaring…yellowandblack…stripedlikethestripedleaves—leavesandshadows—ahotjungle…andthendowntheriver—awidetropicalriver…totheseaandthelinerstarting…andhoarsevoicescallinggood-bye—andJohnbesideheronthedeck…sheandJohnstarting—blueseaanddownintothediningsaloon—smilingathimacrossthetable—likedinnerattheMaisonDorée—poorJohn,soangry!…outintothenightair—andthecar,thefeelingofslidinginthegears—effortless,smooth,racingoutofLondon…upoverShovelDown…thetrees…treeworship…TheHollow…Lucy…John…John…Ridgeway’sDisease…dearJohn….
Passingintounconsciousnessnow,intoahappybeatitude.
Andthensomesharpdiscomfort,somehauntingsenseofguiltpullingherback.Somethingsheoughttohavedone.Somethingthatshehadshirked.
Nausicaa?
Slowly,unwillingly,Henriettagotoutofbed.Sheswitchedonthelights,wentacrosstothestandandunwrappedthecloths.
Shetookadeepbreath.
NotNausicaa—DorisSaunders!
ApangwentthroughHenrietta.Shewaspleadingwithherself:“Icangetitright—Icangetitright….”
“Stupid,”shesaidtoherself.“Youknowquitewellwhatyou’vegottodo.”
Becauseifshedidn’tdoitnow,atonce—tomorrowshewouldn’thavethecourage.Itwaslikedestroyingyourfleshandblood.Ithurt—yes,ithurt.
Perhaps,thoughtHenrietta,catsfeellikethiswhenoneoftheirkittenshassomethingwrongwithitandtheykillit.
Shetookaquick,sharpbreath,thensheseizedtheclay,twistingitoffthearmature,carryingit,alargeheavylump,todumpitintheclaybin.
Shestoodtherebreathingdeeply,lookingdownatherclay-smearedhands,stillfeelingthewrenchtoherphysicalandmentalself.Shecleanedtheclayoffherhandsslowly.
Shewentbacktobedfeelingacuriousemptiness,yetasenseofpeace.
Nausicaa,shethoughtsadly,wouldnotcomeagain.Shehadbeenborn,hadbeencontaminatedandhaddied.
“Queer,”thoughtHenrietta,“howthingscanseepintoyouwithoutyourknowingit.”
Shehadn’tbeenlistening—notreallylistening—andyetknowledgeofDoris’scheap,spitefullittlemindhadseepedintohermindandhad,unconsciously,influencedherhands.
AndnowthethingthathadbeenNausicaa—Doris—wasonlyclay—justtherawmaterialthatwould,soon,befashionedintosomethingelse.
Henriettathoughtdreamily:“Isthat,then,whatdeathis?Iswhatwecallpersonalityjusttheshapingofit—theimpressofsomebody’sthought?Whosethought?God’s?”
Thatwastheidea,wasn’tit,ofPeerGynt?BackintotheButtonMoulder’sladle.
“WhereamImyself,thewholeman,thetrueman?WhereamIwithGod’smarkuponmybrow?”
DidJohnfeellikethat?Hehadbeensotiredtheothernight—sodisheartened.Ridgeway’sDisease…NotoneofthosebookstoldyouwhoRidgewaywas!Stupid,shethought,shewouldliketoknow…Ridgeway’sDisease.
Three
JohnChristowsatinhisconsultingroom,seeinghislastpatientbutoneforthatmorning.Hiseyes,sympatheticandencouraging,watchedherasshedescribed—explained—wentintodetails.Nowandthenhenoddedhishead,understandingly.Heaskedquestions,gavedirections.Agentleglowpervadedthesufferer.Dr.Christowwasreallywonderful!He
JohnChristowdrewasheetofpapertowardshimandbegantowrite.Bettergiveheralaxative,hesupposed.ThatnewAmericanproprietary—nicelyputupincellophaneandattractivelycoatedinanunusualshadeofsalmonpink.Veryexpensive,too,anddifficulttoget—noteverychemiststockedit.She’dprobablyhavetogotothatlittleplaceinWardourStreet.Thatwouldbealltothegood—probablybuckherupnoendforamonthortwo,thenhe’dhavetothinkofsomethingelse.Therewasnothinghecoulddoforher.Poorphysiqueandnothingtobedoneaboutit!Nothingtogetyourteethinto.NotlikeoldmotherCrabtree….
Aboringmorning.Profitablefinancially—butnothingelse.God,hewastired!Tiredofsicklywomenandtheirailments.Palliation,alleviation—nothingtoitbutthat.Sometimeshewonderedifitwasworthit.ButalwaysthenherememberedSt.Christopher’s,andthelongrowofbedsintheMargaretRussellWard,andMrs.Crabtreegrinningupathimwithhertoothlesssmile.
Heandsheunderstoodeachother!Shewasafighter,notlikethatlimpslugofawomaninthenextbed.Shewasonhisside,shewantedtolive—thoughGodknewwhy,consideringtheslumshelivedin,withahusbandwhodrankandabroodofunrulychildren,andsheherselfobligedtoworkdayindayout,scrubbingendlessfloorsofendlessoffices.Hardunremittingdrudgeryandfewpleasures!Butshewantedtolive—sheenjoyedlife—justashe,JohnChristow,enjoyedlife!Itwasn’tthecircumstancesoflifetheyenjoyed,itwaslifeitself—thezestofexistence.Curious—athingonecouldn’texplain.HethoughttohimselfthathemusttalktoHenriettaaboutthat.
Hegotuptoaccompanyhispatienttothedoor.Hishandtookhersinawarmclasp,friendly,encouraging.Hisvoicewasencouragingtoo,fullofinterestandsympathy.Shewentawayrevived,almosthappy.Dr.Christowtooksuchaninterest!
Asthedoorclosedbehindher,JohnChristowforgother,hehadreallybeenhardlyawareofherexistenceevenwhenshehadbeenthere.Hehadjustdonehisstuff.Itwasallautomatic.Yet,thoughithadhardlyruffledthesurfaceofhismind,hehadgivenoutstrength.Hishadbeentheautomaticresponseofthehealerandhefeltthesagofdepletedenergy.
“God,”hethoughtagain,“I’mtired.”
Onlyonemorepatienttoseeandthentheclearspaceoftheweekend.Hisminddweltonitgratefully.Goldenleavestingedwithredandbrown,thesoftmoistsmellofautumn—theroaddownthroughthewoods—thewoodfires,Lucy,mostuniqueanddelightfulofcreatures—withhercurious,elusivewill-o’-the-wispmind.He’dratherhaveHenryandLucythananyhostandhostessinEngland.AndTheHollowwasthemostdelightfulhouseheknew.OnSundayhe’dwalkthroughthewoodswithHenrietta—upontothecrestofthehillandalongtheridge.WalkingwithHenriettahe’dforgetthattherewereanysickpeopleintheworld.Thankgoodness,hethought,there’sneveranythingthematterwithHenrietta.
Andthenwithasudden,quicktwistofhumour:
“She’dneverletontomeiftherewere!”
Onemorepatienttosee.Hemustpressthebellonhisdesk.Yet,unaccountably,hedelayed.Alreadyhewaslate.Lunchwouldbereadyupstairsinthediningroom.Gerdaandthechildrenwouldbewaiting.Hemustgeton.
Yethesattheremotionless.Hewassotired—soverytired.
Ithadbeengrowingonhimlately,thistiredness.Itwasattherootoftheconstantlyincreasingirritabilitywhichhewasawareofbutcouldnotcheck.PoorGerda,hethought,shehasalottoputupwith.Ifonlyshewasnotsosubmissive—soreadytoadmitherselfinthewrongwhen,halfthetime,itwashewhowastoblame!ThereweredayswheneverythingthatGerdasaidordidconspiredtoirritatehim,andmainly,hethoughtruefully,itwashervirtuesthatirritatedhim.Itwasherpatience,herunselfishness,hersubordinationofherwishestohis,thatarousedhisill-humour.Andsheneverresentedhisquickburstsoftemper,neverstucktoherownopinioninpreferencetohis,neverattemptedtostrikeoutalineofherown.
(Well,hethought,that’swhyyoumarriedher,isn’tit?Whatareyoucomplainingabout?AfterthatsummeratSanMiguel…)
Curious,whenyoucametothinkofit,thattheveryqualitiesthatirritatedhiminGerdawerethequalitieshewantedsobadlytofindinHenrietta.WhatirritatedhiminHenrietta(no,thatwasthewrongword—itwasanger,notirritation,thatsheinspired)—whatangeredhimtherewasHenrietta’sunswervingrectitudewherehewasconcerned.Itwassoatvariancetoherattitudetotheworldingeneral.Hehadsaidtoheronce:
“IthinkyouarethegreatestliarIknow.”
“Perhaps.”
“Youarealwayswillingtosayanythingtopeopleifonlyitpleasesthem.”
“Thatalwaysseemstomemoreimportant.”
“Moreimportantthanspeakingthetruth?”
“Muchmore.”
“ThenwhyinGod’snamecan’tyouliealittlemoretome?”
“Doyouwantmeto?”
“Yes.”
“I’msorry,John,butIcan’t.”
“YoumustknowsooftenwhatIwantyoutosay.”
Comenow,hemustn’tstartthinkingofHenrietta.He’dbeseeingherthisveryafternoon.Thethingtodonowwastogetonwiththings!Ringthebellandseethislastdamnedwoman.Anothersicklycreature!One-tenthgenuineailmentandnine-tenthshypochondria!Well,whyshouldn’tsheenjoyillhealthifshecaredtopayforit?ItbalancedtheMrs.Crabtreesofthisworld.
Butstillhesattheremotionless.
Hewastired—hewassoverytired.Itseemedtohimthathehadbeentiredforaverylongtime.Therewassomethinghewanted—wantedbadly.
Andthereshotintohismindthethought:“Iwanttogohome.”
Itastonishedhim.Wherehadthatthoughtcomefrom?Andwhatdiditmean?Home?Hehadneverhadahome.HisparentshadbeenAnglo-Indians,hehadbeenbroughtup,bandiedaboutfromaunttouncle,onesetofholidayswitheach.Thefirstpermanenthomehehadhad,hesupposed,wasthishouseinHarleyStreet
Didhethinkofthishouseashome?Heshookhishead.Heknewthathedidn’t
Buthismedicalcuriositywasaroused.Whathadhemeantbythatphrasethathadflashedoutsuddenlyinhismind?
Iwanttogohome.
Theremustbesomething—someimage.
Hehalf-closedhiseyes—theremustbesomebackground.
Andveryclearly,beforehismind’seye,hesawthedeepblueoftheMediterraneanSea,thepalms,thecactusandthepricklypear;hesmeltthehotsummerdust,andrememberedthecoolfeelingofthewaterafterlyingonthebeachinthesun.SanMiguel!
Hewasstartled—alittledisturbed.Hehadn’tthoughtofSanMiguelforyears.Hecertainlydidn’twanttogobackthere.Allthatbelongedtoapastchapterinhislife.
Thatwastwelve—fourteen—fifteenyearsago.Andhe’ddonetherightthing!Hisjudgmenthadbeenabsolutelyright!He’dbeenmadlyinlovewithVeronicabutitwouldn’thavedone.Veronicawouldhaveswallowedhimbodyandsoul.Shewasthecompleteegoistandshehadmadenobonesaboutadmittingit!Veronicahadgrabbedmostthingsthatshewanted,butshehadn’tbeenabletograbhim!He’descaped.Hehad,hesupposed,treatedherbadlyfromtheconventionalpointofview.Inplainwords,hehadjiltedher!Butthetruthwasthatheintendedtolivehisownlife,andthatwasathingthatVeronicawouldnothaveallowedhimtodo.SheintendedtoliveherlifeandcarryJohnalongasanextra.
ShehadbeenastonishedwhenhehadrefusedtocomewithhertoHollywood.
Shehadsaiddisdainfully:
“Ifyoureallywanttobeadoctoryoucantakeadegreeoverthere,Isuppose,butit’squiteunnecessary.You’vegotenoughtoliveon,andIshallbemakingheapsofmoney.”
Andhehadrepliedvehemently:
“ButI’mkeenonmyprofession.I’mgoingtoworkwithRadley.”
Hisvoice—ayoungenthusiasticvoice—wasquiteawed.
Veronicasniffed.
“Thatfunnysnuffyoldman?”
“Thatfunnysnuffyoldman,”Johnhadsaidangrily,“hasdonesomeofthemostvaluableresearchworkonPratt’sDisease—”
Shehadinterrupted:WhocaredforPratt’sDisease?California,shesaid,wasanenchantingclimate.Anditwasfuntoseetheworld.Sheadded:“Ishallhateitwithoutyou.Iwantyou,John—Ineedyou.”
Andthenhehadputforwardthe,toVeronica,amazingsuggestionthatsheshouldturndowntheHollywoodofferandmarryhimandsettledowninLondon.
Shewasamusedandquitefirm.ShewasgoingtoHollywood,andshelovedJohn,andJohnmustmarryherandcometoo.Shehadhadnodoubtsofherbeautyandofherpower.
Hehadseenthattherewasonlyonethingtobedoneandhehaddoneit.Hehadwrittentoherbreakingofftheengagement.
Hehadsufferedagooddeal,buthehadhadnodoubtsastothewisdomofthecoursehehadtaken.He’dcomebacktoLondonandstartedworkwithRadley,andayearlaterhehadmarriedGerda,whowasasunlikeVeronicaineverywayasitwaspossibletobe….
Thedooropenedandhissecretary,BerylCollins,camein.
“You’vestillgotMrs.Forrestertosee.”
Hesaidshortly:“Iknow.”
“Ithoughtyoumighthaveforgotten.”
Shecrossedtheroomandwentoutatthefartherdoor.Christow’seyesfollowedhercalmwithdrawal.Aplaingirl,Beryl,butdamnedefficient.He’dhadhersixyears.Shenevermadeamistake,shewasneverflurriedorworriedorhurried.Shehadblackhairandamuddycomplexionandadeterminedchin.Throughstrongglasses,hercleargreyeyessurveyedhimandtherestoftheuniversewiththesamedispassionateattention.
Hehadwantedaplainsecretarywithnononsenseabouther,andhehadgotaplainsecretarywithnononsenseabouther,butsometimes,illogically,JohnChristowfeltaggrieved!Byalltherulesofstageandfiction,Berylshouldhavebeenhopelesslydevotedtoheremployer.ButhehadalwaysknownthathecutnoicewithBeryl.Therewasnodevotion,noself-abnegation—Berylregardedhimasadefinitelyfalliblehumanbeing.Sheremainedunimpressedbyhispersonality,uninfluencedbyhischarm.Hedoubtedsometimeswhethersheevenlikedhim.
Hehadheardheroncespeakingtoafriendonthetelephone.
“No,”shehadbeensaying,“Idon’treallythinkheismuchmoreselfishthanhewas.Perhapsrathermorethoughtlessandinconsiderate.”
Hehadknownthatshewasspeakingofhim,andforquitetwenty-fourhourshehadbeenannoyedaboutit.
AlthoughGerda’sindiscriminateenthusiasmirritatedhim,Beryl’scoolappraisalirritatedhimtoo.Infact,hethought,nearlyeverythingirritatesme….
Somethingwrongthere.Overwork?Perhaps.No,thatwastheexcuse.Thisgrowingimpatience,thisirritabletiredness,ithadsomedeepersignificance.Hethought:“Thiswon’tdo.Ican’tgoonthisway.What’sthematterwithme?IfIcouldgetaway….”
Thereitwasagain—theblindidearushinguptomeettheformulatedideaofescape.
Iwanttogohome….
Damnitall,404HarleyStreetwashishome!
AndMrs.Forresterwassittinginthewaitingroom.Atiresomewoman,awomanwithtoomuchmoneyandtoomuchsparetimetothinkaboutherailments.
Someonehadoncesaidtohim:“Youmustgetverytiredoftheserichpatientsalwaysfancyingthemselvesill.Itmustbesosatisfactorytogettothepoor,whoonlycomewhenthereissomethingreallythematterwiththem!”Hehadgrinned.FunnythethingspeoplebelievedaboutthePoorwithacapitalP.TheyshouldhaveseenoldMrs.Pearstock,onfivedifferentclinics,upeveryweek,takingawaybottlesofmedicine,linimentsforherback,linctusforhercough,aperients,digestivemixtures.“FourteenyearsI’ve’adthebrownmedicine,Doctor,andit’stheonlythingdoesmeanygood.Thatyoungdoctorlastweekwritesmedownawhitemedicine.Nogoodatall!Itstandstoreason,doesn’tit,Doctor?Imean,I’ve’admebrownmedicineforfourteenyears,andifIdon’t’avemeliquidparaffinandthembrownpills….”
Hecouldhearthewhiningvoicenow—excellentphysique,soundasabell—evenallthephysicshetookcouldn’treallydoheranyharm!
Theywerethesame,sistersundertheskin,Mrs.PearstockfromTottenhamandMrs.ForresterofParkLaneCourt.Youlistenedandyouwrotescratcheswithyourpenonapieceofstiffexpensivenotepaper,oronahospitalcardasthecasemightbe….
God,hewastiredofthewholebusiness….
Bluesea,thefaintsweetsmellofmimosa,hotdust….
Fifteenyearsago.Allthatwasoveranddonewith—yes,donewith,thankheaven.He’dhadthecouragetobreakoffthewholebusiness.
Courage?saidalittleimpsomewhere.Isthatwhatyoucallit?
Well,he’ddonethesensiblething,hadn’the?Ithadbeenawrench.Damnitall,ithadhurtlikehell!Buthe’dgonethroughwithit,cutloose,comehome,andmarriedGerda.
He’dgotaplainsecretaryandhe’dmarriedaplainwife.Thatwaswhathewanted,wasn’tit?He’dhadenoughofbeauty,hadn’the?He’dseenwhatsomeonelikeVeronicacoulddowithherbeauty—seentheeffectithadoneverymalewithinrange.AfterVeronica,he’dwantedsafety.Safetyandpeaceanddevotionandthequiet,enduringthingsoflife.He’dwanted,infact,Gerda!He’dwantedsomeonewho’dtakeherideasoflifefromhim,whowouldaccepthisdecisionsandwhowouldn’thave,foronemoment,anyideasofherown….
Whowasitwhohadsaidthattherealtragedyoflifewasthatyougotwhatyouwanted?
Angrilyhepressedthebuzzeronhisdesk.
He’ddealwithMrs.Forrester.
IttookhimaquarterofanhourtodealwithMrs.Forrester.Onceagainitwaseasymoney.Onceagainhelistened,askedquestions,reassured,sympathized,infusedsomethingofhisownhealingenergy.Oncemorehewroteoutaprescriptionforanexpensiveproprietary.
Thesicklyneuroticwomanwhohadtrailedintotheroomleftitwithafirmerstep,withcolourinhercheeks,withafeelingthatlifemightpossiblyafterallbeworthwhile.
JohnChristowleantbackinhischair.Hewasfreenow—freetogoupstairstojoinGerdaandthechildren—freefromthepreoccupationsofillnessandsufferingforawholeweekend.
Buthefeltstillthatstrangedisinclinationtomove,thatnewqueerlassitudeofthewill.
Hewastired—tired—tired.
Four
InthediningroomoftheflatabovetheconsultingroomGerdaChristowwasstaringatajointofmutton.
Shouldsheorshouldshenotsenditbacktothekitchentobekeptwarm?
IfJohnwasgoingtobemuchlongeritwouldbecold—congealed,andthatwouldbedreadful.
Butontheotherhandthelastpatienthadgone,Johnwouldbeupinamoment,ifshesentitbacktherewouldbedelay—Johnwassoimpatient.“ButsurelyyouknewIwasjustcoming…”Therewouldbethattoneofsuppressedexasperationinhisvoicethatsheknewanddreaded.Besides,itwouldgetovercooked,driedup—Johnhatedovercookedmeat.
Butontheotherhandhedislikedcoldfoodverymuchindeed.
Atanyratethedishwasniceandhot.
Hermindoscillatedtoandfro,andhersenseofmiseryandanxietydeepened.
Thewholeworldhadshrunktoalegofmuttongettingcoldonadish.
OntheothersideofthetablehersonTerence,agedtwelve,said:
“Boracicsaltsburnwithagreenflame,sodiumsaltsareyellow.”
Gerdalookeddistractedlyacrossthetableathissquare,freckledface.Shehadnoideawhathewastalkingabout.
“Didyouknowthat,Mother?”
“Knowwhat,dear?”
“Aboutsalts.”
Gerda’seyeflewdistractedlytothesaltcellar.Yes,saltandpepperwereonthetable.Thatwasallright.LastweekLewishadforgottenthemandthathadannoyedJohn.Therewasalwayssomething….
“It’soneofthechemicaltests,”saidTerenceinadreamyvoice.“Jollyinteresting.Ithink.”
Zena,agednine,withapretty,vacuousface,whimpered:
“Iwantmydinner.Can’twestart,Mother?”
“Inaminute,dear,wemustwaitforFather.”
“Wecouldstart,”saidTerence.“Fatherwouldn’tmind.Youknowhowfastheeats.”
Gerdashookherhead.
Carvethemutton?Butshenevercouldrememberwhichwastherightsidetoplungetheknifein.Ofcourse,perhapsLewishadputittherightwayonthedish—butsometimesshedidn’t—andJohnwasalwaysannoyedifitwasdonethewrongway.And,Gerdareflecteddesperately,italwayswasthewrongwaywhenshedidit.Oh,dear,howcoldthegravywasgetting—askinwasformingonthetopofit—andsurelyhewouldbecomingnow.
Hermindwentroundandroundunhappily…likeatrappedanimal.
Sittingbackinhisconsultingroomchair,tappingwithonehandonthetableinfrontofhim,consciousthatupstairslunchmustbeready,JohnChristowwasneverthelessunabletoforcehimselftogetup.
SanMiguel…bluesea…smellofmimosa…ascarlettritomauprightagainstgreenleaves…thehotsun…thedust…thatdesperationofloveandsuffering….
Hethought:“Oh,God,notthat.Neverthatagain!That’sover….”
HewishedsuddenlythathehadneverknownVeronica,nevermarriedGerda,nevermetHenrietta….
Mrs.Crabtree,hethought,wasworththelotofthem.Thathadbeenabadafternoonlastweek.He’dbeensopleasedwiththereactions.Shecouldstand.005bynow.AndthenhadcomethatalarmingriseintoxicityandtheDLreactionhadbeennegativeinsteadofpositive.
Theoldbeanhadlainthere,blue,gaspingforbreath—peeringupathimwithmalicious,indomitableeyes.
“Makingabitofaguineapigoutofme,ain’tyou,dearie?Experimenting—thatkinderthing.”
“Wewanttogetyouwell,”hehadsaid,smilingdownather.
“Uptoyourtricks,yermean!”Shehadgrinnedsuddenly.“Idon’tmind,blessyer.Youcarryon,Doctor!Someone’sgottobefirst,that’sit,ain’tit?’Adme’airpermed,Idid,whenIwasakid.Itwasn’t’alfadifficultbusinessthen.Lookedlikeanigger,Idid.Couldn’tgetacombthroughit.Butthere—Ienjoyedthefun.Youcan’aveyerfunwithme.Icanstandit.”
“Feelprettybad,don’tyou?”Hishandwasonherpulse.Vitalitypassedfromhimtothepantingoldwomanonthebed.
“Orful,Ifeel.You’reaboutright!’Asn’tgoneaccordingtoplan—that’sit,isn’tit?Neveryoumind.Don’tyoulose’eart.Icanstandalot,Ican!”
JohnChristowsaidappreciatively:
“You’refine.Iwishallmypatientswerelikeyou.”
“Iwantergetwell—that’swhy!Iwantergetwell.Mum,shelivedtobeeighty-eight—andoldGrandmawasninetywhenshepoppedoff.We’relong-liversinourfamily,weare.”
Hehadcomeawaymiserable,rackedwithdoubtanduncertainty.He’dbeensosurehewasontherighttrack.Wherehadhegonewrong?Howdiminishthetoxicityandkeepupthehormonecontentandatthesametimeneutralizethepantratin?….
He’dbeentoococksure—he’dtakenitforgrantedthathe’dcircumventedallthesnags.
Anditwasthen,onthestepsofSt.Christopher’s,thatasuddendesperatewearinesshadovercomehim—ahatredofallthislong,slow,wearisomeclinicalwork,andhe’dthoughtofHenrietta,thoughtofhersuddenlynotasherself,butofherbeautyandherfreshness,herhealthandherradiantvitality—andthefaintsmellofprimrosesthatclungaboutherhair.
AndhehadgonetoHenriettastraightaway,sendingacurttelephonemessagehomeaboutbeingcalledaway.HehadstrodeintothestudioandtakenHenriettainhisarms,holdinghertohimwithafiercenessthatwasnewintheirrelationship.
Therehadbeenaquick,startledwonderinhereyes.Shehadfreedherselffromhisarmsandhadmadehimcoffee.Andasshemovedaboutthestudioshehadthrownoutdesultoryquestions.Hadhecome,sheasked,straightfromthehospital?
Hedidn’twanttotalkaboutthehospital.HewantedtomakelovetoHenriettaandforgetthatthehospitalandMrs.CrabtreeandRidgeway’sDiseaseandalltherestofthecaboodleexisted.
But,atfirstunwillingly,thenmorefluently,heansweredherquestions.Andpresentlyhewasstridingupanddown,pouringoutaspateoftechnicalexplanationsandsurmises.Onceortwicehepaused,tryingtosimplify—toexplain:
“Yousee,youhavetogetareaction—”
Henriettasaidquickly:
“Yes,yes,theDLreactionhastobepositive.Iunderstandthat.Goon.”
Hesaidsharply,“HowdoyouknowabouttheDLreaction?”
“Igotabook—”
“Whatbook?Whose?”
Shemotionedtowardsthesmallbooktable.Hesnorted.
“Scobell?Scobell’snogood.He’sfundamentallyunsound.Lookhere,ifyouwanttoread—don’t—”
Sheinterruptedhim.
“Ionlywanttounderstandsomeofthetermsyouuse—enoughsoastounderstandyouwithoutmakingyoustoptoexplaineverythingthewholetime.Goon.I’mfollowingyouallright.”
“Well,”hesaiddoubtfully,“rememberScobell’sunsound.”Hewentontalking.Hetalkedfortwohoursandahalf.Reviewingthesetbacks,analysingthepossibilities,outliningpossibletheories.HewashardlyconsciousofHenrietta’spresence.Andyet,morethanonce,ashehesitated,herquickintelligencetookhimastepontheway,seeing,almostbeforehedid,whathewashesitatingtoadvance.Hewasinterestednow,andhisbeliefinhimselfwascreepingback.Hehadbeenright—themaintheorywascorrect—andtherewereways,morewaysthanone,ofcombatingthetoxicsymptoms.
Andthen,suddenly,hewastiredout.He’dgotitallclearnow.He’dgetontoittomorrowmorning.He’dringupNeill,tellhimtocombinethetwosolutionsandtrythat.Yes,trythat.ByGod,hewasn’tgoingtobebeaten!
“I’mtired,”hesaidabruptly.“MyGod,I’mtired.”
Andhehadflunghimselfdownandslept—sleptlikethedead.
HehadawokentofindHenriettasmilingathiminthemorninglightandmakingteaandhehadsmiledbackather.
“Notatallaccordingtoplan,”hesaid.
“Doesitmatter?”
“No.No.Youareratheraniceperson,Henrietta.”Hiseyewenttothebookcase.“Ifyou’reinterestedinthissortofthing,I’llgetyoutheproperstufftoread.”
“I’mnotinterestedinthissortofthing.I’minterestedinyou,John.”
“Youcan’treadScobell.”Hetookuptheoffendingvolume.“Theman’sacharlatan.”
Andshehadlaughed.HecouldnotunderstandwhyhisstricturesonScobellamusedherso.
Butthatwaswhat,everynowandthen,startledhimaboutHenrietta.Thesuddenrevelation,disconcertingtohim,thatshewasabletolaughathim.
Hewasn’tusedtoit.Gerdatookhimindeadlyearnest.AndVeronicahadneverthoughtaboutanythingbutherself.ButHenriettahadatrickofthrowingherheadback,oflookingathimthroughhalf-closedeyes,withasuddentenderhalf-mockinglittlesmile,asthoughsheweresaying:“LetmehaveagoodlookatthisfunnypersoncalledJohn…Letmegetalongwayawayandlookathim….”
Itwas,hethought,verymuchthesameasthewayshescreweduphereyestolookatherwork—orapicture.Itwas—damnitall—itwasdetached.Hedidn’twantHenriettatobedetached.HewantedHenriettatothinkonlyofhim,nevertolethermindstrayawayfromhim.
(“JustwhatyouobjecttoinGerda,infact,”saidhisprivateimp,bobbingupagain.)
Thetruthofitwasthathewascompletelyillogical.Hedidn’tknowwhathewanted.
(“Iwanttogohome.”Whatanabsurd,whataridiculousphrase.Itdidn’tmeananything.)
Inanhourorsoatanyratehe’dbedrivingoutofLondon—forgettingaboutsickpeoplewiththeirfaintsour“wrong”smell…sniffingwoodsmokeandpinesandsoftwetautumnleaves…Theverymotionofthecarwouldbesoothing—thatsmooth,effortlessincreaseofspeed.
Butitwouldn’t,hereflectedsuddenly,beatalllikethatbecauseowingtoaslightlystrainedwrist,Gerdawouldhavetodrive,andGerda,Godhelpher,hadneverbeenabletobegintodriveacar!Everytimeshechangedgearhewouldbesilent,grindinghisteethtogether,managingnottosayanythingbecauseheknew,bybitterexperience,thatwhenhedidsayanythingGerdabecameimmediatelyworse.CuriousthatnoonehadeverbeenabletoteachGerdatochangegear—notevenHenrietta.He’dturnedherovertoHenrietta,thinkingthatHenrietta’senthusiasmmightdobetterthanhisownirritability.
ForHenriettalovedcars.Shespokeofcarswiththelyricalintensitythatotherpeoplegavetospring,orthefirstsnowdrop.
“Isn’theabeauty,John?Doesn’thejustpurralong?”(ForHenrietta’scarswerealwaysmasculine.)“He’lldoBaleHillinthird—notstrainingatall—quiteeffortlessly.Listentotheevenwayheticksover.”
Untilhehadburstoutsuddenlyandfuriously:
“Don’tyouthink,Henrietta,youcouldpaysomeattentiontomeandforgetthedamnedcarforaminuteortwo!”
Hewasalwaysashamedoftheseoutbursts.
Heneverknewwhentheywouldcomeuponhimoutofabluesky.
Itwasthesamethingoverherwork.Herealizedthatherworkwasgood.Headmiredit—andhatedit—atthesametime.
Themostfuriousquarrelhehadhadwithherhadarisenoverthat.
Gerdahadsaidtohimoneday:
“Henriettahasaskedmetositforher.”
“What?”Hisastonishmenthadnot,ifhecametothinkofit,beenflattering“You?”
“Yes,I’mgoingovertothestudiotomorrow.”
“Whatonearthdoesshewantyoufor?”
Yes,hehadn’tbeenverypoliteaboutit.ButluckilyGerdahadn’trealizedthatfact.Shehadlookedpleasedaboutit.HesuspectedHenriettaofoneofthoseinsincerekindnessesofhers—Gerda,perhaps,hadhintedthatshewouldliketobemodelled.Somethingofthatkind.
Then,abouttendayslater,Gerdahadshownhimtriumphantlyasmallplasterstatuette.
Itwasaprettything—technicallyskillfullikeallHenrietta’swork.ItidealizedGerda—andGerdaherselfwasclearlypleasedaboutit.
“Ireallythinkit’srathercharming,John.”
“IsthatHenrietta’swork?Itmeansnothing—nothingatall.Idon’tseehowshecametodoathinglikethat.”
“It’sdifferent,ofcourse,fromherabstractwork—butIthinkit’sgood,John,Ireallydo.”
Hehadsaidnomore—afterall,hedidn’twanttospoilGerda’spleasure.ButhetackledHenriettaaboutitatthefirstopportunity.
“WhatdidyouwanttomakethatsillythingofGerdafor?It’sunworthyofyou.Afterall,youusuallyturnoutdecentstuff.”
Henriettasaidslowly:
“Ididn’tthinkitwasbad.Gerdaseemedquitepleased.”
“Gerdawasdelighted.Shewouldbe.Gerdadoesn’tknowartfromacolouredphotograph.”
“Itwasn’tbadart,John.Itwasjustaportraitstatuette—quiteharmlessandnotatallpretentious.”
“Youdon’tusuallywasteyourtimedoingthatkindofstuff—”
Hebrokeoff,staringatawoodenfigureaboutfivefeethigh.
“Hallo,what’sthis?”
“It’sfortheInternationalGroup.Pearwood.TheWorshipper.”
Shewatchedhim.Hestaredandthen—suddenly,hisneckswelledandheturnedonherfuriously.
“Sothat’swhatyouwantedGerdafor?Howdareyou?”
“Iwonderedifyou’dsee….”
“Seeit?OfcourseIseeit.It’shere.”Heplacedafingeronthebroadheavyneckmuscles.
Henriettanodded.
“Yes,it’stheneckandshouldersIwanted—andthatheavyforwardslant—thesubmission—thatbowedlook.It’swonderful!”
“Wonderful?Lookhere,Henrietta,Iwon’thaveit.You’retoleaveGerdaalone.”
“Gerdawon’tknow.Nobodywillknow.YouknowGerdawouldneverrecognizeherselfhere—nobodyelsewouldeither.Anditisn’tGerda.Itisn’tanybody.”
“Irecognizedit,didn’tI?”
“You’redifferent,John.You—seethings.”
“It’sthedamnedcheekofit!Iwon’thaveit,Henrietta!Iwon’thaveit.Can’tyouseethatitwasanindefensiblethingtodo?”
“Wasit?”
“Don’tyouknowitwas?Can’tyoufeelitwas?Where’syourusualsensitiveness?”
Henriettasaidslowly:
“Youdon’tunderstand,John.Idon’tthinkIcouldevermakeyouunderstand…Youdon’tknowwhatitistowantsomething—tolookatitdayafterday—thatlineoftheneck—thosemuscles—theanglewheretheheadgoesforward—thatheavinessroundthejaw.I’vebeenlookingatthem,wantingthem—everytimeIsawGerda…IntheendIjusthadtohavethem!”
“Unscrupulous!”
“Yes,Isupposejustthat.Butwhenyouwantthings,inthatway,youjusthavetotakethem.”
“Youmeanyoudon’tcareadamnaboutanybodyelse.Youdon’tcareaboutGerda—”
“Don’tbestupid,John.That’swhyImadethatstatuettething.TopleaseGerdaandmakeherhappy.I’mnotinhuman!”
“Inhumanisexactlywhatyouare.”
“Doyouthink—honestly—thatGerdawouldeverrecognizeherselfinthis?”
Johnlookedatitunwillingly.Forthefirsttimehisangerandresentmentbecamesubordinatedtohisinterest.Astrangesubmissivefigure,afigureofferingupworshiptoanunseendeity—thefaceraised—blind,dumb,devoted—terriblystrong,terriblyfanatical…Hesaid:
“That’sratheraterrifyingthingthatyouhavemade,Henrietta!”
Henriettashiveredslightly.
Shesaid,“Yes—Ithoughtthat….”
Johnsaidsharply:
“What’sshelookingat—whoisit?Thereinfrontofher?”
Henriettahesitated.Shesaid,andhervoicehadaqueernoteinit:
“Idon’tknow.ButIthink—shemightbelookingatyou,John.”
Five
I
InthediningroomthechildTerrymadeanotherscientificstatement.
“Leadsaltsaremoresolubleincoldwaterthanhot.Ifyouaddpotassiumiodideyougetayellowprecipitateofleadiodide.”
Helookedexpectantlyathismotherbutwithoutanyrealhope.Parents,intheopinionofyoungTerence,weresadlydisappointing.
“Didyouknowthat,Mother—”
“Idon’tknowanythingaboutchemistry,dear.”
“Youcouldreadaboutitinabook,”saidTerence.
Itwasasimplestatementoffact,buttherewasacertainwistfulnessbehindit.
Gerdadidnothearthewistfulness.Shewascaughtinthetrapofheranxiousmisery.Roundandroundandround.Shehadbeenmiserableeversinceshewokeupthismorningandrealizedthatatlastthislong-dreadedweekendwiththeAngkatellswasuponher.StayingatTheHollowwasalwaysanightmaretoher.Shealwaysfeltbewilderedandforlorn.LucyAngkatellwithhersentencesthatwereneverfinished,herswiftinconsequences,andherobviousattemptsatkindliness,wasthefigureshedreadedmost.Buttheotherswerenearlyasbad.ForGerdaitwastwodaysofsheermartyrdom—tobeenduredforJohn’ssake.
ForJohnthatmorningashestretchedhimselfhadremarkedintonesofunmitigatedpleasure:
“Splendidtothinkwe’llbegettingintothecountrythisweekend.Itwilldoyougood,Gerda,justwhatyouneed.”
Shehadsmiledmechanicallyandhadsaidwithunselfishfortitude:“Itwillbedelightful.”
Herunhappyeyeshadwanderedroundthebedroom.Thewallpaper,creamstripedwithablackmarkjustbythewardrobe,themahoganydressingtablewiththeglassthatswungtoofarforward,thecheerfulbrightbluecarpet,thewatercoloursoftheLakeDistrict.AlldearfamiliarthingsandshewouldnotseethemagainuntilMonday.
Instead,tomorrowahousemaidwhorustledwouldcomeintothestrangebedroomandputdownalittledaintytrayofearlyteabythebedandpulluptheblinds,andwouldthenrearrangeandfoldGerda’sclothes—athingwhichmadeGerdafeelhotanduncomfortableallover.Shewouldliemiserably,enduringthesethings,tryingtocomfortherselfbythinking,“Onlyonemorningmore.”Likebeingatschoolandcountingthedays.
Gerdahadnotbeenhappyatschool.Atschooltherehadbeenevenlessreassurancethanelsewhere.Homehadbeenbetter.Butevenhomehadnotbeenverygood.Fortheyhadall,ofcourse,beenquickerandclevererthanshewas.Theircomments,quick,impatient,notquiteunkind,hadwhistledaboutherearslikeahailstorm.“Oh,dobequick,Gerda.”“Butterfingers,giveittome!”“Ohdon’tletGerdadoit,she’llbeages.”“Gerdanevertakesinanything….”
Hadn’ttheyseen,allofthem,thatthatwasthewaytomakeherslowerandstupiderstill?She’dgotworseandworse,moreclumsywithherfingers,moreslow-witted,moreinclinedtostarevacantlyatwhatwassaidtoher.
Until,suddenly,shehadreachedthepointwhereshehadfoundawayout.Almostaccidentally,really,shefoundherweaponofdefence.
Shehadgrownslowerstill,herpuzzledstarehadbecomeevenblanker.Butnow,whentheysaidimpatiently:“Oh,Gerda,howstupidyouare,don’tyouunderstandthat?”shehadbeenable,behindherblankexpression,tohugherselfalittleinhersecretknowledge…Forshewasn’tasstupidastheythought.Often,whenshepretendednottounderstand,shedidunderstand.Andoften,deliberately,shesloweddowninhertaskofwhateveritwas,smilingtoherselfwhensomeone’simpatientfingerssnatcheditawayfromher.
For,warmanddelightful,wasasecretknowledgeofsuperiority.Shebegantobe,quiteoften,alittleamused.Yes,itwasamusingtoknowmorethantheythoughtyouknew.Tobeabletodoathing,butnotletanybodyknowthatyoucoulddoit.
Andithadtheadvantage,suddenlydiscovered,thatpeopleoftendidthingsforyou.That,ofcourse,savedyoualotoftrouble.And,intheend,ifpeoplegotintothehabitofdoingthingsforyou,youdidn’thavetodothematall,andthenpeopledidn’tknowthatyoudidthembadly.Andso,slowly,youcameroundagainalmosttowhereyoustarted.Tofeelingthatyoucouldholdyourownonequaltermswiththeworldatlarge.
(Butthatwouldn’t,Gerdafeared,holdgoodwiththeAngkatells;theAngkatellswerealwayssofaraheadthatyoudidn’tfeeleveninthesamestreetwiththem.HowshehatedtheAngkatells!ItwasgoodforJohn—Johnlikeditthere.Hecamehomelesstired—andsometimeslessirritable.)
DearJohn,shethought.Johnwaswonderful.Everyonethoughtso.Suchacleverdoctor,soterriblykindtohispatients.Wearinghimselfout—andtheinteresthetookinhishospitalpatients—allthatsideofhisworkthatdidn’tpayatall.Johnwassodisinterested—sotrulynoble.
Shehadalwaysknown,fromtheveryfirst,thatJohnwasbrilliantandwasgoingtogettothetopofthetree.Andhehadchosenher,whenhemighthavemarriedsomebodyfarmorebrilliant.Hehadnotmindedherbeingslowandratherstupidandnotverypretty.“I’lllookafteryou,”hehadsaid.Nicely,rathermasterfully.“Don’tworryaboutthings,Gerda,I’lltakecareofyou….”
Justwhatamanoughttobe.WonderfultothinkJohnshouldhavechosenher.
Hehadsaidwiththatsudden,veryattractive,half-pleadingsmileofhis:“Ilikemyownway,youknow,Gerda.”
Well,thatwasallright.Shehadalwaystriedtogiveintohimineverything.Evenlatelywhenhehadbeensodifficultandnervy—whennothingseemedtopleasehim.When,somehow,nothingshedidwasright.Onecouldn’tblamehim.Hewassobusy,sounselfish—
Oh,dear,thatmutton!Sheoughttohavesentitback.StillnosignofJohn.Whycouldn’tshe,sometimes,decideright?Againthosedarkwavesofmiserysweptoverher.Themutton!ThisawfulweekendwiththeAngkatells.Shefeltasharppainthroughbothtemples.Oh,dear,nowshewasgoingtohaveoneofherheadaches.AnditdidsoannoyJohnwhenshehadheadaches.Heneverwouldgiveheranythingforthem,whensurelyitwouldbesoeasy,beingadoctor.Insteadhealwayssaid:“Don’tthinkaboutit.Nousepoisoningyourselfwithdrugs.Takeabriskwalk.”
Themutton!Staringatit,Gerdafeltthewordsrepeatingthemselvesinherachinghead,“Themutton,theMUTTON,THEMUTTON….”
Tearsofself-pitysprangtohereyes.“Why,”shethought,“doesnothingevergorightforme?”
Terencelookedacrossatthetableathismotherandthenatthejoint.Hethought:“Whycan’twehaveourdinner?Howstupidgrown-uppeopleare.Theyhaven’tanysense!”
Aloudhesaidinacarefulvoice:
“NicholsonMinorandIaregoingtomakenitroglycerineinhisfather’sshrubbery.TheyliveatStreatham.”
“Areyou,dear?Thatwillbeverynice,”saidGerda.
Therewasstilltime.IfsherangthebellandtoldLewistotakethejointdownnow—
Terencelookedatherwithfaintcuriosity.Hehadfeltinstinctivelythatthemanufactureofnitroglycerinewasnotthekindofoccupationthatwouldbeencouragedbyparents.Withbaseopportunismhehadselectedamomentwhenhefelttolerablycertainthathehadagoodchanceofgettingawaywithhisstatement.Andhisjudgementhadbeenjustified.If,byanychance,thereshouldbeafuss—if,thatis,thepropertiesofnitroglycerineshouldmanifestthemselvestooevidently,hewouldbeabletosayinaninjuredvoice,“ItoldMother.”
Allthesame,hefeltvaguelydisappointed.
“EvenMother,”hethought,“oughttoknowaboutnitroglycerine.”
Hesighed.Theresweptoverhimthatintensesenseoflonelinessthatonlychildhoodcanfeel.Hisfatherwastooimpatienttolisten,hismotherwastooinattentive.Zenawasonlyasillykid.
Pagesofinterestingchemicaltests.Andwhocaredaboutthem?Nobody!
Bang!Gerdastarted.ItwasthedoorofJohn’sconsultingroom.ItwasJohnrunningupstairs.
JohnChristowburstintotheroom,bringingwithhimhisownparticularatmosphereofintenseenergy.Hewasgood-humoured,hungry,impatient.
“God,”heexclaimedashesatdownandenergeticallysharpenedthecarvingknifeagainstthesteel.“HowIhatesickpeople!”
“Oh,John.”Gerdawasquicklyreproachful.“Don’tsaythingslikethat.They’llthinkyoumeanit.”
Shegesturedslightlywithherheadtowardsthechildren.
“Idomeanit,”saidJohnChristow.“Nobodyoughttobeill.”
“Father’sjoking,”saidGerdaquicklytoTerence.
Terenceexaminedhisfatherwiththedispassionateattentionhegavetoeverything.
“Idon’tthinkheis,”hesaid.
“Ifyouhatedsickpeople,youwouldn’tbeadoctor,dear,”saidGerda,laughinggently.
“That’sexactlythereason,”saidJohnChristow.“Nodoctorslikesickness.GoodGod,thismeat’sstonecold.Whyonearthdidn’tyouhaveitsentdowntokeephot?”
“Well,dear,Ididn’tknow.Yousee,Ithoughtyouwerejustcoming—”
JohnChristowpressedthebell,along,irritatedpush.Lewiscamepromptly.
“TakethisdownandtellCooktowarmitup.”
Hespokecurtly.
“Yes,sir.”Lewis,slightlyimpertinent,managedtoconveyinthetwoinnocuouswordsexactlyheropinionofamistresswhosatatthediningtablewatchingajointofmeatgrowcold.
Gerdawentonratherincoherently:
“I’msosorry,dear,it’sallmyfault,butfirst,yousee,Ithoughtyouwerecoming,andthenIthought,well,ifIdidsenditback….”
Johninterruptedherimpatiently.
“Oh,whatdoesitmatter?Itisn’timportant.Notworthmakingasonganddanceabout.”
Thenheasked:
“Isthecarhere?”
“Ithinkso.Collieorderedit.”
“Thenwecangetawayassoonaslunchisover.”
AcrossAlbertBridge,hethought,andthenoverClaphamCommon—theshortcutbytheCrystalPalace—Croydon—PurleyWay,thenavoidthemainroad—takethatright-handforkupMetherlyHill—alongHaverstonRidge—getsuddenlyrightofthesuburbanbelt,throughCormerton,andthenupShovelDown—treesgoldenred—woodlandbelowoneeverywhere—thesoftautumnsmell,anddownoverthecrestofthehill.
LucyandHenry…Henrietta….
Hehadn’tseenHenriettaforfourdays.Whenhehadlastseenher,he’dbeenangry.She’dhadthatlookinhereyes.Notabstracted,notinattentive—hecouldn’tquitedescribeit—thatlookofseeingsomething—somethingthatwasn’tthere—something(andthatwasthecruxofit)somethingthatwasn’tJohnChristow!
Hesaidtohimself:“Iknowshe’sasculptor.Iknowherwork’sgood.Butdamnitall,can’tsheputitasidesometimes?Can’tshesometimesthinkofme—andnothingelse?”
Hewasunfair.Heknewhewasunfair.Henriettaseldomtalkedofherwork—wasindeedlessobsessedbyitthanmostartistsheknew.Itwasonlyonveryrareoccasionsthatherabsorptionwithsomeinnervisionspoiledthecompletenessofherinterestinhim.Butitalwaysrousedhisfuriousanger.
Oncehehadsaid,hisvoicesharpandhard:“WouldyougiveallthisupifIaskedyouto?”
“All—what?”Herwarmvoiceheldsurprise.
“All—this.”Hewavedacomprehensivehandroundthestudio.
Andimmediatelyhethoughttohimself:“Fool!Whydidyouaskherthat?”Andagain:“Lethersay:‘Ofcourse.’Letherlietome!Ifshe’llonlysay:‘OfcourseIwill.’Itdoesn’tmatterifshemeansitornot!Butlethersayit.Imusthavepeace.”
Insteadshehadsaidnothingforsometime.Hereyeshadgonedreamyandabstracted.Shehadfrownedalittle.
Thenshehadsaidslowly:
“Isupposeso.Ifitwasnecessary.”
“Necessary?Whatdoyoumeanbynecessary?”
“Idon’treallyknowwhatImeanbyit,John.Necessary,asanamputationmightbenecessary.”
“Nothingshortofasurgicaloperation,infact!”
“Youareangry.Whatdidyouwantmetosay?”
“Youknowwellenough.Onewordwouldhavedone.Yes.Whycouldn’tyousayit?Yousayenoughthingstopeopletopleasethem,withoutcaringwhetherthey’retrueornot.Whynottome?ForGod’ssake,whynottome?”
Andstillveryslowlyshehadanswered:
“Idon’tknow…really,Idon’tknow,John.Ican’t—that’sall.Ican’t.”
Hehadwalkedupanddownforaminuteortwo.Thenhesaid:
“Youwilldrivememad,Henrietta.IneverfeelthatIhaveanyinfluenceoveryouatall.”
“Whyshouldyouwanttohave?”
“Idon’tknow.Ido.”
Hethrewhimselfdownonachair.
“Iwanttocomefirst.”
“Youdo,John.”
“No.IfIweredead,thefirstthingyou’ddo,withthetearsstreamingdownyourface,wouldbetostartmodellingsomedamnedmourningwomanorsomefigureofgrief.”
“Iwonder.Ibelieve—yes,perhapsIwould.It’sratherhorrible.”
Shehadsattherelookingathimwithdismayedeyes.
II
Thepuddingwasburnt.ChristowraisedhiseyebrowsoveritandGerdahurriedintoapologies.
“I’msorry,dear.Ican’tthinkwhythatshouldhappen.It’smyfault.Givemethetopandyoutaketheunderneath.”
Thepuddingwasburntbecausehe,JohnChristow,hadstayedsittinginhisconsultingroomforaquarterofanhourafterheneed,thinkingaboutHenriettaandMrs.CrabtreeandlettingridiculousnostalgicfeelingsaboutSanMiguelsweepoverhim.Thefaultwashis.ItwasidioticofGerdatotryandtaketheblame,maddeningofhertotryandeattheburntpartherself.Whydidshealwayshavetomakeamartyrofherself?WhydidTerencestareathiminthatslow,interestedway?Why,ohwhy,didZenahavetosniffsocontinually?Whyweretheyallsodamnedirritating?
HiswrathfellonZena.
“Whyonearthdon’tyoublowyournose?”
“She’sgotalittlecold,Ithink,dear.”
“No,shehasn’t.You’realwaysthinkingtheyhavecolds!She’sallright.”
Gerdasighed.Shehadneverbeenabletounderstandwhyadoctor,whospenthistimetreatingtheailmentsofothers,couldbesoindifferenttothehealthofhisownfamily.Healwaysridiculedanysuggestionsofillness.
“Isneezedeighttimesbeforelunch,”saidZenaimportantly.
“Heatsneeze!”saidJohn.
“It’snothot,”saidTerence.“Thethermometerinthehallis55.”
Johngotup.“Havewefinished?Good,let’sgeton.Readytostart,Gerda?”
“Inaminute,John.I’vejustafewthingstoputin.”
“Surelyyoucouldhavedonethatbefore.Whathaveyoubeendoingallthemorning?”
Hewentoutofthediningroomfuming.Gerdahadhurriedoffintoherbedroom.Heranxietytobequickwouldmakehermuchslower.Butwhycouldn’tshehavebeenready?Hisownsuitcasewaspackedandinthehall.Whyonearth—
Zenawasadvancingonhim,claspingsomeratherstickycards.
“CanItellyourfortune,Daddy?Iknowhow.I’vetoldMother’sandTerry’sandLewis’sandJane’sandCook’s.”
“Allright.”
HewonderedhowlongGerdawasgoingtobe.Hewantedtogetawayfromthishorriblehouseandthishorriblestreetandthiscityfullofailing,sniffing,diseasedpeople.Hewantedtogettowoodsandwetleaves—andthegracefulaloofnessofLucyAngkatell,whoalwaysgaveyoutheimpressionshehadn’tevengotabody.
Zenawasimportantlydealingoutcards.
“That’syouinthemiddle,Father,theKingofHearts.Thepersonwhosefortune’stoldisalwaystheKingofHearts.AndthenIdealtheothersfacedown.Twoontheleftofyouandtwoontherightofyouandoneoveryourhead—thathaspoweroveryou,andoneunderyourfeet—youhavepoweroverit.Andthisone—coversyou!
“Now.”Zenadrewadeepbreath.“Weturnthemover.OntherightofyouistheQueenofDiamonds—quiteclose.”
“Henrietta,”hethought,momentarilydivertedandamusedbyZena’ssolemnity.
“Andthenextoneistheknaveofclubs—he’ssomequietyoungman.
“Ontheleftofyouistheeightofspades—that’sasecretenemy.Haveyougotasecretenemy,Father?”
“NotthatIknowof.”
“AndbeyondistheQueenofSpades—that’samucholderlady.”
“LadyAngkatell,”hesaid.
“Nowthisiswhat’soveryourheadandhaspoweroveryou—theQueenofHearts.”
“Veronica,”hethought.“Veronica!”Andthen,“WhatafoolIam!Veronicadoesn’tmeanathingtomenow.”
“Andthisisunderyourfeetandyouhavepoweroverit—theQueenofClubs.”
Gerdahurriedintotheroom.
“I’mquitereadynow,John.”
“Oh,wait,Mother,wait,I’mtellingDaddy’sfortune.Justthelastcard,Daddy—themostimportantofall.Theonethatcoversyou.”
Zena’ssmallstickyfingersturneditover.Shegaveagasp.
“Oh—it’stheAceofSpades!That’susuallyadeath—but—”
“Yourmother,”saidJohn,“isgoingtorunoversomeoneonthewayoutofLondon.Comeon,Gerda.Good-bye,youtwo.Tryandbehave.”
Six
I
MidgeHardcastlecamedownstairsaboutelevenonSaturdaymorning.Shehadhadbreakfastinbedandhadreadabookanddozedalittleandthengotup.
Itwasnicelazingthisway.Abouttimeshehadaholiday!Nodoubtaboutit,MadameAlfrege’sgotonyournerves.
Shecameoutofthefrontdoorintothepleasantautumnsunshine.SirHenryAngkatellwassittingonarusticseatreadingTheTimes.Helookedupandsmiled.HewasfondofMidge.
“Hallo,mydear.”
“AmIverylate?”
“Youhaven’tmissedlunch,”saidSirHenry,smiling.
Midgesatdownbesidehimandsaidwithasigh:
“It’snicebeinghere.”
“You’relookingratherpeaked.”
“Oh,I’mallright.Howdelightfultobesomewherewherenofatwomenaretryingtogetintoclothesseveralsizestoosmallforthem!”
“Mustbedreadful!”SirHenrypausedandthensaid,glancingdownathiswristwatch:“Edward’sarrivingbythe12:15.”
“Ishe?”Midgepaused,thensaid:“Ihaven’tseenEdwardforalongtime.”
“He’sjustthesame,”saidSirHenry.“HardlyevercomesupfromAinswick.”
“Ainswick,”thoughtMidge.“Ainswick!”Herheartgaveasickpang.ThoselovelydaysatAinswick.Visitslookedforwardtoformonths!“I’mgoingtoAinswick.”Lyingawakefornightsbeforehandthinkingaboutit.Andatlast—theday!Thelittlecountrystationatwhichthetrain—thebigLondonexpress—hadtostopifyougavenoticetotheguard!TheDaimlerwaitingoutside.Thedrive—thefinalturninthroughthegateandupthroughthewoodstillyoucameoutintotheopenandtherethehousewas—bigandwhiteandwelcoming.OldUncleGeoffreyinhispatchworktweedcoat.
“Nowthen,youngsters—enjoyyourselves.”Andtheyhadenjoyedthemselves.HenriettaoverfromIreland.Edward,homefromEton.Sheherself,fromtheNorthcountrygrimnessofamanufacturingtown.Howlikeheavenithadbeen.
ButalwayscentringaboutEdward.Edward,tallandgentleanddiffidentandalwayskind.Butnever,ofcourse,noticingherverymuchbecauseHenriettawasthere.
Edward,alwayssoretiring,soverymuchofavisitorsothatshehadbeenstartledonedaywhenTremlet,theheadgardener,hadsaid:
“TheplacewillbeMr.Edward’ssomeday.”
“Butwhy,Tremlet?He’snotUncleGeoffrey’sson.”
“He’stheheir,MissMidge.Entailed,that’swhattheycallit.MissLucy,she’sMr.Geoffrey’sonlychild,butshecan’tinheritbecauseshe’safemale,andMr.Henry,asshemarried,he’sonlyasecondcousin.NotsonearasMr.Edward.”
AndnowEdwardlivedatAinswick.Livedtherealoneandveryseldomcameaway.Midgewondered,sometimes,ifLucyminded.Lucyalwayslookedasthoughshenevermindedaboutanything.
YetAinswickhadbeenherhome,andEdwardwasonlyherfirstcousinonceremoved,andovertwentyyearsyoungerthanshewas.Herfather,oldGeoffreyAngkatell,hadbeenagreat“character”inthecountry.Hehadhadconsiderablewealthaswell,mostofwhichhadcometoLucy,sothatEdwardwasacomparativelypoorman,withenoughtokeeptheplaceup,butnotmuchoverwhenthatwasdone.
NotthatEdwardhadexpensivetastes.Hehadbeeninthediplomaticserviceforatime,butwhenheinheritedAinswickhehadresignedandcometoliveonhisproperty.Hewasofabookishturnofmind,collectedfirsteditions,andoccasionallywroteratherhesitatingironicallittlearticlesforobscurereviews.Hehadaskedhissecondcousin,HenriettaSavernake,threetimestomarryhim.
Midgesatintheautumnsunshinethinkingofthesethings.ShecouldnotmakeuphermindwhethershewasgladshewasgoingtoseeEdwardornot.Itwasnotasthoughshewerewhatiscalled“gettingoverit.”OnesimplydidnotgetoveranyonelikeEdward.EdwardofAinswickwasjustasrealtoherasEdwardrisingtogreetherfromarestaurant
SirHenry’svoicerecalledher.
“HowdoyouthinkLucyislooking?”
“Verywell.She’sjustthesameasever.”Midgesmiledalittle.“Moreso.”
“Ye—es.”SirHenrydrewonhispipe.Hesaidunexpectedly:
“Sometimes,youknow,Midge,IgetworriedaboutLucy.”
“Worried?”Midgelookedathiminsurprise.“Why?”
SirHenryshookhishead.
“Lucy,”hesaid,“doesn’trealizethattherearethingsthatshecan’tdo.”
Midgestared.Hewenton:
“Shegetsawaywiththings.Shealwayshas.”Hesmiled.“She’sfloutedthetraditionsofGovernmentHouse—she’splayedmerryhellwithprecedenceatdinnerparties(andthat,Midge,isablackcrime!).She’sputdeadlyenemiesnexttoeachotheratthedinnertable,andrunriotoverthecolourquestion!AndinsteadofraisingonebigalmightyrowandsettingeveryoneatloggerheadsandbringingdisgraceontheBritishRaj—I’mdamnedifshehasn’tgotawaywithit!Thattrickofhers—smilingatpeopleandlookingasthoughshecouldn’thelpit!Servantsarethesame—shegivesthemanyamountoftroubleandtheyadoreher.”
“Iknowwhatyoumean,”saidMidgethoughtfully.“Thingsthatyouwouldn’tstandfromanyoneelse,youfeelareallrightifLucydoesthem.Whatisit,Iwonder?Charm?Magnetism?”
SirHenryshruggedhisshoulders.
“She’salwaysbeenthesamefromagirl—onlysometimesIfeelit’sgrowingonher.Imeanthatshedoesn’trealizethattherearelimits.Why,Ireallybelieve,Midge,”hesaid,amused,“thatLucywouldfeelshecouldgetawaywithmurder!”
II
HenriettagottheDelageoutfromthegarageintheMewsand,afterawhollytechnicalconversationwithherfriendAlbert,wholookedaftertheDelage’shealth,shestartedoff.
“Runningatreat,miss,”saidAlbert.
Henriettasmiled.SheshotawaydowntheMews,savouringtheunfailingpleasureshealwaysfeltwhensettingoffinthecaralone.Shemuchpreferredtobealonewhendriving.Inthatwayshecouldrealizetothefulltheintimatepersonalenjoymentthatdrivingacarbroughttoher.
Sheenjoyedherownskillintraffic,sheenjoyednosingoutnewshortcutsoutofLondon.ShehadroutesofherownandwhendrivinginLondonitselfhadasintimateaknowledgeofitsstreetsasanytaxidriver.
Shetooknowherownnewlydiscoveredwaysouthwest,turningandtwistingthroughintricatemazesofsuburbanstreets
WhenshecamefinallytothelongridgeofShovelDownitwashalfpasttwelve.Henriettahadalwayslovedtheviewfromthatparticularplace.Shepausednowjustatthepointwheretheroadbegantodescend.Allaroundandbelowherweretrees,treeswhoseleaveswereturningfromgoldtobrown.Itwasaworldincrediblygoldenandsplendidinthestrongautumnsunlight.
Henriettathought:“Iloveautumn.It’ssomuchricherthanspring.”
Andsuddenlyoneofthosemomentsofintensehappinesscametoher—asenseofthelovelinessoftheworld—ofherownintenseenjoymentofthatworld.
Shethought:“IshallneverbeashappyagainasIamnow—never.”
Shestayedthereaminute,gazingoutoverthatgoldenworldthatseemedtoswimanddissolveintoitself,hazyandblurredwithitsownbeauty.
Thenshecamedownoverthecrestofthehill,downthroughthewoods,downthelongsteeproadtoTheHollow.
III
WhenHenriettadrovein,Midgewassittingonthelowwalloftheterrace,andwavedtohercheerfully.HenriettawaspleasedtoseeMidge,whomsheliked.
LadyAngkatellcameoutofthehouseandsaid:
“Oh,thereyouare,Henrietta.Whenyou’vetakenyourcarintothestablesandgivenitabranmash,lunchwillbeready.”
“WhatapenetratingremarkofLucy’s,”saidHenriettaasshedroveroundthehouse,Midgeaccompanyingheronthestep.“Youknow,IalwayspridedmyselfonhavingcompletelyescapedthehorsytaintofmyIrishforebears.Whenyou’vebeenbroughtupamongstpeoplewhotalknothingbuthorse,yougoallsuperioraboutnotcaringforthem.AndnowLucyhasjustshownmethatItreatmycarexactlylikeahorse.It’squitetrue.Ido.”
“Iknow,”saidMidge.“Lucyisquitedevastating.ShetoldmethismorningthatIwastobeasrudeasIlikedwhilstIwashere.”
Henriettaconsideredthisforamomentandthennodded.
“Ofcourse,”shesaid.“Theshop!”
“Yes.Whenonehastospendeverydayofone’slifeinadamnablelittleboxbeingpolitetorudewomen,callingthemMadam,pullingfrocksovertheirheads,smilingandswallowingtheirdamnedcheekwhatevertheyliketosaytoone—well,onedoeswanttocuss!Youknow,Henrietta,Ialwayswonderwhypeoplethinkit’ssohumiliatingtogo“intoservice”andthatit’sgrandandindependenttobeinashop.OneputsupwithfarmoreinsolenceinashopthanGudgeonorSimmonsoranydecentdomesticdoes.”
“Itmustbefoul,darling.Iwishyouweren’tsograndandproudandinsistentonearningyourownliving.”
“Anyway,Lucy’sanangel.Ishallbegloriouslyrudetoeveryonethisweekend.”
“Who’shere?”saidHenriettaasshegotoutofthecar.
“TheChristowsarecoming.”Midgepausedandthenwenton,“Edward’sjustarrived.”
“Edward?Hownice.Ihaven’tseenEdwardforages.Anybodyelse?”
“DavidAngkatell.That,accordingtoLucy,iswhereyouaregoingtocomeinuseful.You’regoingtostophimbitinghisnails.”
“Itsoundsveryunlikeme,”saidHenrietta.“Ihateinterferingwithpeople,andIwouldn’tdreamofcheckingtheirpersonalhabits.WhatdidLucyreallysay?”
“Itamountedtothat!He’sgotanAdam’sapple,too!”
“I’mnotexpectedtodoanythingaboutthat,amI?”askedHenrietta,alarmed.
“Andyou’retobekindtoGerda.”
“HowIshouldhateLucyifIwereGerda!”
“Andsomeonewhosolvescrimesiscomingtolunchtomorrow.”
“We’renotgoingtoplaytheMurderGame,arewe?”
“Idon’tthinkso.Ithinkitisjustneighbourlyhospitality.”
Midge’svoicechangedalittle.
“Here’sEdwardcomingouttomeetus.”
“DearEdward,”thoughtHenriettawithasuddenrushofwarmaffection.
EdwardAngkatellwasverytallandthin.Hewassmilingnowashecametowardsthetwoyoungwomen.
“Hallo,Henrietta,Ihaven’tseenyouforoverayear.”
“Hallo,Edward.”
HowniceEdwardwas!Thatgentlesmileofhis,thelittlecreasesatthecornersofhiseyes.Andallhisniceknobblybones.“Ibelieveit’shisbonesIlikesomuch,”thoughtHenrietta.ThewarmthofheraffectionforEdwardstartledher.ShehadforgottenthatshelikedEdwardsomuch.
IV
AfterlunchEdwardsaid:“Comeforawalk,Henrietta.”
ItwasEdward’skindofwalk—astroll
Theywentupbehindthehouse,takingapaththatzigzaggedupthroughthetrees.LikethewoodsatAinswick,thoughtHenrietta.DearAinswick,whatfuntheyhadhadthere!ShebegantotalktoEdwardaboutAinswick.Theyrevivedoldmemories.
“Doyourememberoursquirrel?Theonewiththebrokenpaw.Andwekeptitinacageanditgotwell?”
“Ofcourse.Ithadaridiculousname—whatwasitnow?”
“Cholmondeley-Marjoribanks!”
“That’sit.”
Thebothlaughed.
“AndoldMrs.Bondy,thehousekeeper—shealwayssaiditwouldgoupthechimneyoneday.”
“Andweweresoindignant.”
“Andthenitdid.”
“Shemadeit,”saidHenriettapositively.“Sheputthethoughtintothesquirrel’shead.”
Shewenton:
“Isitallthesame,Edward?Orisitchanged?Ialwaysimagineitjustthesame.”
“Whydon’tyoucomeandsee,Henrietta?It’salonglongtimesinceyou’vebeenthere.”
“Iknow.”
Why,shethought,hadsheletsolongatimegoby?Onegotbusy—interested—tangledupwithpeople….
“Youknowyou’realwayswelcomethereatanytime.”
“Howsweetyouare,Edward!”
DearEdward,shethought,withhisnicebones.
Hesaidpresently:
“I’mgladyou’refondofAinswick,Henrietta.”
Shesaiddreamily:“Ainswickistheloveliestplaceintheworld.”
Along-leggedgirl,withamaneofuntidybrownhair…ahappygirlwithnoideaatallofthethingsthatlifewasgoingtodotoher…agirlwholovedtrees….
Tohavebeensohappyandnottohaveknownit!“IfIcouldgoback,”shethought.
Andaloudshesaidsuddenly:
“IsYgdrasilstillthere?”
“Itwasstruckbylightning.”
“Oh,no,notYgdrasil!”
Shewasdistressed.Ygdrasil—herownspecialnameforthebigoaktree.IfthegodscouldstrikedownYgdrasil,thennothingwassafe!Betternotgoback.
“Doyourememberyourspecialsign,theYgdrasilsign?”
“ThefunnytreelikenotreethateverwasIusedtodrawonbitsofpaper?Istilldo,Edward!Onblotters,andontelephonebooks,andonbridgescores.Idoodleitallthetime.Givemeapencil.”
Hehandedherapencilandnotebook,andlaughing,shedrewtheridiculoustree.
“Yes,”hesaid,“that’sYgdrasil.”
Theyhadcomealmosttothetopofthepath.Henriettasatonafallentreetrunk.Edwardsatdownbesideher.
Shelookeddownthroughthetrees.
“It’salittlelikeAinswickhere—akindofpocketAinswick.I’vesometimeswondered—Edward,doyouthinkthatthatiswhyLucyandHenrycamehere?”
“It’spossible.”
“Oneneverknows,”saidHenriettaslowly,“whatgoesoninLucy’shead.”Thensheasked:“Whathaveyoubeendoingwithyourself,Edward,sinceIsawyoulast?”
“Nothing,Henrietta.”
“Thatsoundsverypeaceful.”
“I’veneverbeenverygoodat—doingthings.”
Shethrewhimaquickglance.Therehadbeensomethinginhistone.Buthewassmilingatherquietly.
Andagainshefeltthatrushofdeepaffection.
“Perhaps,”shesaid,“youarewise.”
“Wise?”
“Nottodothings.”
Edwardsaidslowly,“That’sanoddthingforyoutosay,Henrietta.You,who’vebeensosuccessful.”
“Doyouthinkofmeassuccessful?Howfunny.”
“Butyouare,mydear.You’reanartist.Youmustbeproudofyourself;youcan’thelpbeing.”
“Iknow,”saidHenrietta.“Alotofpeoplesaythattome.Theydon’tunderstand—theydon’tunderstandthefirstthingaboutit.Youdon’t,Edward.Sculptureisn’tathingyousetouttodoandsucceedin.It’sathingthatgetsatyou,thatnagsatyou—andhauntsyou—sothatyou’vegot,soonerorlater,tomaketermswithit.Andthen,forabit,yougetsomepeace—untilthewholethingstartsoveragain.”
“Doyouwanttobepeaceful,Henrietta?”
“SometimesIthinkIwanttobepeacefulmorethananythingintheworld,Edward!”
“YoucouldbepeacefulatAinswick.Ithinkyoucouldbehappythere.Even—evenifyouhadtoputupwithme.Whataboutit,Henrietta?Won’tyoucometoAinswickandmakeityourhome?It’salwaysbeenthere,youknow,waitingforyou.”
Henriettaturnedherheadslowly.Shesaidinalowvoice:“IwishIwasn’tsodreadfullyfondofyou,Edward.ItmakesitsoverymuchhardertogoonsayingNo.”
“ItisNo,then?”
“I’msorry.”
“You’vesaidNobefore—butthistime—well,Ithoughtitmightbedifferent.You’vebeenhappythisafternoon,Henrietta.Youcan’tdenythat.”
“I’vebeenveryhappy.”
“Yourfaceeven—it’syoungerthanitwasthismorning.”
“Iknow.”
“We’vebeenhappytogether,talkingaboutAinswick,thinkingaboutAinswick.Don’tyouseewhatthatmeans,Henrietta?”
“It’syouwhodon’tseewhatitmeans,Edward!We’vebeenlivingallthisafternooninthepast.”
“Thepastissometimesaverygoodplacetolive.”
“Onecan’tgoback.That’stheonethingonecan’tdo—goback.”
Hewassilentforaminuteortwo.Thenhesaidinaquiet,pleasantandquiteunemotionalvoice:
“Whatyoureallymeanisthatyouwon’tmarrymebecauseofJohnChristow?”
Henriettadidnotanswer,andEdwardwenton:
“That’sit,isn’tit?IftherewerenoJohnChristowintheworldyouwouldmarryme.”
Henriettasaidharshly,“Ican’timagineaworldinwhichtherewasnoJohnChristow!That’swhatyou’vegottounderstand.”
“Ifit’slikethat,whyonearthdoesn’tthefellowgetadivorcefromhiswifeandthenyoucouldmarry?”
“Johndoesn’twanttogetadivorcefromhiswife.AndIdon’tknowthatIshouldwanttomarryJohnifhedid.Itisn’t—itisn’tintheleastlikeyouthink.”
Edwardsaidinathoughtful,consideringway:
“JohnChristow.TherearetoomanyJohnChristowsinthisworld.”
“You’rewrong,”saidHenrietta.“ThereareveryfewpeoplelikeJohn.”
“Ifthat’sso—it’sagoodthing!Atleast,that’swhatIthink!”
Hegotup.“We’dbettergobackagain.”
Seven
AstheygotintothecarandLewisshutthefrontdooroftheHarleyStreethouse,Gerdafeltthepangofexilegothroughher.Thatshutdoorwassofinal.Shewasbarredout—thisawfulweekendwasuponher.Andtherewerethings,quitealotofthings,thatsheoughttohavedonebeforeleaving.Hadsheturnedoffthattapinthebathroom?Andthatnoteforthelaundry—she’dputit—wherehadsheputit?WouldthechildrenbeallrightwithMademoiselle?Mademoisellewasso—so—WouldTerence,forinstance,everdoanythingthatMademoiselletoldhimto?Frenchgovernessesneverseemedtohaveanyauthority.
Shegotintothedrivingseat,stillboweddownbymisery,andnervouslypressedthestarter.Shepresseditagainandagain.Johnsaid:“Thecarwillstartbetter,Gerda,ifyouswitchontheengine.”
“Oh,dear,howstupidofme.”Sheshotaquick,alarmedglanceathim.IfJohnwasgoingtobecomeannoyedstraightaway—Buttoherreliefhewassmiling.
“That’sbecause,”thoughtGerda,withoneofherflashesofacumen,“he’ssopleasedtobegoingtotheAngkatells.”
PoorJohn,heworkedsohard!Hislifewassounselfish,socompletelydevotedtoothers.Nowonderhelookedforwardtothislongweekend.And,hermindharkingbacktotheconversationatlunch,shesaid,assheletintheclutchrathertoosuddenlysothatthecarleaptforwardfromthekerb:
“Youknow,John,youreallyshouldn’tmakejokesabouthatingsickpeople.It’swonderfulofyoutomakelightofallyoudo,andIunderstand.Butthechildrendon’t.Terry,inparticular,hassuchaveryliteralmind.”
“Therearetimes,”saidJohnChristow,“whenTerryseemstomealmosthuman—notlikeZena!Howlongdogirlsgoonbeingamassofaffectation?”
Gerdagavealittlequietsweetlaugh.John,sheknew,wasteasingher.Shestucktoherpoint.Gerdahadanadhesivemind.
“Ireallythink,John,thatit’sgoodforchildrentorealizetheunselfishnessanddevotionofadoctor’slife.”
“OhGod!”saidChristow.
Gerdawasmomentarilydeflected.Thetrafficlightsshewasapproachinghadbeengreenforalongtime.Theywerealmostsure,shethought,tochangebeforeshegottothem.Shebegantoslowdown.Stillgreen.
JohnChristowforgothisresolutionsofkeepingsilentaboutGerda’sdrivingandsaid,“Whatareyoustoppingfor?”
“Ithoughtthelightsmightchange—”
Shepressedherfootontheaccelerator,thecarmovedforwardalittle,justbeyondthelights,then,unabletopickup,theenginestalled.Thelightschanged.
Thecrosstraffichootedangrily.
Johnsaid,butquitepleasantly:
“Youreallyaretheworstdriverintheworld,Gerda!”
“Ialwaysfindtrafficlightssoworrying.Onedoesn’tknowjustwhentheyaregoingtochange.”
JohncastaquicksidewayslookatGerda’sanxiousunhappyface.
“EverythingworriesGerda,”hethought,andtriedtoimaginewhatitmustfeelliketoliveinthatstate.Butsincehewasnotamanofmuchimagination,hecouldnotpictureitatall.
“Yousee,”Gerdastucktoherpoint,“I’vealwaysimpressedonthechildrenjustwhatadoctor’slifeis—theself-sacrifice,thededicationofoneselftohelpingpainandsuffering—thedesiretoserveothers.It’ssuchanoblelife—andI’msoproudofthewayyougiveyourtimeandenergyandneverspareyourself—”
JohnChristowinterruptedher.
“Hasn’titeveroccurredtoyouthatIlikedoctoring—thatit’sapleasure,notasacrifice!—Don’tyourealizethatthedamnedthing’sinteresting!”
Butno,hethought,Gerdawouldneverrealizeathinglikethat!IfhetoldheraboutMrs.CrabtreeandtheMargaretRussellWardshewouldonlyseehimasakindofangelichelperofthePoorwithacapitalP.
“Drowningintreacle,”hesaidunderhisbreath.
“What?”Gerdaleanedtowardshim.
Heshookhishead.
IfheweretotellGerdathathewastryingto“findacureforcancer,”shewouldrespond—shecouldunderstandaplainsentimentalstatement.ButshewouldneverunderstandthepeculiarfascinationoftheintricaciesofRidgeway’sDisease—hedoubtedifhecouldevenmakeherunderstandwhatRidgeway’sDiseaseactuallywas.(“Particularly,”hethoughtwithagrin,“aswe’renotreallyquitesureourselves!Wedon’treallyknowwhythecortexdegenerates!”)
ButitoccurredtohimsuddenlythatTerence,childthoughhewas,mightbeinterestedinRidgeway’sDisease.HehadlikedthewaythatTerencehadeyedhimappraisinglybeforestating:“IthinkFatherdoesmeanit.”
TerencehadbeenoutoffavourthelastfewdaysforbreakingtheConacoffeemachine—somenonsenseabouttryingtomakeammonia.Ammonia?Funnykid,whyshouldhewanttomakeammonia?Interestinginaway.
GerdawasrelievedatJohn’ssilence.Shecouldcopewithdrivingbetterifshewerenotdistractedbyconversation.Besides,ifJohnwasabsorbedinthought,hewasnotsolikelytonoticethatjarringnoiseofheroccasionalforcedchangesofgear.(Sheneverchangeddownifshecouldhelpit.)
Thereweretimes,Gerdaknew,whenshechangedgearquitewell(thoughneverwithconfidence),butitneverhappenedifJohnwereinthecar.Hernervousdeterminationtodoitrightthistimewasalmostdisastrous,herhandfumbled,sheacceleratedtoomuchornotenough,andthenshepushedthegearleverquicklyandclumsilysothatitshriekedinprotest.
“Strokeitin,Gerda,strokeitin,”Henriettahadpleadedonce,yearsago.Henriettahaddemonstrated.“Can’tyoufeelthewayitwantstogo—itwantstoslidein—keepyourhandflattillyougetthefeelingofit—don’tjustpushitanywhere—feelit.”
ButGerdahadneverbeenabletofeelanythingaboutagearlever.Ifshewaspushingitmoreorlessintheproperdirectionitoughttogoin!Carsoughttobemadesothatyoudidn’thavethathorriblegrindingnoise.
Onthewhole,thoughtGerda,asshebegantheascentofMershamHill,thisdrivewasn’tgoingtoobadly.Johnwasstillabsorbedinthought—andhehadn’tnoticedratherabadcrashingofgearsinCroydon.Optimistically,asthecargainedspeed,shechangedupintothird,andimmediatelythecarslackened.John,asitwere,wokeup.
“Whatonearth’sthepointofchangingupjustwhenyou’recomingtoasteepbit?”
Gerdasetherjaw.Notverymuchfarthernow.Notthatshewantedtogetthere.No,indeed,she’dmuchratherdriveonforhoursandhours,evenifJohndidlosehistemperwithher!
ButnowtheyweredrivingalongShovelDown—flamingautumnwoodsallroundthem.
“WonderfultogetoutofLondonintothis,”exclaimedJohn.“Thinkofit,Gerda,mostafternoonswe’restuckinthatdingydrawingroomhavingtea—sometimeswiththelighton.”
TheimageofthesomewhatdarkdrawingroomoftheflatroseupbeforeGerda’seyeswiththetantalizingdelightofamirage.Oh,ifonlyshecouldbesittingtherenow.
“Thecountrylookslovely,”shesaidheroically.
Downthesteephill—noescapenow.Thatvaguehopethatsomething,shedidn’tknowwhat,mightintervenetosaveherfromthenightmare,wasunrealized.Theywerethere.
ShewasalittlecomfortedasshedroveintoseeHenriettasittingonawallwithMidgeandatallthinman.ShefeltacertainrelianceonHenrietta,whowouldsometimesunexpectedlycometotherescueifthingsweregettingverybad.
JohnwasgladtoseeHenriettatoo.Itseemedtohimexactlythefittingjourney’sendtothatlovelypanoramaofautumn,todropdownfromthehilltopandfindHenriettawaitingforhim.
ShehadonthegreentweedcoatandtheskirthelikedherinandwhichhethoughtsuitedhersomuchbetterthanLondonclothes.Herlonglegswerestuckoutinfrontofher,endinginwell-polishedbrownbrogues.
Theyexchangedaquicksmile—abriefrecognitionofthefactthateachwasgladoftheother’spresence.Johndidn’twanttotalktoHenriettanow.Hejustenjoyedfeelingthatshewasthere—knowingthatwithouthertheweekendwouldbebarrenandempty.
LadyAngkatellcameoutfromthehouseandgreetedthem.HerconsciencemadehermoreeffusivetoGerdathanshewouldhavebeennormallytoanyguest.
“Buthowverynicetoseeyou,Gerda!It’sbeensuchalongtime.AndJohn!”
TheideawasclearlythatGerdawastheeagerlyawaitedguest,andJohnthemereadjunct.Itfailedmiserablyofitsobject,makingGerdastiffanduncomfortable.
Lucysaid:“YouknowEdward?EdwardAngkatell?”
JohnnoddedtoEdwardandsaid:“No,Idon’tthinkso.”
TheafternoonsunlightedupthegoldofJohn’shairandtheblueofhiseyes.SomightaVikinglookwhohadjustcomeashoreonaconqueringmission.Hisvoice,warmandresonant,charmedtheear,andthemagnetismofhiswholepersonalitytookchargeofthescene.
ThatwarmthandthatobjectivenessdidnodamagetoLucy.Itsetoff,indeed,thatcuriouselfinelusivenessofhers.ItwasEdwardwhoseemed,suddenly,bycontrastwiththeotherman,bloodless—ashadowyfigure,stoopingalittle.
HenriettasuggestedtoGerdathattheyshouldgoandlookatthekitchengarden.
“Lucyissuretoinsistonshowingustherockgardenandtheautumnborder,”shesaidassheledtheway.“ButIalwaysthinkkitchengardensareniceandpeaceful.Onecansitonthecucumberframes,orgoinsideagreenhouseifit’scold,andnobodybothersoneandsometimesthere’ssomethingtoeat.”
Theyfound,indeed,somelatepeas,whichHenriettaateraw,butwhichGerdadidnotmuchcarefor.ShewasgladtohavegotawayfromLucyAngkatell,whomshehadfoundmorealarmingthanever.
ShebegantotalktoHenriettawithsomethinglikeanimation.ThequestionsHenriettaaskedalwaysseemedtobequestionstowhichGerdaknewtheanswers.AftertenminutesGerdafeltverymuchbetterandbegantothinkthatperhapstheweekendwouldn’tbesobadafterall.
Zenawasgoingtodancingclassnowandhadjusthadanewfrock.Gerdadescribeditatlength.Alsoshehadfoundaverynicenewleathercraftshop.Henriettaaskedwhetheritwouldbedifficulttomakeherselfahandbag.Gerdamustshowher.
Itwasreallyveryeasy,shethought,tomakeGerdalookhappy,andwhatanenormousdifferenceitmadetoherwhenshedidlookhappy!
“Sheonlywantstobeallowedtocurlupandpurr,”thoughtHenrietta.
Theysathappilyonthecornerofthecucumberframeswherethesun,nowlowinthesky,gaveanillusionofasummerday.
Thenasilencefell.Gerda’sfacelostitsexpressionofplacidity.Hershouldersdrooped.Shesatthere,thepictureofmisery.ShejumpedwhenHenriettaspoke.
“Whydoyoucome,”saidHenrietta,“ifyouhateitsomuch?”
Gerdahurriedintospeech.
“Oh,Idon’t!Imean,Idon’tknowwhyyoushouldthink—”
Shepaused,thenwenton:
“ItisreallydelightfultogetoutofLondon,andLadyAngkatellissoverykind.”
“Lucy?She’snotabitkind.”
Gerdalookedfaintlyshocked.
“Oh,butsheis.She’ssoverynicetomealways.”
“Lucyhasgotgoodmannersandshecanbegracious.Butsheisratheracruelperson.Ithinkreallybecausesheisn’tquitehuman—shedoesn’tknowwhatit’sliketofeelandthinklikeordinarypeople.Andyouarehatingbeinghere,Gerda!Youknowyouare.Andwhyshouldyoucomeifyoufeellikethat?”
“Well,yousee,Johnlikesit—”
“Oh,Johnlikesitallright.Butyoucouldlethimcomebyhimself?”
“Hewouldn’tlikethat.Hewouldn’tenjoyitwithoutme.Johnissounselfish.Hethinksitisgoodformetogetoutintothecountry.”
“Thecountryisallright,”saidHenrietta.“Butthere’snoneedtothrowintheAngkatells.”
“I—Idon’twantyoutofeelthatI’mungrateful.”
“MydearGerda,whyshouldyoulikeus?IalwayshavethoughttheAngkatellswereanodiousfamily.Wealllikegettingtogetherandtalkinganextraordinarylanguageofourown.Idon’twonderoutsidepeoplewanttomurderus.”
Thensheadded:
“Iexpectit’saboutteatime.Let’sgoback.”
ShewaswatchingGerda’sfaceasthelattergotupandstartedtowalktowardsthehouse.
“It’sinteresting,”thoughtHenrietta,oneportionofwhosemindwasalwaysdetached,“toseeexactlywhatafemaleChristianmartyr’sfacelookedlikebeforeshewentintothearena.”
Astheyleftthewalledkitchengarden,theyheardshots,andHenriettaremarked:“SoundsasthoughthemassacreoftheAngkatellshasbegun!”
ItturnedouttobeSirHenryandEdwarddiscussingfirearmsandillustratingtheirdiscussionbyfiringrevolvers.HenryAngkatell’shobbywasfirearmsandhehadquiteacollectionofthem.
Hehadbroughtoutseveralrevolversandsometargetcards,andheandEdwardwerefiringatthem.
“Hallo,Henrietta,wanttotryifyoucouldkillaburglar?”
Henriettatooktherevolverfromhim.
“That’sright—yes,so,aimlikethis.”
Bang!
“Missedhim,”saidSirHenry.
“Youtry,Gerda.”
“Oh,Idon’tthinkI—”
“Comeon,Mrs.Christow.It’squitesimple.”
Gerdafiredtherevolver,flinching,andshuttinghereyes.ThebulletwentevenwiderthanHenrietta’shaddone.
“Oh,Iwanttodoit,”saidMidge,strollingup.
“It’smoredifficultthanyou’dthink,”sheremarkedafteracoupleofshots.“Butit’sratherfun.”
Lucycameoutfromthehouse.Behindhercameatall,sulkyyoungmanwithanAdam’sapple.
“Here’sDavid,”sheannounced.
ShetooktherevolverfromMidge,asherhusbandgreetedDavidAngkatell,reloadedit,andwithoutawordputthreeholesclosetothecentreofthetarget.
“Welldone,Lucy,”exclaimedMidge.“Ididn’tknowshootingwasoneofyouraccomplishments.”
“Lucy,”saidSirHenrygravely,“alwayskillsherman!”
Thenheaddedreminiscently,“Cameinusefulonce.Doyouremember,mydear,thosethugsthatsetuponusthatdayontheAsiansideoftheBosphorus?Iwasrollingaboutwithtwoofthemontopofmefeelingformythroat.”
“AndwhatdidLucydo?”askedMidge.
“Firedtwoshotsinthemêlée.Ididn’tevenknowshehadthepistolwithher.Gotonebadmanthroughthelegandtheotherintheshoulder.NearestescapeintheworldI’veeverhad.Ican’tthinkhowshedidn’thitme.”
LadyAngkatellsmiledathim.
“Ithinkonealwayshastotakesomerisk,”shesaidgently.“Andoneshoulddoitquicklyandnotthinktoomuchaboutit.”
“Anadmirablesentiment,mydear,”saidSirHenry.“ButIhavealwaysfeltslightlyaggrievedthatIwastheriskyoutook!”
Eight
I
AfterteaJohnsaidtoHenrietta,“Comeforawalk,”andLadyAngkatellsaidthatshemustshowGerdatherockgardenthoughofcourseitwasquitethewrongtimeofyear.
WalkingwithJohn,thoughtHenrietta,wasasunlikewalkingwithEdwardasanythingcouldbe.
WithEdwardoneseldomdidmorethanpotter.Edward,shethought,wasabornpotterer.WalkingwithJohn,itwasallshecoulddotokeepup,andbythetimetheygotuptoShovelDownshesaidbreathlessly:“It’snotamarathon,John!”
Hesloweddownandlaughed.
“AmIwalkingyouoffyourfeet?”
“Icandoit—butisthereanyneed?Wehaven’tgotatraintocatch.Whydoyouhavethisferociousenergy?Areyourunningawayfromyourself?”
Hestoppeddead.“Whydoyousaythat?”
Henriettalookedathimcuriously.
“Ididn’tmeananythingparticularbyit.”
Johnwentonagain,butwalkingmoreslowly.
“Asamatteroffact,”hesaid,“I’mtired.I’mverytired.”
Sheheardthelassitudeinhisvoice.
“How’stheCrabtree?”
“It’searlydaystosay,butIthink,Henrietta,thatI’vegotthehangofthings.IfI’mright”—hisfootstepsbegantoquicken—“alotofourideaswillberevolutionized—we’llhavetoreconsiderthewholequestionofhormonesecretion—”
“YoumeanthattherewillbeacureforRidgeway’sDisease?Thatpeoplewon’tdie?”
“That,incidentally.”
Whatoddpeopledoctorswere,thoughtHenrietta.Incidentally!
“Scientifically,itopensupallsortsofpossibilities!”
Hedrewadeepbreath.“Butit’sgoodtogetdownhere—goodtogetsomeairintoyourlungs—goodtoseeyou.”Hegaveheroneofhissuddenquicksmiles.“AnditwilldoGerdagood.”
“Gerda,ofcourse,simplylovescomingtoTheHollow!”
“Ofcourseshedoes.Bytheway,haveImetEdwardAngkatellbefore?”
“You’vemethimtwice,”saidHenriettadryly.
“Icouldn’tremember.He’soneofthosevague,indefinitepeople.”
“Edward’sadear.I’vealwaysbeenveryfondofhim.”
“Well,don’tlet’swastetimeonEdward!Noneofthesepeoplecount.”
Henriettasaidinalowvoice:
“Sometimes,John—I’mafraidforyou!”
“Afraidforme—whatdoyoumean?”
Heturnedanastonishedfaceuponher.
“Youaresooblivious—so—yes,blind.”
“Blind?”
“Youdon’tknow—youdon’tsee—you’recuriouslyinsensitive!Youdon’tknowwhatotherpeoplearefeelingandthinking.”
“Ishouldhavesaidjusttheopposite.”
“Youseewhatyou’relookingat,yes.You’re—you’relikeasearchlight.Apowerfulbeamturnedontotheonespotwhereyourinterestis,andbehinditandeachsideofit,darkness!”
“Henrietta,mydear,whatisallthis?”
“It’sdangerous,John.Youassumethateveryonelikesyou,thattheymeanwelltoyou.PeoplelikeLucy,forinstance.”
“Doesn’tLucylikeme?”hesaid,surprised.“I’vealwaysbeenextremelyfondofher.”
“Andsoyouassumethatshelikesyou.ButI’mnotsure.AndGerdaandEdward—oh,andMidgeandHenry.Howdoyouknowwhattheyfeeltowardsyou?”
“AndHenrietta?DoIknowhowshefeels?”Hecaughtherhandforamoment.“Atleast—I’msureofyou.”
Shetookherhandaway.
“Youcanbesureofnooneinthisworld,John.”
Hisfacehadgrowngrave.
“No,Iwon’tbelievethat.I’msureofyouandI’msureofmyself.Atleast—”Hisfacechanged.
“Whatisit,John?”
“DoyouknowwhatIfoundmyselfsayingtoday?Somethingquiteridiculous.‘Iwanttogohome.’That’swhatIsaidandIhadn’ttheleastideawhatImeantbyit.”
Henriettasaidslowly:“Youmusthavehadsomepictureinyourmind.”
Hesaidsharply:“Nothing.Nothingatall!”
II
Atdinnerthatnight,HenriettawasputnexttoDavid,andfromtheendofthetableLucy’sdelicateeyebrowstelegraphednotacommand—Lucynevercommanded—butanappeal.
SirHenrywasdoinghisbestwithGerdaandsucceedingquitewell.John,hisfaceamused,wasfollowingtheleapsandboundsofLucy’sdiscursivemind.MidgetalkedinratherastiltedwaytoEdward,whoseemedmoreabsentmindedthanusual.
Davidwasgloweringandcrumblinghisbreadwithanervoushand.
DavidhadcometoTheHollowinaspiritofconsiderableunwillingness.Untilnow,hehadnevermeteitherSirHenryorLadyAngkatell,anddisapprovingoftheEmpiregenerally,hewaspreparedtodisapproveoftheserelativesofhis.Edward,whomhedidnotknow,hedespisedasadilettante.Theremainingfourguestsheexaminedwithacriticaleye.Relations,hethought,wereprettyawful,andonewasexpectedtotalktopeople,athingwhichhehateddoing.
MidgeandHenriettahediscountedasempty-headed.ThisDr.ChristowwasjustoneoftheseHarleyStreetcharlatans—allmannerandsocialsuccess—hiswifeobviouslydidnotcount.
Davidshiftedhisneckinhiscollarandwishedferventlythatallthesepeoplecouldknowhowlittlehethoughtofthem!Theywerereallyallquitenegligible.
Whenhehadrepeatedthatthreetimestohimselfhefeltratherbetter.Hestillgloweredbuthewasabletoleavehisbreadalone.
Henrietta,thoughrespondingloyallytotheeyebrows,hadsomedifficultyinmakingheadway.David’scurtrejoindersweresnubbingintheextreme.Intheendshehadrecoursetoamethodshehademployedbeforewiththetongue-tiedyoung.
Shemade,deliberately,adogmaticandquiteunjustifiablepronouncementonamoderncomposer,knowingthatDavidhadmuchtechnicalandmusicalknowledge.
Toheramusementtheplanworked.Daviddrewhimselfupfromhisslouchingpositionwherehehadbeenmoreorlessrecliningonhisspine.Hisvoicewasnolongerlowandmumbling.Hestoppedcrumblinghisbread.
“That,”hesaidinloud,cleartones,fixingacoldeyeonHenrietta,“showsthatyoudon’tknowthefirstthingaboutthesubject!”
Fromthenonuntiltheendofdinnerhelecturedherinclearandbitingaccents,andHenriettasubsidedintothepropermeeknessofoneinstructed.
LucyAngkatellsentabenignantglancedownthetable,andMidgegrinnedtoherself.
“Socleverofyou,darling,”mutteredLadyAngkatellassheslippedanarmthroughHenrietta’sonthewaytothedrawingroom.“Whatanawfulthoughtitisthatifpeoplehadlessintheirheadstheywouldknowbetterwhattodowiththeirhands!DoyouthinkHeartsorBridgeorRummyorsomethingterriblyterriblysimplelikeAnimalGrab?”
“IthinkDavidwouldberatherinsultedbyAnimalGrab.”
“Perhapsyouareright.Bridge,then.IamsurehewillfeelthatBridgeisratherworthless,andthenhecanhaveaniceglowofcontemptforus.”
Theymadeuptwotables.HenriettaplayedwithGerdaagainstJohnandEdward.Itwasnotherideaofthebestgrouping.ShehadwantedtosegregateGerdafromLucyandifpossiblefromJohnalso—butJohnhadshowndetermination.AndEdwardhadthenforestalledMidge.
Theatmospherewasnot,Henriettathought,quitecomfortable,butshedidnotquiteknowfromwhencethediscomfortarose.Anyway,ifthecardsgavethemanythinglikeabreak,sheintendedthatGerdashouldwin.GerdawasnotreallyabadBridgeplayer—awayfromJohnshewasquiteaverage—butshewasanervousplayerwithbadjudgmentandwithno
Theeveningworeon,andatHenrietta’stabletheywerestillplayingthesamerubber.Thescoresroseabovethelineoneitherside.Acurioustensityhadcomeintotheplayofwhichonlyonepersonwasunaware.
ToGerdathiswasjustarubberofBridgewhichshehappenedforoncetobequiteenjoying.Shefeltindeedapleasurableexcitement.DifficultdecisionshadbeenunexpectedlyeasedbyHenrietta’sovercallingherownbidsandplayingthehand.
ThosemomentswhenJohn,unabletorefrainfromthatcriticalattitudewhichdidmoretoundermineGerda’sself-confidencethanhecouldpossiblyhaveimagined,exclaimed:“Whyonearthdidyouleadthatclub,Gerda?”werecounteredalmostimmediatelybyHenrietta’sswift,“Nonsense,John,ofcourseshehadtoleadtheclub!Itwastheonlypossiblethingtodo.”
Finally,withasigh,Henriettadrewthescoretowardsher.
“Gameandrubber,butIdon’tthinkweshallmakemuchoutofit,Gerda.”
Johnsaid:“Aluckyfinesse,”inacheerfulvoice.
Henriettalookedupsharply.Sheknewhistone.Shemethiseyesandherowndropped.
Shegotupandwenttothemantelpiece,andJohnfollowedher.Hesaidconversationally:“Youdon’talwayslookdeliberatelyintopeople’shands,doyou?”
Henriettasaidcalmly:“PerhapsIwasalittleobvious.Howdespicableitistowanttowinatgames!”
“YouwantedGerdatowintherubber,youmean.Inyourdesiretogivepleasuretopeople,youdon’tdrawthelineatcheating.”
“Howhorriblyyouputthings!Andyouarealwaysquiteright.”
“Yourwishesseemedtobesharedbymypartner.”
Sohehadnoticed,thoughtHenrietta.Shehadwonderedherself,ifshehadbeenmistaken.Edwardwassoskilful—therewasnothingyoucouldhavetakenholdof.Afailure,once,tocallthegame.Aleadthathadbeensoundandobvious—butwhenalessobviousleadwouldhaveassuredsuccess.
ItworriedHenrietta.Edward,sheknew,wouldneverplayhiscardsinorderthatshe,Henrietta,mightwin.HewasfartooimbuedwithEnglishsportsmanshipforthat.No,shethought,itwasjustonemoresuccessforJohnChristowthathewasunabletoendure.
Shefeltsuddenlykeyedup,alert.Shedidn’tlikethispartyofLucy’s.
Andthendramatically,unexpectedly—withtheunrealityofastageentrance,VeronicaCraycamethroughthewindow.
Thefrenchwindowshadbeenpushedto,notclosed,fortheeveningwaswarm.Veronicapushedthemwide,camethroughthemandstoodthereframedagainstthenight,smiling,alittlerueful,whollycharming,waitingjustthatinfinitesimalmomentbeforespeakingsothatshemightbesureofheraudience.
“Youmustforgiveme—burstinginuponyouthisway.I’myourneighbour,LadyAngkatell—fromthatridiculouscottageDovecotes—andthemostfrightfulcatastrophehasoccurred!”
Hersmilebroadened—becamemorehumorous.
“Notamatch!Notasinglematchinthehouse!AndSaturdayevening.Sostupidofme.ButwhatcouldIdo?Icamealongheretobeghelpfrommyonlyneighbourwithinmiles.”
Nobodyspokeforamoment,forVeronicahadratherthateffect.Shewaslovely—notquietlylovely,notevendazzlinglylovely—butsoefficientlylovelythatitmadeyougasp!Thewavesofpaleshimmeringhair,thecurvingmouth—theplatinumfoxesthatswathedhershouldersandthelongsweepofwhitevelvetunderneaththem.
Shewaslookingfromonetotheotherofthem,humorous,charming!
“AndIsmoke,”shesaid,“likeachimney!Andmylighterwon’twork!Andbesidesthere’sbreakfast—gasstoves—”Shethrustoutherhands.“Idofeelsuchacompletefool.”
Lucycameforward,gracious,faintlyamused.
“Why,ofcourse—”shebegan,butVeronicaCrayinterrupted.
ShewaslookingatJohnChristow.Anexpressionofutteramazement,ofincredulousdelight,wasspreadingoverherface.Shetookasteptowardshim,handsoutstretched.
“Why,surely—John!It’sJohnChristow!Nowisn’tthattooextraordinary?Ihaven’tseenyouforyearsandyearsandyears!Andsuddenly—tofindyouhere!”
Shehadhishandsinhersbynow.Shewasallwarmthandsimpleeagerness.Shehalf-turnedherheadtoLadyAngkatell
“Thisisjustthemostwonderfulsurprise.John’sanoldoldfriendofmine.Why,John’sthefirstmanIeverloved!Iwascrazyaboutyou,John.”
Shewashalflaughingnow—awomanmovedbytheridiculousremembranceoffirstlove.
“IalwaysthoughtJohnwasjustwonderful!”
SirHenry,courteousandpolished,hadmovedforwardtoher.
Shemusthaveadrink.Hemanoeuvredglasses.LadyAngkatellsaid:
“Midge,dear,ringthebell.”
WhenGudgeoncame,Lucysaid:
“Aboxofmatches,Gudgeon—atleast,hasCookgotplenty?”
“Anewdozencameintoday,m’lady.”
“Thenbringinhalfadozen,Gudgeon.”
“Oh,no,LadyAngkatell—justone!”
Veronicaprotested,laughing.Shehadherdrinknowandwassmilingroundateveryone.JohnChristowsaid:
“Thisismywife,Veronica.”
“Oh,buthowlovelytomeetyou.”VeronicabeameduponGerda’sairofbewilderment.
Gudgeonbroughtinthematches,stackedonasilversalver.
LadyAngkatellindicatedVeronicaCraywithagestureandhebroughtthesalvertoher.
“Oh,dearLadyAngkatell,notallthese!”
Lucy’sgesturewasnegligentlyroyal.
“It’ssotiresomeonlyhavingoneofathing.Wecansparethemquiteeasily.”
SirHenrywassayingpleasantly:
“AndhowdoyoulikelivingatDovecotes?”
“Iadoreit.It’swonderfulhere,nearLondon,andyetonefeelssobeautifullyisolated.”
Veronicaputdownherglass.Shedrewtheplatinumfoxesalittlecloserroundher.Shesmiledonthemall.
“Thankyousomuch!You’vebeensokind.”ThewordsfloatedbetweenSirHenry,LadyAngkatell,andforsomereason,Edward.“Ishallnowcarryhomethespoils.John,”shegavehimanartless,friendlysmile,“youmustseemesafelyback,becauseIwantdreadfullytohearallyou’vebeendoingintheyearsandyearssinceI’veseenyou.Itmakesmefeel,ofcourse,dreadfullyold.”
Shemovedtothewindow,andJohnChristowfollowedher.Sheflungalastbrilliantsmileatthemall.
“I’msodreadfullysorrytohavebotheredyouinthisstupidway.Thankyousomuch,LadyAngkatell.”
ShewentoutwithJohn.SirHenrystoodbythewindowlookingafterthem.
“Quiteafinewarmnight,”hesaid.
LadyAngkatellyawned.
“Oh,dear,”shemurmured,“wemustgotobed.Henry,wemustgoandseeoneofherpictures.I’msure,fromtonight,shemustgivealovelyperformance.”
Theywentupstairs.Midge,sayinggoodnight,askedLucy:
“Alovelyperformance?”
“Didn’tyouthinkso,darling?”
“Igather,Lucy,thatyouthinkit’sjustpossibleshemayhavesomematchesinDovecotesallthetime.”
“Dozensofboxes,Iexpect,darling.Butwemustn’tbeuncharitable.Anditwasalovelyperformance!”
Doorswereshuttingalldownthecorridor,voicesweremurmuringgoodnights.SirHenrysaid:“I’llleavethewindowforChristow.”Hisowndoorshut.
HenriettasaidtoGerda:“Whatfunactressesare.Theymakesuchmarvellousentrancesandexits!”Sheyawnedandadded:“I’mfrightfullysleepy.”
VeronicaCraymovedswiftlyalongthenarrowpaththroughthechestnutwoods.
Shecameoutfromthewoodstotheopenspacebytheswimmingpool.TherewasasmallpavilionherewheretheAngkatellssatondaysthatweresunnybutwhentherewasacoldwind.
VeronicaCraystoodstill.SheturnedandfacedJohnChristow.
Thenshelaughed.Withherhandshegesturedtowardstheleaf-strewnsurfaceoftheswimmingpool.
“NotquiteliketheMediterranean,isit,John?”shesaid.
Heknewthenwhathehadbeenwaitingfor—knewthatinallthosefifteenyearsofseparationfromVeronicashehadstillbeenwithhim.Thebluesea,thescentofmimosa,thehotdust—pusheddown,thrustoutofsight,butneverreallyforgotten.Theyallmeantonething—Veronica.Hewasayoungmanoftwenty-four,desperatelyandagonizinglyinlove,andthistimehewasnotgoingtorunaway.
Nine
JohnChristowcameoutfromthechestnutwoodsontothegreenslopebythehouse.Therewasamoonandthehousebaskedinthemoonlightwithastrangeinnocenceinitscurtainedwindows.Helookeddownatthewristwatchhewore.
Itwasthreeo’clock.Hedrewadeepbreathandhisfacewasanxious.Hewasnolonger,evenremotely,ayoungmanoftwenty-fourinlove.Hewasashrewd,practicalmanofjustonforty,andhismindwasclearandlevelheaded.
He’dbeenafool,ofcourse,acompletedamnedfool,buthedidn’tregretthat!Forhewas,henowrealized,completelymasterofhimself.Itwasasthough,foryears,hehaddraggedaweightuponhisleg—andnowtheweightwasgone.Hewasfree.
Hewasfreeandhimself,JohnChristow—andheknewthattoJohnChristow,successfulHarleyStreetspecialist,VeronicaCraymeantnothingwhatsoever.Allthathadbeeninthepast—andbecausethatconflicthadneverbeenresolved,becausehehadalwayssufferedhumiliatinglyfromthefearthathehad,inplainlanguage,“runaway,”soVeronica’simagehadnevercompletelylefthim.Shehadcometohimtonightoutofadream,andhehadacceptedthedream,andnow,thankGod,hewasdeliveredfromitforever.Hewasbackinthepresent—anditwas3a.m.,anditwasjustpossiblethathehadmuckedupthingsratherbadly.
He’dbeenwithVeronicaforthreehours.Shehadsailedinlikeafrigate,andcuthimoutofthecircleandcarriedhimoffasherprize,andhewonderednowwhatoneartheverybodyhadthoughtaboutit.
What,forinstance,wouldGerdathink?
AndHenrietta?(Buthedidn’tcarequitesomuchaboutHenrietta.Hecould,hefelt,atapinchexplaintoHenrietta.HecouldneverexplaintoGerda.)
Andhedidn’t,definitelyhedidn’twanttoloseanything.
Allhislifehehadbeenamanwhotookajustifiablenumberofrisks.Riskswithpatients,riskswithtreatment,riskswithinvestments.Neverafantasticrisk—onlythekindofriskthatwasjustbeyondthemarginofsafety.
IfGerdaguessed—ifGerdahadtheleastsuspicion….
Butwouldshehave?HowmuchdidhereallyknowaboutGerda?Normally,Gerdawouldbelievewhitewasblackifhetoldherso.Butoverathinglikethis….
WhathadhelookedlikewhenhefollowedVeronica’stall,triumphantfigureoutofthatwindow?Whathadheshowninhisface?Hadtheyseenaboy’sdazed,lovesickface?Orhadtheyonlyobservedamandoingapoliteduty?Hedidn’tknow.Hehadn’ttheleastidea.
Buthewasafraid—afraidfortheeaseandorderandsafetyofhislife.He’dbeenmad—quitemad,hethoughtwithexasperation—andthentookcomfortinthatverythought.Nobodywouldbelieve,surely,hecouldhavebeenasmadasthat?
Everybodywasinbedandsleep,thatwasclear.Thefrenchwindowofthedrawingroomstoodhalfopen,leftforhisreturn.Helookedupagainattheinnocent,sleepinghouse.Itlooked,somehow,tooinnocent.
Suddenlyhestarted.Hehadheard,orhehadimaginedheheard,thefaintclosingofadoor.
Heturnedhisheadsharply.Ifsomeonehadcomedowntothepool,followinghimthere.Ifsomeonehadwaitedandfollowedhimbackthatsomeonecouldhavetakenahigherpathandsogainedentrancetothehouseagainbythesidegardendoor,andthesoftclosingofthegardendoorwouldhavemadejustthesoundthathehadheard.
Helookedupsharplyatthewindows.Wasthatcurtainmoving,haditbeenpushedasideforsomeonetolookout,andthenallowedtofall?Henrietta’sroom.
Henrietta!NotHenrietta,hisheartcriedinasuddenpanic.Ican’tloseHenrietta!
Hewantedsuddenlytoflingupahandfulofpebblesatherwindow,tocryouttoher.
“Comeout,mydearlove.ComeouttomenowandwalkwithmeupthroughthewoodstoShovelDownandtherelisten—listentoeverythingthatInowknowaboutmyselfandthatyoumustknow,too,ifyoudonotknowitalready.”
HewantedtosaytoHenrietta:
“Iamstartingagain.Anewlifebeginsfromtoday.Thethingsthatcrippledandhinderedmefromlivinghavefallenaway.YouwererightthisafternoonwhenyouaskedmeifIwasrunningawayfrommyself.ThatiswhatIhavebeendoingforyears.BecauseIneverknewwhetheritwasstrengthorweaknessthattookmeawayfromVeronica.Ihavebeenafraidofmyself,afraidoflife,afraidofyou.”
IfheweretowakeHenriettaandmakehercomeoutwithhimnow—upthroughthewoodstowheretheycouldwatch,together,thesuncomeupovertherimoftheworld.
“You’remad,”hesaidtohimself.Heshivered.Itwascoldnow,lateSeptemberafterall.“Whatthedevilisthematterwithyou?”heaskedhimself.“You’vebehavedquiteinsanelyenoughforonenight.Ifyougetawaywithitasitis,you’redamnedlucky!”WhatonearthwouldGerdathinkifhestayedoutallnightandcamehomewiththemilk?
What,forthematterofthat,wouldtheAngkatellsthink?
Butthatdidnotworryhimforamoment.TheAngkatellstookGreenwichtime,asitwere,fromLucyAngkatell.AndtoLucyAngkatell,theunusualalwaysappearedperfectlyreasonable.
ButGerda,unfortunately,wasnotanAngkatell.
Gerdawouldhavetobedealtwith,andhe’dbettergoinanddealwithGerdaassoonaspossible.
SupposingithadbeenGerdawhohadfollowedhimtonight?
Nogoodsayingpeopledidn’tdosuchthings.Asadoctor,heknewonlytoowellwhatpeople,high-minded,sensitive,fastidious,honourablepeople,constantlydid.Theylistenedatdoors,andopenedlettersandspiedandsnooped—notbecauseforonemomenttheyapprovedofsuchconduct,butbecausebeforethesheernecessityofhumananguishtheywererendereddesperate.
Poordevils,hethought,poorsufferinghumandevils.JohnChristowknewagooddealabouthumansuffering.Hehadnotverymuchpityforweakness,buthehadforsuffering,foritwas,heknew,thestrongwhosuffer.
IfGerdaknew—
Nonsense,hesaidtohimself,whyshouldshe?She’sgoneuptobedandshe’sfastasleep.She’snoimagination,neverhashad.
Hewentinthroughthefrenchwindows,switchedonalamp,closedandlockedthewindows.Then,switchingoffthelight,helefttheroom,foundtheswitchinthehall,wentquicklyandlightlyupthestairs.Asecondswitchturnedoffthehalllight.Hestoodforamomentbythebedroomdoor,hishandonthedoorknob,thenheturneditandwentin
TheroomwasdarkandhecouldhearGerda’sevenbreathing.Shestirredashecameinandclosedthedoor.Hervoicecametohim,blurredandindistinctwithsleep.
“Isthatyou,John?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’tyouverylate?Whattimeisit?”
Hesaideasily:
“I’venoidea.SorryIwokeyouup.Ihadtogoinwiththewomanandhaveadrink.”
Hemadehisvoicesoundboredandsleepy.
Gerdamurmured:“Oh?Goodnight,John.”
Therewasarustleassheturnedoverinbed.
Itwasallright!Asusual,he’dbeenlucky.Asusual—justforamomentitsoberedhim,thethoughtofhowoftenhisluckhadheld!Timeandagaintherehadbeenamomentwhenhe’dheldhisbreathandsaid,“Ifthisgoeswrong.”Andithadn’tgonewrong!Butsomeday,surely,hisluckwouldchange.
Heundressedquicklyandgotintobed.Funnythatkid’sfortune.“Andthisoneisoveryourheadandhaspoweroveryou…”Veronica!Andshehadhadpoweroverhimallright.
“Butnotanymore,mygirl,”hethoughtwithakindofsavagesatisfaction.“Allthat’sover.I’mquitofyounow!”
Ten
Itwasteno’clockthenextmorningwhenJohncamedown.Breakfastwasonthesideboard.Gerdahadhadherbreakfastsentuptoherinbedandhadbeenratherperturbedsinceperhapsshemightbe“givingtrouble.”
Nonsense,Johnhadsaid.PeopleliketheAngkatellswhostillmanagedtohavebutlersandservantsmightjustaswellgivethemsomethingtodo.
HefeltverykindlytowardsGerdathismorning.Allthatnervousirritationthathadsofrettedhimoflateseemedtohavedieddownanddisappeared.
SirHenryandEdwardhadgoneoutshooting,LadyAngkatelltoldhim.Sheherselfwasbusywithagardeningbasketandgardeninggloves.HestayedtalkingtoherforawhileuntilGudgeonapproachedhimwithaletteronasalver.
“Thishasjustcomebyhand,sir.”
Hetookitwithslightlyraisedeyebrows.
Veronica!
Hestrolledintothelibrary,tearingitopen.
Pleasecomeoverthismorning.Imustseeyou.Veronica.
Imperiousasever,hethought.He’dagoodmindnottogo.Thenhethoughthemightaswellandgetitover.He’dgoatonce.
Hetookthepathoppositethelibrarywindow,passedbytheswimmingpoolwhichwasakindofnucleuswithpathsradiatingfromitineverydirection,oneupthehilltothewoodsproper,onefromtheflowerwalkabovethehouse,onefromthefarmandtheonethatledontothelanewhichhetooknow.AfewyardsupthelanewasthecottagecalledDovecotes.
Veronicawaswaitingforhim.Shespokefromthewindowofthepretentioushalf-timberedbuilding.
“Comeinside,John.It’scoldthismorning.”
Therewasafirelitinthesittingroom,whichwasfurnishedinoff-whitewithpalecyclamencushions.
Lookingatherthismorningwithanappraisingeye,hesawthedifferencestherewerefromthegirlheremembered,ashehadnotbeenabletoseethemlastnight.
Strictlyspeaking,hethought,shewasmorebeautifulnowthanthen.Sheunderstoodherbeautybetter,andshecaredforitandenhanceditineveryway.Herhair,whichhadbeendeepgolden,wasnowasilveryplatinumcolour.Hereyebrowsweredifferent,givingmuchmorepoignancytoherexpression.
Hershadneverbeenamindlessbeauty.Veronica,heremembered,hadqualifiedasoneofour“intellectualactresses.”ShehadauniversitydegreeandhadviewsonStrindbergandonShakespeare.
Hewasstrucknowwithwhathadonlybeendimlyapparenttohiminthepast—thatshewasawomanwhoseegoismwasquiteabnormal.Veronicawasaccustomedtogettingherownway,andbeneaththesmoothbeautifulcontoursoffleshheseemedtosenseanuglyirondetermination.
“Isentforyou,”saidVeronica,asshehandedhimaboxofcigarettes,“becausewe’vegottotalk.We’vegottomakearrangements.Forourfuture,Imean.”
Hetookacigaretteandlightedit.Thenhesaidquitepleasantly:
“Buthaveweafuture?”
Shegavehimasharpglance.
“Whatdoyoumean,John?Ofcoursewehavegotafuture.We’vewastedfifteenyears.There’snoneedtowasteanymoretime.”
Hesatdown.
“I’msorry,Veronica.ButI’mafraidyou’vegotallthistapedoutwrong.I’ve—enjoyedmeetingyouagainverymuch.Butyourlifeandminedon’ttouchanywhere.Theyarequitedivergent.”
“Nonsense,John.Iloveyouandyouloveme.We’vealwayslovedeachother.Youwereincrediblyobstinateinthepast!Butnevermindthatnow.Ourlivesneedn’tclash.Idon’tmeantogobacktotheStates.WhenI’vefinishedthispictureI’mworkingonnow,I’mgoingtoplayastraightplayontheLondonstage.I’vegotawonderfulplay—Elderton’swrittenitforme.Itwillbeaterrificsuccess.”
“I’msureitwill,”hesaidpolitely
“Andyoucangoonbeingadoctor.”Hervoicewaskindandcondescending.“You’requitewell-known,theytellme.”
“Mydeargirl,I’mmarried.I’vegotchildren.”
“I’mmarriedmyselfatthemoment,”saidVeronica.“Butallthesethingsareeasilyarranged.Agoodlawyercanfixupeverything.”Shesmiledathimdazzlingly.“Ialwaysdidmeantomarryyou,darling.Ican’tthinkwhyIhavethisterriblepassionforyou,butthereitis!”
“I’msorry,Veronica,butnogoodlawyerisgoingtofixupanything.Yourlifeandminehavenothingtodowitheachother.”
“Notafterlastnight?”
“You’renotachild,Veronica.You’vehadacoupleofhusbands,andbyallaccountsseverallovers.Whatdoeslastnightmeanactually?Nothingatall,andyouknowit.”
“Oh,mydearJohn.”Shewasstillamused,indulgent.“Ifyou’dseenyourface—thereinthatstuffydrawingroom!YoumighthavebeeninSanMiguelagain.”
Johnsighed.Hesaid:
“IwasinSanMiguel.Trytounderstand,Veronica.Youcametomeoutofthepast.Lastnight,I,too,wasinthepast,buttoday—today’sdifferent.I’mamanfifteenyearsolder.Amanyoudon’tevenknow—andwhomIdaresayyouwouldn’tlikemuchifyoudidknow.”
“Youpreferyourwifeandchildrentome?”
Shewasgenuinelyamazed.
“Oddasitmayseemtoyou,Ido.”
“Nonsense,John,youloveme.”
“I’msorry,Veronica.”
Shesaidincredulously:
“Youdon’tloveme?”
“It’sbettertobequiteclearaboutthesethings.Youareanextraordinarilybeautifulwoman,Veronica,butIdon’tloveyou.”
Shesatsostillthatshemighthavebeenawaxwork.Thatstillnessofhersmadehimjustalittleuneasy.
Whenshespokeitwaswithsuchvenomthatherecoiled.
“Whoisshe?”
“She?Whodoyoumean?”
“Thatwomanbythemantelpiecelastnight?”
Henrietta!hethought.HowthedevildidshegetontoHenrietta?Aloudhesaid:
“Whoareyoutalkingabout?MidgeHardcastle?”
“Midge?That’sthesquare,darkgirl,isn’tit?No,Idon’tmeanher.AndIdon’tmeanyourwife.Imeanthatinsolentdevilwhowasleaningagainstthemantelpiece!It’sbecauseofherthatyou’returningmedown!Oh,don’tpretendtobesomoralaboutyourwifeandchildren.It’sthatotherwoman.”
Shegotupandcametowardshim.
“Don’tyouunderstand,John,thateversinceIcamebacktoEngland,eighteenmonthsago,I’vebeenthinkingaboutyou?WhydoyouimagineItookthisidioticplacehere?SimplybecauseIfoundoutthatyouoftencamedownforweekendswiththeAngkatells!”
“Solastnightwasallplanned,Veronica?”
“Youbelongtome,John.Youalwayshave!”
“Idon’tbelongtoanyone,Veronica.Hasn’tlifetaughtyouevennowthatyoucan’townotherhumanbeingsbodyandsoul?IlovedyouwhenIwasayoungman.Iwantedyoutosharemylife.Youwouldn’tdoit!”
“Mylifeandcareerweremuchmoreimportantthanyours.Anyonecanbeadoctor!”
Helosthistemperalittle.
“Areyouquiteaswonderfulasyouthinkyouare?”
“YoumeanthatIhaven’tgottothetopofthetree.Ishall!Ishall!”
JohnChristowlookedatherwithasudden,quitedispassionateinterest.
“Idon’tbelieve,youknow,thatyouwill.There’salackinyou,Veronica.You’reallgrabandsnatch—norealgenerosity—Ithinkthat’sit.”
Veronicagotup.Shesaidinaquietvoice:
“Youturnedmedownfifteenyearsago.You’veturnedmedownagaintoday.I’llmakeyousorryforthis.”
Johngotupandwenttothedoor.
“I’msorry,Veronica,ifI’vehurtyou.You’reverylovely,mydear,andIoncelovedyouverymuch.Can’tweleaveitatthat?”
“Good-bye,John.We’renotleavingitatthat.You’llfindthatoutallright.Ithink—IthinkIhateyoumorethanIbelievedIcouldhateanyone.”
Heshruggedhisshoulders:
“I’msorry.Goodbye.”
Johnwalkedbackslowlythroughthewood.Whenhegottotheswimmingpoolhesatdownonthebenchthere.HehadnoregretsforhistreatmentofVeronica.Veronica,hethoughtdispassionately,wasanastybitofwork.Shealwayshadbeenanastybitofwork,andthebestthinghehadeverdonewastogetclearofherintime.Godaloneknewwhatwouldhavehappenedtohimbynowifhehadn’t!
Asitwas,hehadthatextraordinarysensationofstartinganewlife,unfetteredandunhamperedbythepast.Hemusthavebeenextremelydifficulttolivewithforthelastyearortwo.PoorGerda,hethought,withherunselfishnessandhercontinualanxietytopleasehim.Hewouldbekinderinfuture.
AndperhapsnowhewouldbeabletostoptryingtobullyHenrietta.NotthatonecouldreallybullyHenrietta—shewasn’tmadethatway.Stormsbrokeoverherandshestoodthere,meditative,hereyeslookingatyoufromveryfaraway.
Hethought:“IshallgotoHenriettaandtellher.”
Helookedupsharply,disturbedbysomesmallunexpectedsound.Therehadbeenshotsinthewoodshigherup,andtherehadbeentheusualsmallnoisesofwoodlands,birds,andthefaintmelancholydroppingofleaves.Butthiswasanothernoise—averyfaintbusinesslikeclick.
Andsuddenly,Johnwasacutelyconsciousofdanger.Howlonghadhebeensittinghere?Halfanhour?Anhour?Therewassomeonewatchinghim.Someone—
Andthatclickwas—ofcourseitwas—
Heturnedsharply,amanveryquickinhisreactions.Buthewasnotquickenough.Hiseyeswidenedinsurprise,buttherewasnotimeforhimtomakeasound.
Theshotrangoutandhefell,awkwardly,sprawledoutbytheedgeoftheswimmingpool.
Adarkstainwelledupslowlyonhisleftsideandtrickledslowlyontotheconcreteofthepooledge;andfromtheredrippedredintothebluewater.
Eleven
I
HerculePoirotflickedalastspeckofdustfromhisshoes.Hehaddressedcarefullyforhisluncheonpartyandhewassatisfiedwiththeresult.
HeknewwellenoughthekindofclothesthatwereworninthecountryonaSundayinEngland,buthedidnotchoosetoconformtoEnglishideas.Hepreferredhisownstandardsofurbansmartness.HewasnotanEnglishcountrygentleman.HewasHerculePoirot!
Hedidnot,heconfessedittohimself,reallylikethecountry.Theweekendcottage—somanyofhisfriendshadextolledit—hehadallowedhimselftosuccumb,andhadpurchasedResthaven,thoughtheonlythinghehadlikedaboutitwasitsshape,whichwasquitesquarelikeabox.Thesurroundinglandscapehedidnotcareforthoughitwas,heknew,supposedtobeabeautyspot.Itwas,however,toowildlyasymmetricaltoappealtohim.Hedidnotcaremuchfortreesatanytime—theyhadthatuntidyhabitofsheddingtheirleaves.Hecouldendurepoplarsandheapprovedofamonkeypuzzle—butthisriotofbeechandoaklefthimunmoved.Suchalandscapewasbestenjoyedfromacaronafineafternoon.Youexclaimed,“Quelbeaupaysage!”anddrovebacktoagoodhotel.
ThebestthingaboutResthaven,heconsidered,wasthesmallvegetablegardenneatlylaidoutinrowsbyhisBelgiangardenerVictor.MeanwhileFran?oise,Victor’swife,devotedherselfwithtendernesstothecareofheremployer’sstomach.
HerculePoirotpassedthroughthegate,sighed,glanceddownoncemoreathisshiningblackshoes,adjustedhispalegreyHomburghat,andlookedupanddowntheroad.
HeshiveredslightlyattheaspectofDovecotes.DovecotesandResthavenhadbeenerectedbyrivalbuilders,bothofwhomhadacquiredasmallpieceofland.FurtherenterpriseontheirparthadbeenswiftlycurtailedbyaNationalTrustforpreservingthebeautiesofthecountryside.Thetwohousesremainedrepresentativeoftwoschoolsofthought.Resthavenwasaboxwitharoof,severelymodernandalittledull.Dovecoteswasariotofhalf-timberingandOldeWorldepackedintoassmallaspaceaspossible.
HerculePoirotdebatedwithinhimselfastohowheshouldapproachTheHollow.Therewas,heknew,alittlehigherupthelane,asmallgateandapath.This,theunofficialway,wouldsaveahalf-miledétourbytheroad.NeverthelessHerculePoirot,asticklerforetiquette,decidedtotakethelongerwayroundandapproachthehousecorrectlybythefrontentrance.
ThiswashisfirstvisittoSirHenryandLadyAngkatell.Oneshouldnot,heconsidered,takeshortcutsuninvited,especiallywhenonewastheguestofpeopleofsocialimportance.Hewas,itmustbeadmitted,pleasedbytheirinvitation.
“Jesuisunpeusnob,”hemurmuredtohimself.
HehadretainedanagreeableimpressionoftheAngkatellsfromthetimeinBaghdad,particularlyofLadyAngkatell.“Uneoriginale!”hethoughttohimself.
HisestimationofthetimerequiredforwalkingtoTheHollowbyroadwasaccurate.Itwasexactlyoneminutetoonewhenherangthefrontdoorbell.Hewasgladtohavearrivedandfeltslightlytired.Hewasnotfondofwalking.
ThedoorwasopenedbythemagnificentGudgeon,ofwhomPoirotapproved.Hisreception,however,wasnotquiteashehadhoped.“Herladyshipisinthepavilionbytheswimmingpool,sir.Willyoucomethisway?”
ThepassionoftheEnglishforsittingoutofdoorsirritatedHerculePoirot.Thoughonehadtoputupwiththiswhimsyintheheightofsummer,surely,Poirotthought,oneshouldbesafefromitbytheendofSeptember!Thedaywasmild,certainly,butithad,asautumndaysalwayshad,acertaindampness.Howinfinitelypleasantertohavebeenusheredintoacomfortabledrawingroomwith,perhaps,asmallfireinthegrate.Butno,herehewasbeingledoutthroughfrenchwindowsacrossaslopeoflawn,pastarockeryandthenthroughasmallgateandalonganarrowtrackbetweencloselyplantedyoungchestnuts.
ItwasthehabitoftheAngkatellstoinviteguestsforoneo’clock,andonfinedaystheyhadcocktailsandsherryinthesmallpavilionbytheswimmingpool.Lunchitselfwasscheduledforonethirty,bywhichtimethemostunpunctualofguestsshouldhavemanagedtoarrive,whichpermittedLadyAngkatell’sexcellentcooktoembarkonsoufflésandsuchaccuratelytimeddelicacieswithouttoomuchtrepidation.
ToHerculePoirot,theplandidnotcommenditself.
“Inalittleminute,”hethought,“IshallbealmostbackwhereIstarted.”
Withanincreasingawarenessofhisfeetinhisshoes,hefollowedGudgeon’stallfigure.
Itwasatthatmomentfromjustaheadofhimthatheheardalittlecry.Itincreased,somehow,hisdissatisfaction.Itwasincongruous,insomewayunfitting.Hedidnotclassifyit,norindeedthinkaboutit.Whenhethoughtaboutitafterwardshewashardputtoittorememberjustwhatemotionsithadseemedtoconvey.Dismay?Surprise?Horror?Hecouldonlysaythatitsuggested,verydefinitely,theunexpected.
Gudgeonsteppedoutfromthechestnuts.Hewasmovingtooneside,deferentially,toallowPoirottopassandatthesametimeclearinghisthroatpreparatorytomurmuring,“M.Poirot,mylady”inthepropersubduedandrespectfultoneswhenhissupplenessbecamesuddenlyrigid.Hegasped.Itwasanunbutlerlikenoise.
HerculePoirotsteppedoutontotheopenspacesurroundingtheswimmingpool,andimmediatelyhe,too,stiffened,butwithannoyance.
Itwastoomuch—itwasreallytoomuch!HehadnotsuspectedsuchcheapnessoftheAngkatells.Thelongwalkbytheroad,thedisappointmentatthehouse—andnowthis!ThemisplacedsenseofhumouroftheEnglish!
Hewasannoyedandhewasbored—oh,howhewasbored.Deathwasnot,tohim,amusing.Andheretheyhadarrangedforhim,bywayofajoke,asetpiece.
Forwhathewaslookingatwasahighlyartificialmurderscene.Bythesideofthepoolwasthebody,artisticallyarrangedwithanoutflungarmandevensomeredpaintdrippinggentlyovertheedgeoftheconcreteintothepool.Itwasaspectacularbody,thatofahandsomefair-hairedman.Standingoverthebody,revolverinhand,wasawoman,ashort,powerfullybuilt,middle-agedwomanwithacuriouslyblankexpression.
Andtherewerethreeotheractors.Onthefarsideofthepoolwasatallyoungwomanwhosehairmatchedtheautumnleavesinitsrichbrown;shehadabasketinherhandfullofdahliaheads.Alittlefartheroffwasaman,atall,inconspicuousmaninashootingcoat,carryingagun.Andimmediatelyonhisleft,withabasketofeggsinherhand,washishostess,LadyAngkatell.
ItwascleartoHerculePoirotthatseveraldifferentpathsconvergedhereattheswimmingpoolandthatthesepeoplehadeacharrivedbyadifferentpath.
Itwasallverymathematicalandartificial.
Hesighed.Enfin,whatdidtheyexpecthimtodo?Washetopretendtobelieveinthis“crime?”Washetoregisterdismay—alarm?Orwashetobow,tocongratulatehishostess:“Ah,butitisverycharming,whatyouarrangeformehere?”
Really,thewholethingwasverystupid—notspirituelatall!WasitnotQueenVictoriawhohadsaid:“Wearenotamused?”Hefeltveryinclinedtosaythesame:“I,HerculePoirot,amnotamused.”
LadyAngkatellhadwalkedtowardsthebody.Hefollowed,consciousofGudgeon,stillbreathinghard,behindhim.“Heisnotinthesecret,thatone,”HerculePoirotthoughttohimself.Fromtheothersideofthepool,theothertwopeoplejoinedthem.Theywereallquiteclosenow,lookingdownonthatspectacularsprawlingfigurebythepool’sedge.
Andsuddenly,withaterrificshock,withthatfeelingasofblurringonacinematographscreenbeforethepicturecomesintofocus,HerculePoirotrealizedthatthisartificiallysetscenehadapointofreality.
Forwhathewaslookingdownatwas,ifnotadead,atleastadyingman.
Itwasnotredpaintdrippingofftheedgeoftheconcrete,itwasblood.Thismanhadbeenshot,andshotaveryshorttimeago.
Hedartedaquickglanceatthewomanwhostoodthere,revolverinhand.Herfacewasquiteblank,withoutfeelingofanykind.Shelookeddazedandratherstupid.
“Curious,”hethought.
Hadshe,hewondered,drainedherselfofallemotion,allfeeling,inthefiringoftheshot?Wasshenowallpassionspent,nothingbutanexhaustedshell?Itmightbeso,hethought.
Thenhelookeddownontheshotman,andhestarted.Forthedyingman’seyeswereopen.TheywereintenselyblueeyesandtheyheldanexpressionthatPoirotcouldnotreadbutwhichhedescribedtohimselfasakindofintenseawareness.
Andsuddenly,orsoitfelttoPoirot,thereseemedtobeinallthisgroupofpeopleonlyonepersonwhowasreallyalive—themanwhowasatthepointofdeath.
Poirothadneverreceivedsostronganimpressionofvividandintensevitality.Theotherswerepaleshadowyfigures,actorsinaremotedrama,butthismanwasreal.
JohnChristowopenedhismouthandspoke.Hisvoicewasstrong,unsurprisedandurgent.
“Henrietta—”hesaid.
Thenhiseyelidsdropped,hisheadjerkedsideways.
HerculePoirotkneltdown,madesure,thenrosetohisfeet,mechanicallydustingthekneesofhistrousers.
“Yes,”hesaid.“Heisdead.”
II
Thepicturebrokeup,wavered,refocuseditself.Therewereindividualreactionsnow—trivialhappenings.Poirotwasconsciousofhimselfasakindofmagnifiedeyesandears—recording.Justthat,recording.
HewasawareofLadyAngkatell’shandrelaxingitsgriponherbasketandGudgeonspringingforward,quicklytakingitfromher.
“Allowme,mylady.”
Mechanically,quitenaturally,LadyAngkatellmurmured:
“Thankyou,Gudgeon.”
Andthen,hesitantly,shesaid:
“Gerda—”
Thewomanholdingtherevolverstirredforthefirsttime.Shelookedroundatthemall.Whenshespoke,hervoiceheldwhatseemedtobepurebewilderment.
“John’sdead,”shesaid.“John’sdead.”
Withakindofswiftauthority,thetallyoungwomanwiththeleaf-brownhaircameswiftlytoher.
“Givethattome,Gerda,”shesaid.
Anddexterously,beforePoirotcouldprotestorintervene,shehadtakentherevolveroutofGerdaChristow’shand.
Poirottookaquickstepforward.
“Youshouldnotdothat,Mademoiselle—”
Theyoungwomanstartednervouslyatthesoundofhisvoice.Therevolverslippedthroughherfingers.Shewasstandingbytheedgeofthepoolandtherevolverfellwithasplashintothewater.
Hermouthopenedandsheutteredan“Oh”ofconsternation,turningherheadtolookatPoirotapologetically.
“WhatafoolIam,”shesaid.“I’msorry.”
Poirotdidnotspeakforamoment.Hewasstaringintoapairofclearhazeleyes.Theymethisquitesteadilyandhewonderedifhismomentarysuspicionhadbeenunjust.
Hesaidquietly:
“Thingsshouldbehandledaslittleaspossible.Everythingmustbeleftexactlyasitisforthepolicetosee.”
Therewasalittlestirthen—veryfaint,justarippleofuneasiness.
LadyAngkatellmurmureddistastefully:“Ofcourse.Isuppose—yes,thepolice—”
Inaquite,pleasantvoice,tingedwithfastidiousrepulsion,themanintheshootingcoatsaid:“I’mafraid,Lucy,it’sinevitable.”
Intothatmomentofsilenceandrealizationtherecamethesoundoffootstepsandvoices,assured,briskfootstepsandcheerful,incongruousvoices.
AlongthepathfromthehousecameSirHenryAngkatellandMidgeHardcastle,talkingandlaughingtogether.
Atthesightofthegrouproundthepool,SirHenrystoppedshort,andexclaimedinastonishment:
“What’sthematter?What’shappened?”
Hiswifeanswered:“Gerdahas—”Shebrokeoffsharply.“Imean—Johnis—”
Gerdasaidinherflat,bewilderedvoice:
“Johnhasbeenshot.He’sdead.”
Theyalllookedawayfromher,embarrassed.
ThenLadyAngkatellsaidquickly:
“Mydear,Ithinkyou’dbettergoand—andliedown.Perhapswehadbetterallgobacktothehouse?Henry,youandM.Poirotcanstayhereand—andwaitforthepolice.”
“Thatwillbethebestplan,Ithink,”saidSirHenry.HeturnedtoGudgeon.“Willyouringupthepolicestation,Gudgeon?Juststateexactlywhathasoccurred.Whenthepolicearrive,bringthemstraightouthere.”
Gudgeonbenthisheadalittleandsaid:“Yes,SirHenry.”Hewaslookingalittlewhiteaboutthegills,buthewasstilltheperfectservant.
Thetallyoungwomansaid:“Come,Gerda,”andputtingherhandthroughtheotherwoman’sarm,sheledherunresistinglyawayandalongthepathtowardsthehouse.Gerdawalkedasthoughinadream.Gudgeonstoodbackalittletoletthempass,andthenfollowedcarryingthebasketofeggs.
SirHenryturnedsharplytohiswife.“Now,Lucy,whatisallthis?Whathappenedexactly?”
LadyAngkatellstretchedoutvaguehands,alovelyhelplessgesture.HerculePoirotfeltthecharmofitandtheappeal.
“Mydear,Ihardlyknow.Iwasdownbythehens.Iheardashotthatseemedverynear,butIdidn’treallythinkanythingaboutit.Afterall,”sheappealedtothemall,“onedoesn’t!AndthenIcameupthepathtothepoolandtherewasJohnlyingthereandGerdastandingoverhimwiththerevolver.HenriettaandEdwardarrivedalmostatthesamemoment—fromoverthere.”
Shenoddedtowardsthefarthersideofthepool,wheretwopathsranintothewoods.
HerculePoirotclearedhisthroat.
“Whoarethey,thisJohnandthisGerda?IfImayknow,”headdedapologetically.
“Oh,ofcourse.”LadyAngkatellturnedtohiminquickapology.“Oneforgets—butthenonedoesn’texactlyintroducepeople—notwhensomebodyhasjustbeenkilled.JohnisJohnChristow,Dr.Christow.GerdaChristowishiswife.”
“AndtheladywhowentwithMrs.Christowtothehouse?”
“Mycousin,HenriettaSavernake.”
Therewasamovement,averyfaintmovementfromthemanonPoirot’sleft.
“HenriettaSavernake,”thoughtPoirot,“andhedoesnotlikethatsheshouldsayit—butitis,afterall,inevitablethatIshouldknow….”
(“Henrietta!”thedyingmanhadsaid.Hehadsaiditinaverycuriousway.AwaythatremindedPoirotofsomething—ofsomeincident…now,whatwasit?Nomatter,itwouldcometohim.)
LadyAngkatellwasgoingon,determinednowonfulfillinghersocialduties.
“Andthisisanothercousinofours,EdwardAngkatell.AndMissHardcastle.”
Poirotacknowledgedtheintroductionswithpolitebows.Midgefeltsuddenlythatshewantedtolaughhysterically;shecontrolledherselfwithaneffort.
“Andnow,mydear,”saidSirHenry,“Ithinkthat,asyousuggested,youhadbettergobacktothehouse.IwillhaveawordortwoherewithM.Poirot.”
LadyAngkatelllookedthoughtfullyatthem.
“Idohope,”shesaid,“thatGerdaislyingdown.Wasthattherightthingtosuggest?Ireallycouldn’tthinkwhattosay.Imean,onehasnoprecedent.Whatdoesonesaytoawomanwhohasjustkilledherhusband?”
Shelookedatthemasthoughhopingthatsomeauthoritativeanswermightbegiventoherquestion.
Thenshewentalongthepathtowardsthehouse.Midgefollowedher.Edwardbroughtuptherear.
Poirotwasleftwithhishost.
SirHenryclearedhisthroat.Heseemedalittleuncertainwhattosay.
“Christow,”heobservedatlast,“wasaveryablefellow—averyablefellow.”
Poirot’seyesrestedoncemoreonthedeadman.Hestillhadthecuriousimpressionthatthedeadmanwasmorealivethantheliving.
Hewonderedwhatgavehimthatimpression.
HerespondedpolitelytoSirHenry.
“Suchatragedyasthisisveryunfortunate,”hesaid.
“Thissortofthingismoreyourlinethanmine,”saidSirHenry.“Idon’tthinkIhaveeverbeenatclosequarterswithamurderbefore.IhopeI’vedonetherightthingsofar?”
“Theprocedurehasbeenquitecorrect,”saidPoirot.“Youhavesummonedthepolice,anduntiltheyarriveandtakechargethereisnothingforustodo—excepttomakesurethatnobodydisturbsthebodyortamperswiththeevidence.”
Ashesaidthelastwordhelookeddownintothepoolwherehecouldseetherevolverlyingontheconcretebottom,slightlydistortedbythebluewater.
Theevidence,hethought,hadperhapsalreadybeentamperedwithbeforehe,HerculePoirot,hadbeenabletopreventit.
Butno—thathadbeenanaccident.
SirHenrymurmureddistastefully:
“Thinkwe’vegottostandabout?Abitchilly.Itwouldbeallright,Ishouldthink,ifwewentinsidethepavilion?”
Poirot,whohadbeenconsciousofdampfeetandadispositiontoshiver,acquiescedgladly.Thepavilionwasatthesideofthepoolfarthestfromthehouse,andthroughitsopendoortheycommandedaviewofthepoolandthebodyandthepathtothehousealongwhichthepolicewouldcome.
Thepavilionwasluxuriouslyfurnishedwithcomfortablesetteesandgaynativerugs.Onapaintedirontableatraywassetwithglassesandadecanterofsherry.
“I’dofferyouadrink,”saidSirHenry,“butIsupposeI’dbetternottouchanythinguntilthepolicecome—not,Ishouldimagine,thatthere’sanythingtointeresttheminhere.Still,itisbettertobeonthesafeside.Gudgeonhadn’tbroughtoutthecocktailsyet,Isee.Hewaswaitingforyoutoarrive.”
Thetwosatdownrathergingerlyintwowickerchairsnearthedoorsothattheycouldwatchthepathfromthehouse.
Aconstraintsettledoverthem.Itwasanoccasiononwhichitwasdifficulttomakesmalltalk.
Poirotglancedroundthepavilion,notinganythingthatstruckhimasunusual.Anexpensivecapeofplatinumfoxhadbeenflungcarelesslyacrossthebackofoneofthechairs.Hewonderedwhoseitwas.Itsratherostentatiousmagnificencedidnotharmonizewithanyofthepeoplehehadseenuptonow.Hecouldnot,forinstance,imagineitroundLadyAngkatell’sshoulders.
Itworriedhim.Itbreathedamixtureofopulenceandself-advertisement—andthosecharacteristicswerelackinginanyonehehadseensofar.
“Isupposewecansmoke,”saidSirHenry,offeringhiscasetoPoirot.
Beforetakingthecigarette,Poirotsniffedtheair.
Frenchperfume—anexpensiveFrenchperfume.
Onlyatraceofitlingered,butitwasthere,andagainthescentwasnotthescentthatassociateditselfinhismindwithanyoftheoccupantsofTheHollow.
AsheleanedforwardtolighthiscigaretteatSirHenry’slighter,Poirot’sglancefellonalittlepileofmatchboxes—sixofthem—stackedonasmalltablenearoneofthesettees.
Itwasadetailthatstruckhimasdefinitelyodd.
Twelve
I
“Halfpasttwo,”saidLadyAngkatell.
Shewasinthedrawingroom,withMidgeandEdward.FrombehindthecloseddoorofSirHenry’sstudycamethemurmurofvoices.HerculePoirot,SirHenryandInspectorGrangewereinthere.
LadyAngkatellsighed:
“Youknow,Midge,Istillfeeloneoughttodosomethingaboutlunch.Itseems,ofcourse,quiteheartlesstositdownroundthetableasthoughnothinghadhappened.Butafterall,M.Poirotwasaskedtolunch—andheisprobablyhungry.Anditcan’tbeupsettingtohimthatpoorJohnChristowhasbeenkilledlikeitistous.AndImustsaythatthoughIreallydonotfeellikeeatingmyself,HenryandEdwardmustbeextremelyhungryafterbeingoutshootingallthemorning.”
EdwardAngkatellsaid:“Don’tworryonmyaccount,Lucy,dear.”
“Youarealwaysconsiderate,Edward.AndthenthereisDavid—Inoticedthatheateagreatdealatdinnerlastnight.Intellectualpeoplealwaysseemtoneedagooddealoffood.WhereisDavid,bytheway?”
“Hewentuptohisroom,”saidMidge,“afterhehadheardwhathadhappened.”
“Yes—well,thatwasrathertactfulofhim.Idaresayitmadehimfeelawkward.Ofcourse,saywhatyoulike,amurderisanawkwardthing—itupsetstheservantsandputsthegeneralroutineout—wewerehavingducksforlunch—fortunatelytheyarequiteniceeatencold.WhatdoesonedoaboutGerda,doyouthink?Somethingonatray?Alittlestrongsoup,perhaps?”
“Really,”thoughtMidge,“Lucyisinhuman!”AndthenwithaqualmshereflectedthatitwasperhapsbecauseLucywastoohumanthatitshockedoneso!Wasn’tittheplainunvarnishedtruththatallcatastropheswerehedgedroundwiththeselittletrivialwonderingsandsurmises?Lucymerelygaveutterancetothethoughtswhichmostpeopledidnotacknowledge.Onedidremembertheservants,andworryaboutmeals.Andonedid,even,feelhungry.Shefelthungryherselfatthisverymoment!Hungry,shethought,andatthesametime,rathersick.Acuriousmixture.
Andtherewas,undoubtedly,justplainawkwardembarrassmentinnotknowinghowtoreacttoaquiet,commonplacewomanwhomonehadreferredto,onlyyesterday,as“poorGerda”andwhowasnow,presumably,shortlytobestandinginthedockaccusedofmurder.
“Thesethingshappentootherpeople,”thoughtMidge.“Theycan’thappentous.”
ShelookedacrosstheroomatEdward.“Theyoughtn’t,”shethought,“tohappentopeoplelikeEdward.Peoplewhoaresoveryunviolent.”ShetookcomfortinlookingatEdward.Edward,soquiet,soreasonable,sokindandcalm.
Gudgeonentered,inclinedhimselfconfidentiallyandspokeinasuitablymutedvoice.
“Ihaveplacedsandwichesandsomecoffeeinthediningroom,mylady.”
“Oh,thankyou,Gudgeon!”
“Really,”saidLadyAngkatellasGudgeonlefttheroom.“Gudgeoniswonderful:Idon’tknowwhatIshoulddowithoutGudgeon.Healwaysknowstherightthingtodo.Somereallysubstantialsandwichesareasgoodaslunch—andnothingheartlessaboutthem,ifyouknowwhatImean!”
“Oh,Lucy,don’t.”
Midgesuddenlyfeltwarmtearsrunningdownhercheek.LadyAngkatelllookedsurprised,murmured:
“Poordarling.It’sallbeentoomuchforyou.”
EdwardcrossedtothesofaandsatdownbyMidge.Heputhisarmroundher.
“Don’tworry,littleMidge,”hesaid
Midgeburiedherfaceonhisshoulderandsobbedtherecomfortably.SherememberedhowniceEdwardhadbeentoherwhenherrabbithaddiedatAinswickoneEasterholidays.
Edwardsaidgently:“It’sbeenashock.CanIgethersomebrandy,Lucy?”
“Onthesideboardinthediningroom.Idon’tthink—”
ShebrokeoffasHenriettacameintotheroom.Midgesatup.ShefeltEdwardstiffenandsitverystill.
What,thoughtMidge,doesHenriettafeel?Shefeltalmostreluctanttolookathercousin—buttherewasnothingtosee.Henriettalooked,ifanything,belligerent.Shehadcomeinwithherchinup,hercolourhigh,andwithacertainswiftness.
“Oh,thereyouare,Henrietta,”criedLadyAngkatell.“Ihavebeenwondering.ThepolicearewithHenryandM.Poirot.WhathaveyougivenGerda?Brandy?Orteaandaspirin?”
“Igavehersomebrandy—andahot-waterbottle.”
“Quiteright,”saidLadyAngkatellapprovingly.“That’swhattheytellyouinFirstAidclasses—thehot-waterbottle,Imean,forshock—notthebrandy;thereisareactionnowadaysagainststimulants.ButIthinkthatisonlyafashion.WealwaysgavebrandyforshockwhenIwasagirlatAinswick.Though,really,Isuppose,itcan’tbeexactlyshockwithGerda.Idon’tknowreallywhatonewouldfeelifonehadkilledone’shusband—it’sthesortofthingonejustcan’tbegintoimagine—butitwouldn’texactlygiveoneashock.Imean,therewouldn’tbeanyelementofsurprise.”
Henrietta’svoice,icycold,cutintotheplacidatmosphere.
Shesaid:“WhyareyouallsosurethatGerdakilledJohn?”
Therewasamoment’spause—andMidgefeltacuriousshiftingintheatmosphere.Therewasconfusion,strainand,finally,akindofslowwatchfulness.
ThenLadyAngkatellsaid,hervoicequitedevoidofanyinflection:
“Itseemed—self-evident.Whatelsedoyousuggest?”
“Isn’titpossiblethatGerdacamealongtothepool,thatshefoundJohnlyingthere,andthatshehadjustpickeduptherevolverwhen—whenwecameuponthescene?”
Againtherewasthatsilence.ThenLadyAngkatellasked:
“IsthatwhatGerdasays?”
“Yes.”
Itwasnotasimpleassent.Ithadforcebehindit.Itcameoutlikearevolvershot.
LadyAngkatellraisedhereyebrows,thenshesaidwithapparentirrelevancy:
“Therearesandwichesandcoffeeinthediningroom.”
ShebrokeoffwithalittlegaspasGerdaChristowcamethroughtheopendoor.Shesaidhurriedlyandapologetically:
“I—Ireallydidn’tfeelIcouldliedownanylonger.Oneis—oneissoterriblyrestless.”
LadyAngkatellcried:
“Youmustsitdown—youmustsitdownatonce.”
ShedisplacedMidgefromthesofa,settledGerdathere,putacushionatherback.
“Youpoordear,”saidLadyAngkatell.
Shespokewithemphasis,butthewordsseemedquitemeaningless.
Edwardwalkedtothewindowandstoodtherelookingout.
Gerdapushedbacktheuntidyhairfromherforehead.Shespokeinaworried,bewilderedtone.
“I—Ireallyamonlyjustbeginningtorealizeit.YouknowIhaven’tbeenabletofeel—Istillcan’tfeel—thatit’sreal—thatJohn—isdead.”Shebegantoshakealittle.“Whocanhavekilledhim?Whocanpossiblyhavekilledhim?”
LadyAngkatelldrewadeepbreath—thensheturnedherheadsharply.SirHenry’sdoorhadopened.HecameinaccompaniedbyInspectorGrange,whowasalarge,heavilybuiltmanwithadown-drooping,pessimisticmoustache.
“Thisismywife—InspectorGrange.”
Grangebowedandsaid:
“Iwaswondering,LadyAngkatell,ifIcouldhaveafewwordswithMrs.Christow—”
HebrokeoffasLadyAngkatellindicatedthefigureonthesofa.
“Mrs.Christow?”
Gerdasaideagerly:
“Yes,IamMrs.Christow.”
“Idon’twanttodistressyou,Mrs.Christow,butIwouldliketoaskyouafewquestions.Youcan,ofcourse,haveyoursolicitorpresentifyoupreferit—”
SirHenryputin:
“Itissometimeswiser,Gerda—”
Sheinterrupted:
“Asolicitor?Whyasolicitor?WhyshouldasolicitorknowanythingaboutJohn’sdeath?”
InspectorGrangecoughed.SirHenryseemedabouttospeak.Henriettaputin:
“Theinspectoronlywantstoknowjustwhathappenedthismorning.”
Gerdaturnedtohim.Shespokeinawonderingvoice:
“Itseemsalllikeabaddream—notreal.I—Ihaven’tbeenabletocryoranything.Onejustdoesn’tfeelanythingatall.”
Grangesaidsoothingly:
“That’stheshock,Mrs.Christow.”
“Yes,yes—Isupposeitis.Butyouseeitwasallsosudden.Iwentoutfromthehouseandalongthepathtotheswimmingpool—”
“Atwhattime,Mrs.Christow?”
“Itwasjustbeforeoneo’clock—abouttwominutestoone.IknowbecauseIlookedatthatclock.AndwhenIgotthere—therewasJohn,lyingthere—andbloodontheedgeoftheconcrete.”
“Didyouhearashot,Mrs.Christow?”
“Yes,—no—Idon’tknow.IknewSirHenryandMr.Angkatellwereoutshooting.I—IjustsawJohn—”
“Yes,Mrs.Christow?”
“John—andblood—andarevolver.Ipickeduptherevolver—”
“Why?”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
“Whydidyoupickuptherevolver,Mrs.Christow?”
“I—Idon’tknow.”
“Youshouldn’thavetouchedit,youknow.”
“Shouldn’tI?”Gerdawasvague,herfacevacant.“ButIdid.Ihelditinmyhands.”
Shelookeddownnowatherhandsasthoughshewas,infancy,seeingtherevolverlyinginthem.
Sheturnedsharplytotheinspector.Hervoicewassuddenlysharp—anguished.
“WhocouldhavekilledJohn?Nobodycouldhavewantedtokillhim.Hewas—hewasthebestofmen.Sokind,sounselfish—hedideverythingforotherpeople.Everybodylovedhim,Inspector.Hewasawonderfuldoctor.Thebestandkindestofhusbands.Itmusthavebeenanaccident—itmust—itmust!”
Sheflungoutahandtotheroom.
“Askanyone,Inspector.NobodycouldhavewantedtokillJohn,couldthey?”
Sheappealedtothemall.
InspectorGrangecloseduphisnotebook
“Thankyou,Mrs.Christow,”hesaidinanunemotionalvoice.“Thatwillbeallforthepresent.”
HerculePoirotandInspectorGrangewenttogetherthroughthechestnutwoodstotheswimmingpool.ThethingthathadbeenJohnChristowbutwhichwasnow“thebody”hadbeenphotographedandmeasuredandwrittenaboutandexaminedbythepolicesurgeon,andhadnowbeentakenawaytothemortuary.Theswimmingpool,Poirotthought,lookedcuriouslyinnocent.Everythingabouttoday,hethought,hadbeenstrangelyfluid.ExceptJohnChristow—hehadnotbeenfluid.Evenindeathhehadbeenpurposefulandobjective.Theswimmingpoolwasnotnowpreeminentlyaswimmingpool,itwastheplacewhereJohnChristow’sbodyhadlainandwherehislifebloodhadwelledawayoverconcreteintoartificiallybluewater.
Artificial—foramomentPoirotgraspedattheword.Yes,therehadbeensomethingartificialaboutitall.Asthough—
Amaninabathingsuitcameuptotheinspector.
“Here’stherevolver,sir,”hesaid.
Grangetookthedrippingobjectgingerly.
“Nohopeoffingerprintsnow,”heremarked,“butluckilyitdoesn’tmatterinthiscase.Mrs.Christowwasactuallyholdingtherevolverwhenyouarrived,wasn’tshe,M.Poirot?”
“Yes.”
“Identificationoftherevolveristhenextthing,”saidGrange.“IshouldimagineSirHenrywillbeabletodothatforus.Shegotitfromhisstudy,Ishouldsay.”
Hecastaglanceroundthepool.
“Now,let’shavethatagaintobequiteclear.Thepathbelowthepoolcomesupfromthefarmandthat’sthewayLadyAngkatellcame.Theothertwo,Mr.EdwardAngkatellandMissSavernake,camedownfromthewoods—butnottogether.Hecamebytheleft-handpath,andshebytheright-handonewhichleadsoutofthelongflowerwalkabovethehouse.Buttheywerebothstandingonthefarsideofthepoolwhen
“Yes.”
“Andthispathhere,besidethepavilion,leadsontoPodder’sLane.Right—we’llgoalongit.”
Astheywalked,Grangespoke,withoutexcitement,justwithknowledgeandquietpessimism.
“Neverlikethesecasesmuch,”hesaid.“Hadonelastyear—downnearAshridge.Retiredmilitaryman,hewas—distinguishedcareer.Wifewasthenicequiet,old-fashionedkind,sixty-five,greyhair—ratherprettyhairwithawaveinit.Didalotofgardening.Onedayshegoesuptohisroom,getsouthisservicerevolver,andwalksoutintothegardenandshootshim.Justlikethat!Agooddealbehindit,ofcourse,thatonehadtodigout.Sometimestheythinkupsomefoolstoryaboutatramp!Wepretendtoacceptit,ofcourse,keepthingsquietwhilstwe’remakinginquiries,butweknowwhat’swhat.”
“Youmean,”saidPoirot,“thatyouhavedecidedthatMrs.Christowshotherhusband.”
Grangegavehimalookofsurprise.
“Well,don’tyouthinkso?”
Poirotsaidslowly:“Itcouldallhavehappenedasshesaid.”
InspectorGrangeshruggedhisshoulders
“Itcouldhave—yes.Butit’sathinstory.Andtheyallthinkshekilledhim!Theyknowsomethingwedon’t.”Helookedcuriouslyathiscompanion.“Youthoughtshe’ddoneitallright,didn’tyou,whenyouarrivedonthescene?”
Poirothalf-closedhiseyes.Comingalongthepath…Gudgeonstepping…GerdaChristowstandingoverherhusbandwiththerevolverinherhandandthatblanklookonherface.Yes,asGrangehadsaid,hehadthoughtshehaddoneit…hadthought,atleast,thatthatwastheimpressionhewasmeanttohave.
Yes,butthatwasnotthesamething.
Ascenestaged—settodeceive.
HadGerdaChristowlookedlikeawomanwhohadjustshotherhusband?ThatwaswhatInspectorGrangewantedtoknow.
Andwithasuddenshockofsurprise,HerculePoirotrealizedthatinallhislongexperienceofdeedsofviolencehehadneveractuallycomefacetofacewithawomanwhohadjustkilledherhusband.Whatwouldawomanlooklikeinsuchcircumstances?Triumphant,horrified,satisfied,dazed,incredulous,empty?
Anyoneofthesethings,hethought.
InspectorGrangewastalking.Poirotcaughttheendofhisspeech.
“—Onceyougetallthefactsbehindthecase,andyoucanusuallygetallthatfromtheservants.”
“Mrs.ChristowisgoingbacktoLondon?”
“Yes.There’sacoupleofkidsthere.Havetolethergo.Ofcourse,wekeepasharpeyeonher,butshewon’tknowthat.Shethinksshe’sgotawaywithitallright.Looksratherastupidkindofwomantome….”
DidGerdaChristowrealize,Poirotwondered,whatthepolicethought—andwhattheAngkatellsthought?Shehadlookedasthoughshedidnotrealizeanythingatall.Shehadlookedlikeawomanwhosereactionswereslowandwhowascompletelydazedandheartbrokenbyherhusband’sdeath.
Theyhadcomeoutintothelane.
Poirotstoppedbyhisgate.Grangesaid:
“Thisyourlittleplace?Niceandsnug.Well,good-byeforthepresent,M.Poirot.Thanksforyourcooperation.I’lldropinsometimeandgiveyouthelowdownonhowwe’regettingon.”
Hiseyetravelledupthelane.
“Who’syourneighbour?That’snotwhereournewcelebrityhangsout,isit?”
“MissVeronicaCray,theactress,comesthereforweekends,Ibelieve.”
“Ofcourse.Dovecotes.IlikedherinLadyRidesonTiger,butshe’sabithighbrowformytaste.GivemeHedyLamarr.”
Heturnedaway.
“Well,Imustgetbacktothejob.Solong,M.Poirot.”
II
“Yourecognizethis,SirHenry?”
InspectorGrangelaidtherevolveronthedeskinfrontofSirHenryandlookedathimexpectantly.
“Icanhandleit?”SirHenry’shandhesitatedovertherevolverasheaskedthequestion.
Grangenodded.“It’sbeeninthepool.Destroyedwhateverfingerprintstherewereonit.Apity,ifImaysayso,thatMissSavernakeletitslipoutofherhand.”
“Yes,yes—butofcourseitwasaverytensemomentforallofus.Womenareapttogetflusteredand—er—dropthings.”
AgainInspectorGrangenodded.Hesaid:
“MissSavernakeseemsacool,capableyoungladyonthewhole.”
Thewordsweredevoidofemphasis,yetsomethinginthemmadeSirHenrylookupsharply.Grangewenton:
“Now,doyourecognizeit,sir?”
SirHenrypickeduptherevolverandexaminedit.Henotedthenumberandcompareditwithalistinasmallleather-boundbook.Then,closingthebookwithasigh,hesaid:
“Yes,Inspector,thiscomesfrommycollectionhere.”
“Whendidyouseeitlast?”
“Yesterdayafternoon.Weweredoingsomeshootinginthegardenwithatarget,andthiswasoneofthefirearmswewereusing.”
“Whoactuallyfiredthisrevolveronthatoccasion?”
“Ithinkeverybodyhadatleastoneshotwithit.”
“IncludingMrs.Christow?”
“IncludingMrs.Christow.”
“Andafteryouhadfinishedshooting?”
“Iputtherevolverawayinitsusualplace.Here.”
Hepulledoutthedrawerofabigbureau.Itwashalf-fullofguns.
“You’vegotabigcollectionoffirearms,SirHenry.”
“It’sbeenahobbyofmineformanyyears.”
InspectorGrange’seyesrestedthoughtfullyontheex-GovernoroftheHolloweneIslands.Agood-looking,distinguishedman,thekindofmanhewouldbequitepleasedtoserveunderhimself—infact,amanhewouldmuchprefertohisownpresentChiefConstable.InspectorGrangedidnotthinkmuchoftheChiefConstableofWealdshire—afussydespotandatuft-hunter.Hebroughthismindbacktothejobinhand.
“Therevolverwasnot,ofcourse,loadedwhenyouputitaway,SirHenry?”
“Certainlynot.”
“Andyoukeepyourammunition—where?”
“Here.”SirHenrytookakeyfromapigeonholeandunlockedoneofthelowerdrawersofthedesk.
“Simpleenough,”thoughtGrange.TheChristowwomanhadseenwhereitwaskept.She’donlygottocomealongandhelpherself.Jealousy,hethought,playsthedickenswithwomen.He’dlaytentooneitwasjealousy.Thethingwouldcomeclearenoughwhenhe’dfinishedtheroutinehereandgotontotheHarleyStreetend.Butyou’dgottodothingsintheirproperorder.
Hegotupandsaid:
“Well,thankyou,SirHenry.I’llletyouknowabouttheinquest.”
Thirteen
Theyhadthecoldducksforsupper.Aftertheduckstherewasacaramelcustardwhich,LadyAngkatellsaid,showedjusttherightfeelingonthepartofMrs.Medway.
Cooking,shesaid,reallygavegreatscopetodelicacyoffeeling.
“Weareonly,assheknows,moderatelyfondofcaramelcustard.Therewouldbesomethingverygross,justafterthedeathofafriend,ineatingone’sfavouritepudding.Butcaramelcustardissoeasy—slipperyifyouknowwhatImean—andthenoneleavesalittleonone’splate.”
ShesighedandsaidthatshehopedtheyhaddonerightinlettingGerdagobacktoLondon.
“ButquitecorrectofHenrytogowithher.”
ForSirHenryhadinsistedondrivingGerdatoHarleyStreet.
“Shewillcomebackherefortheinquest,ofcourse,”wentonLadyAngkatell,meditativelyeatingcaramelcustard.“Butnaturallyshewantedtobreakittothechildren—theymightseeitinthepapersandonlyaFrenchwomaninthehouse—oneknowshowexcitable—acrisedenerfs,possibly.ButHenrywilldealwithher,andIreallythinkGerdawillbequiteallright.Shewillprobablysendforsomerelations—sistersperhaps.Gerdaisthesortofpersonwhoissuretohavesisters—threeorfour,Ishouldthink,probablylivingatTunbridgeWells.”
“Whatextraordinarythingsyoudosay,Lucy,”saidMidge.
“Well,darling,Torquayifyoupreferit—no,notTorquay.Theywouldbeatleastsixty-fiveiftheywerelivingatTorquay.Eastbourne,perhaps,orSt.Leonards.”
LadyAngkatelllookedatthelastspoonfulofcaramelcustard,seemedtocondolewithit,andlaiditdownverygentlyuneaten.
David,whoonlylikedsavouries,lookeddowngloomilyathisemptyplate.
LadyAngkatellgotup.
“Ithinkweshallallwanttogotobedearlytonight,”shesaid.“Somuchhashappened,hasn’tit?Onehasnoideafromreadingaboutthesethingsinthepaperhowtiringtheyare.Ifeel,youknow,asthoughIhadwalkedaboutfifteenmiles.Insteadofactuallyhavingdonenothingbutsitdown—butthatistiring,too,becauseonedoesnotliketoreadabookoranewspaper,itlookssoheartless.ThoughIthinkperhapstheleadingarticleinTheObserverwouldhavebeenallright—butnottheNewsoftheWorld.Don’tyouagreewithme,David?Iliketoknowwhattheyoungpeoplethink,itkeepsonefromlosingtouch.”
DavidsaidinagruffvoicethatheneverreadtheNewsoftheWorld.
“Ialwaysdo,”saidLadyAngkatell.“Wepretendwegetitfortheservants,butGudgeonisveryunderstandingandnevertakesitoutuntilaftertea.Itisamostinterestingpaper,allaboutwomenwhoputtheirheadsingasovens—anincrediblenumberofthem!”
“Whatwilltheydointhehousesofthefuturewhichareallelectric?”askedEdwardAngkatellwithafaintsmile.
“Isupposetheywilljusthavetodecidetomakethebestofthings—somuchmoresensible.”
“Idisagreewithyou,sir,”saidDavid,“aboutthehousesofthefuturebeingallelectric.Therecanbecommunalheatinglaidonfromacentralsupply.Everyworking-classhouseshouldbecompletelylaboursaving.”
EdwardAngkatellsaidhastilythathewasafraidthatwasasubjecthewasnotverywellupin.David’slipcurledwithscorn.
Gudgeonbroughtincoffeeonatray,movingalittleslowerthanusualtoconveyasenseofmourning.
“Oh,Gudgeon,”saidLadyAngkatell,“aboutthoseeggs.Imeanttowritethedateinpencilonthemasusual.WillyouaskMrs.Medwaytoseetoit?”
“Ithinkyouwillfind,mylady,thateverythinghasbeenattendedtoquitesatisfactorily.”Heclearedhisthroat.“Ihaveseentothingsmyself.”
“Oh,thankyou,Gudgeon.”
AsGudgeonwentoutshemurmured:“Really,Gudgeoniswonderful.Theservantsareallbeingmarvellous.Andonedoessosympathizewiththemhavingthepolicehere—itmustbedreadfulforthem.Bytheway,arethereanyleft?”
“Police,doyoumean?”askedMidge.
“Yes.Don’ttheyusuallyleaveonestandinginthehall?Orperhapshe’swatchingthefrontdoorfromtheshrubberyoutside.”
“Whyshouldhewatchthefrontdoor?”
“Idon’tknow,I’msure.Theydoinbooks.Andthensomebodyelseismurderedinthenight.”
“Oh,Lucy,don’t,”saidMidge.
LadyAngkatelllookedathercuriously.
“Darling,Iamsosorry.Stupidofme.Andofcoursenobodyelsecouldbemurdered.Gerda’sgonehome—Imean—Oh,Henriettadear,Iamsorry.Ididn’tmeantosaythat.”
ButHenriettadidnotanswer.Shewasstandingbytheroundtablestaringdownatthebridgescoreshehadkeptlastnight.
Shesaid,rousingherself,“Sorry,Lucy,whatdidyousay?”
“Iwonderediftherewereanypoliceleftover.”
“Likeremnantsinasale?Idon’tthinkso.They’veallgonebacktothepolicestation,towriteoutwhatwesaidinproperpolicelanguage.”
“Whatareyoulookingat,Henrietta?”
“Nothing.”
Henriettamovedacrosstothemantelpiece.
“WhatdoyouthinkVeronicaCrayisdoingtonight?”sheasked.
AlookofdismaycrossedLadyAngkatell’sface.
“Mydear!Youdon’tthinkshemightcomeoverhereagain?Shemusthaveheardbynow.”
“Yes,”saidHenriettathoughtfully.“Isupposeshe’sheard.”
“Whichremindsme,”saidLadyAngkatell.“IreallymusttelephonetotheCareys.Wecan’thavethemcomingtolunchtomorrowjustasthoughnothinghadhappened.”
Shelefttheroom.
David,hatinghisrelations,murmuredthathewantedtolookupsomethingintheEncyclop?diaBritannica.Thelibrary,hethought,wouldbeapeacefulplace.
Henriettawenttothefrenchwindows,openedthem,andpassedthrough.Afteramoment’shesitationEdwardfollowedher.
Hefoundherstandingoutsidelookingupatthesky.Shesaid:
“Notsowarmaslastnight,isit?”
Inhispleasantvoice,Edwardsaid:“No,distinctlychilly.”
Shewasstandinglookingupatthehouse.Hereyeswererunningalongthewindows.Thensheturnedandlookedtowardsthewoods.Hehadnocluetowhatwasinhermind.
Hemadeamovementtowardstheopenwindow.
“Bettercomein.It’scold.”
Sheshookherhead.
“I’mgoingforastroll.Totheswimmingpool.”
“Oh,mydear.”Hetookaquicksteptowardsher.“I’llcomewithyou.”
“No,thankyou,Edward.”Hervoicecutsharplythroughthechilloftheair.“Iwanttobealonewithmydead.”
“Henrietta!Mydear—Ihaven’tsaidanything.Butyoudoknowhow—howsorryIam.”
“Sorry?ThatJohnChristowisdead?”
Therewasstillthebrittlesharpnessinhertone.
“Imeant—sorryforyou,Henrietta.Iknowitmusthavebeena—agreatshock.”
“Shock?Oh,butI’mverytough,Edward.Icanstandshocks.Wasitashocktoyou?Whatdidyoufeelwhenyousawhimlyingthere?Glad,Isuppose.Youdidn’tlikeJohnChristow.”
Edwardmurmured:“HeandI—hadn’tmuchincommon.”
“Hownicelyyouputthings!Insucharestrainedway.Butasamatteroffactyoudidhaveonethingincommon.Me!Youwerebothfondofme,weren’tyou?Onlythatdidn’tmakeabondbetweenyou—quitetheopposite.”
Themooncamefitfullythroughacloudandhewasstartledashesuddenlysawherfacelookingathim.UnconsciouslyhealwayssawHenriettaasaprojectionoftheHenriettahehadknownatAinswick.Shewasalwaystohimalaughinggirl,withdancingeyesfullofeagerexpectation.Thewomanhesawnowseemedtohimastranger,witheyesthatwerebrilliantbutcoldandwhichseemedtolookathiminimically.
Hesaidearnestly:
“Henrietta,dearest,dobelievethis—thatIdosympathizewithyou—in—inyourgrief,yourloss.”
“Isitgrief?”
Thequestionstartledhim.Sheseemedtobeaskingit,notofhim,butofherself.
Shesaidinalowvoice:
“Soquick—itcanhappensoquickly.Onemomentliving,breathing,andthenext—dead—gone—emptiness.Oh,theemptiness!Andhereweare,allofus,eatingcaramelcustardandcallingourselvesalive—andJohn,whowasmorealivethananyofus,isdead.Isaytheword,youknow,overandoveragaintomyself.Dead—dead—dead—dead—dead.Andsoonithasn’tgotanymeaning—notanymeaningatall.It’sjustafunnylittlewordlikethebreakingoffarottenbranch.Dead—dead—dead—dead.It’slikeatom-tom,isn’tit,beatinginthejungle.Dead—dead—dead—dead—dead—”
“Henrietta,stop!ForGod’ssake,stop!”
Shelookedathimcuriously.
“Didn’tyouknowI’dfeellikethis?Whatdidyouthink?ThatI’dsitgentlycryingintoanicelittlepockethandkerchiefwhileyouheldmyhand?ThatitwouldallbeagreatshockbutthatpresentlyI’dbegintogetoverit?Andthatyou’dcomfortmeverynicely?Youarenice,Edward.You’reverynice,butyou’reso—soinadequate.”
Hedrewback.Hisfacestiffened.Hesaidinadryvoice:
“Yes,I’vealwaysknownthat.”
Shewentonfiercely:
“Whatdoyouthinkit’sbeenlikealltheevening,sittinground,withJohndeadandnobodycaringbutmeandGerda!Withyouglad,andDavidembarrassedandMidgedistressedandLucydelicatelyenjoyingtheNewsoftheWorldcomefromprintintoreallife!Can’tyouseehowlikeafantasticnightmareitallis?”
Edwardsaidnothing.Hesteppedbackapace,intoshadows.
Lookingathim,Henriettasaid:
“Tonight—nothingseemsrealtome,nobodyisreal—butJohn!”
Edwardsaidquietly:“Iknow…Iamnotveryreal.”
“WhatabruteIam,Edward.ButIcan’thelpit.Ican’thelpresentingthatJohn,whowassoalive,isdead.”
“AndthatIwhoamhalf-dead,amalive.”
“Ididn’tmeanthat,Edward.”
“Ithinkyoudid,Henrietta.Ithink,perhaps,youareright.”
Butshewassaying,thoughtfully,harkingbacktoanearlierthought:
“Butitisnotgrief.PerhapsIcannotfeelgrief.PerhapsInevershall.Andyet—IwouldliketogrieveforJohn.”
Herwordsseemedtohimfantastic.Yethewasevenmorestartledwhensheaddedsuddenly,inanalmostbusinesslikevoice:
“Imustgototheswimmingpool.”
Sheglidedawaythroughthetrees.
Walkingstiffly,Edwardwentthroughtheopenwindow.
MidgelookedupasEdwardcamethroughthewindowwithunseeingeyes.Hisfacewasgreyandpinched.Itlookedbloodless.
HedidnothearthelittlegaspthatMidgestifledimmediately.
Almostmechanicallyhewalkedtoachairandsatdown.Awareofsomethingexpectedofhim,hesaid:
“It’scold.”
“Areyouverycold,Edward?Shallwe—shallI—lightafire?”
“What?”
Midgetookaboxofmatchesfromthemantelpiece.Shekneltdownandsetamatchtothefire.ShelookedcautiouslysidewaysatEdward.Hewasquiteoblivious,shethought,ofeverything.
Shesaid:“Afireisnice.Itwarmsone.”
“Howcoldhelooks,”shethought.“Butitcan’tbeascoldasthatoutside?It’sHenrietta!Whathasshesaidtohim?”
“Bringyourchairnearer,Edward.Comeclosetothefire.”
“What?”
“Oh,itwasnothing.Justthefire.”
Shewastalkingtohimnowloudlyandslowly,asthoughtoadeafperson.
Andsuddenly,sosuddenlythatherheartturnedoverwithrelief,Edward,therealEdward,wasthereagain.Smilingathergently:
“Haveyoubeentalkingtome,Midge?I’msorry.I’mafraidIwasthinking—thinkingofsomething.”
“Oh,itwasnothing.Justthefire.”
Thestickswerecracklingandsomefirconeswereburningwithabright,cleanflame.Edwardlookedatthem.Hesaid:
“It’sanicefire.”
Hestretchedouthislong,thinhandstotheblaze,awareofrelieffromtension.
Midgesaid:“WealwayshadfirconesatAinswick.”
“Istilldo.Abasketofthemisbroughteverydayandputbythegrate.”
EdwardatAinswick.Midgehalf-closedhereyes,picturingit.Hewouldsit,shethought,inthelibrary,onthewestsideofthehouse.Therewasamagnoliathatalmostcoveredonewindowandwhichfilledtheroomwithagoldengreenlightintheafternoons.ThroughtheotherwindowyoulookedoutonthelawnandatallWellingtoniastooduplikeasentinel.Andtotherightwasthebigcopperbeech.
Oh,Ainswick—Ainswick.
Shecouldsmellthesoftairthatdriftedinfromthemagnoliawhichwouldstill,inSeptember,havesomegreatwhitesweet-smellingwaxyflowersonit.Andthepineconesonthefire.AndafaintlymustysmellfromthekindofbookthatEdwardwassuretobereading.Hewouldbesittinginthesaddlebackchair,andoccasionally,perhaps,hiseyeswouldgofromthebooktothefire,andhewouldthink,justforaminute,ofHenrietta.
Midgestirredandasked:
“WhereisHenrietta?”
“Shewenttotheswimmingpool.”
Midgestared.“Why?”
Hervoice,abruptanddeep,rousedEdwardalittle.
“MydearMidge,surelyyouknew—oh,well—guessed.SheknewChristowprettywell.”
“Oh,ofcourseoneknewthat.ButIdon’tseewhysheshouldgomooningofftowherehewasshot.That’snotatalllikeHenrietta.She’snevermelodramatic.”
“Doanyofusknowwhatanyoneelseislike?Henrietta,forinstance.”
Midgefrowned.Shesaid:
“Afterall,Edward,youandIhaveknownHenriettaallourlives.”
“Shehaschanged.”
“Notreally.Idon’tthinkonechanges.”
“Henriettahaschanged.”
Midgelookedathimcuriously.
“Morethanwehave,youandI?”
“Oh,Ihavestoodstill,Iknowthatwellenough.Andyou—”
Hiseyes,suddenlyfocusing,lookedatherwhereshekneltbythefender.Itwasasthoughhewaslookingatherfromalongwayaway,takinginthesquarechin,thedarkeyes,theresolutemouth.Hesaid:
“IwishIsawyoumoreoften,Midge,mydear.”
Shesmiledupathim.Shesaid:
“Iknow.Itisn’teasy,thesedays,tokeepintouch.”
TherewasasoundoutsideandEdwardgotup.
“Lucywasright,”hesaid.“Ithasbeenatiringday—one’sfirstintroductiontomurder.Ishallgotobed.Goodnight.”
HehadlefttheroomwhenHenriettacamethroughthewindow.
Midgeturnedonher.
“WhathaveyoudonetoEdward?”
“Edward?”Henriettawasvague.Herforeheadwaspuckered.Sheseemedtobethinkingofsomethingalongwayaway.
“Yes,Edward.Hecameinlookingdreadful—socoldandgrey.”
“IfyoucareaboutEdwardsomuch,Midge,whydon’tyoudosomethingabouthim?”
“Dosomething?Whatdoyoumean?”
“Idon’tknow.Standonachairandshout!Drawattentiontoyourself.Don’tyouknowthat’stheonlyhopewithamanlikeEdward?”
“Edwardwillnevercareaboutanyonebutyou,Henrietta.Heneverhas.”
“Thenit’sveryunintelligentofhim.”ShethrewaquickglanceatMidge’swhiteface.“I’vehurtyou.I’msorry.ButIhateEdwardtonight.”
“HateEdward?Youcan’t.”
“Oh,yes,Ican!Youdon’tknow—”
“What?”
Henriettasaidslowly:
“HeremindsmeofsuchalotofthingsIwouldliketoforget.”
“Whatthings?”
“Well,Ainswick,forinstance.”
“Ainswick?YouwanttoforgetAinswick?”
Midge’stonewasincredulous.
“Yes,yes,yes!Iwashappythere.Ican’tstand,justnow,beingremindedofhappiness.Don’tyouunderstand?Atimewhenonedidn’tknowwhatwascoming.Whenonesaidconfidently,everythingisgoingtobelovely!Somepeoplearewise—theyneverexpecttobehappy.Idid.”
Shesaidabruptly:
“IshallnevergobacktoAinswick.”
Midgesaidslowly:
“Iwonder.”
Fourteen
MidgewokeupabruptlyonMondaymorning
Foramomentshelaytherebemused,hereyesgoingconfusedlytowardsthedoor,forshehalf-expectedLadyAngkatelltoappear.WhatwasitLucyhadsaidwhenshecamedriftinginthatfirstmorning?
Adifficultweekend?Shehadbeenworried—hadthoughtthatsomethingunpleasantmighthappen.
Yes,andsomethingunpleasanthadhappened—somethingthatwaslyingnowuponMidge’sheartandspiritslikeathickblackcloud.Somethingthatshedidn’twanttothinkabout—didn’twanttoremember.Something,surely,thatfrightenedher.SomethingtodowithEdward.
Memorycamewitharush.Oneuglystarkword—Murder!
“Oh,no,”thoughtMidge,“itcan’tbetrue.It’sadreamI’vebeenhaving.JohnChristow,murdered,shot—lyingtherebythepool.Bloodandbluewater—likeajacketofadetectivestory.Fantastic,unreal.Thesortofthingthatdoesn’thappentooneself.IfwewereatAinswicknow.Itcouldn’thavehappenedatAinswick.”
Theblackweightmovedfromherforehead.Itsettledinthepitofherstomach,makingherfeelslightlysick.
Itwasnotadream.Itwasarealhappening—aNewsoftheWorldhappening—andsheandEdwardandLucyandHenryandHenriettawereallmixedupwithit.
Unfair—surelyunfair—sinceitwasnothingtodowiththemifGerdahadshotherhusband.
Midgestirreduneasily.
Quiet,stupid,slightlypatheticGerda—youcouldn’tassociateGerdawithmelodrama—withviolence.
Gerda,surely,couldn’tshootanybody.
Againthatinwarduneasinessrose.No,no,onemustn’tthinklikethat.BecausewhoelsecouldhaveshotJohn?AndGerdahadbeenstandingtherebyhisbodywiththerevolverinherhand.TherevolvershehadtakenfromHenry’sstudy.
GerdahadsaidthatshehadfoundJohndeadandpickeduptherevolver.Well,whatelsecouldshesay?She’dhavetosaysomething,poorthing.
AllverywellforHenriettatodefendher—tosaythatGerda’sstorywasperfectlypossible.Henriettahadn’tconsideredtheimpossiblealternatives.
Henriettahadbeenveryoddlastnight.
Butthat,ofcourse,hadbeentheshockofJohnChristow’sdeath.
PoorHenrietta—whohadcaredsoterriblyforJohn.
Butshewouldgetoveritintime—onegotovereverything.AndthenshewouldmarryEdwardandliveatAinswick—andEdwardwouldbehappyatlast.
HenriettahadalwayslovedEdwardverydearly.Itwasonlytheaggressive,dominantpersonalityofJohnChristowthathadcomeintheway.HehadmadeEdwardlookso—sopalebycomparison.
ItstruckMidgewhenshecamedowntobreakfastthatmorningthatalreadyEdward’spersonality,freedfromJohnChristow’sdominance,hadbeguntoassertitself.Heseemedmoresureofhimself,lesshesitantandretiring.
HewastalkingpleasantlytothegloweringandunresponsiveDavid.
“YoumustcomemoreoftentoAinswick,David.I’dlikeyoutofeelathomethereandtogettoknowallabouttheplace.”
Helpinghimselftomarmalade,Davidsaidcoldly:
“Thesebigestatesarecompletelyfarcical.Theyshouldbesplitup.”
“Thatwon’thappeninmytime,Ihope,”saidEdward,smiling.“Mytenantsareacontentedlot.”
“Theyshouldn’tbe,”saidDavid.“Nobodyshouldbecontented.”
“Ifapeshadbeencontentwithtails—”murmuredLadyAngkatellfromwhereshewasstandingbythesideboardlookingvaguelyatadishofkidneys.“That’sapoemIlearntinthenursery,butIsimplycan’trememberhowitgoeson.Imusthaveatalkwithyou,David,andlearnallthenewideas.AsfarasIcansee,onemusthateeverybody,butatthesametimegivethemfreemedicalattentionandalotofextraeducation(poorthings,allthosehelplesslittlechildrenherdedintoschoolhouseseveryday)—andcod-liveroilforceddownbabies’throatswhethertheylikeitornot—suchnasty-smellingstuff.”
Lucy,Midgethought,wasbehavingverymuchasusual.
AndGudgeon,whenshepassedhiminthehall,alsolookedjustasusual.LifeatTheHollowseemedtohaveresumeditsnormalcourse.WiththedepartureofGerda,thewholebusinessseemedlikeadream.
Thentherewasascrunchofwheelsonthegraveloutside,andSirHenrydrewupinhiscar.Hehadstayedthenightathisclubanddrivendownearly.
“Well,dear,”saidLucy,“waseverythingallright?”
“Yes.Thesecretarywasthere—competentsortofgirl.Shetookchargeofthings.There’sasister,itseems.Thesecretarytelegraphedtoher.”
“Iknewtherewouldbe,”saidLadyAngkatell.“AtTunbridgeWells?”
“Bexhill,Ithink,”saidSirHenry,lookingpuzzled.
“Idaresay”—LucyconsideredBexhill.“Yes—quiteprobably.”
Gudgeonapproached.
“InspectorGrangetelephoned,SirHenry.Theinquestwillbeateleveno’clockonWednesday.”
SirHenrynodded.LadyAngkatellsaid:
“Midge,you’dbetterringupyourshop.”
Midgewentslowlytothetelephone.
Herlifehadalwaysbeensoentirelynormalandcommonplacethatshefeltshelackedthephraseologytoexplaintoheremployersthatafterfourdays’holidayshewasunabletoreturntoworkowingtothefactthatshewasmixedupinamurdercase.
Itdidnotsoundcredible.Itdidnotevenfeelcredible.
AndMadameAlfregewasnotaveryeasypersontoexplainthingstoatanytime
Midgesetherchinresolutelyandpickedupthereceiver.
Itwasalljustasunpleasantasshehadimagineditwouldbe.TheraucousvoiceofthevitrioliclittleJewesscameangrilyoverthewires.
“Whatwaththat,MithHardcathle?Adeath?Afuneral?DoyounotknowverywellIamshorthanded?DoyouthinkIamgoingtostandfortheseexcutheth?Oh,yeth,youarehavingagoodtime,Idarethay!”
Midgeinterrupted,speakingsharplyanddistinctly.
“Thepoleeth?Thepoleeth,youthay?”Itwasalmostascream.“Youaremixedupwiththepoleeth?”
Settingherteeth,Midgecontinuedtoexplain.Strangehowsordidthatwomanattheotherendmadethewholethingseem.Avulgarpolicecase.Whatalchemytherewasinhumanbeings!
Edwardopenedthedoorandcamein,thenseeingthatMidgewastelephoning,hewasabouttogoout.Shestoppedhim.
“Dostay,Edward.Please.Oh,Iwantyouto.”
ThepresenceofEdwardintheroomgaveherstrength—counteractedthepoison.
Shetookherhandfromwhereshehadlaiditoverthemouthpiece.
“What?Yes.Iamsorry,Madame.Butafterall,itishardlymyfault—”
Theuglyraucousvoicewasscreamingangrily.
“Whoarethethefriendthofyourth?Whatthortofpeoplearetheytohavethepoleeththereandamanshot?I’veagoodmindnottohaveyoubackatall!Ican’thavethetoneofmyethtablishmentlowered.”
Midgemadeafewsubmissivenoncommittalreplies.Shereplacedthereceiveratlast,withasighofrelief.Shefeltsickandshaken.
“It’stheplaceIwork,”sheexplained.“IhadtoletthemknowthatIwouldn’tbebackuntilThursdaybecauseoftheinquestandthe—thepolice.”
“Ihopetheyweredecentaboutit?Whatisitlike,thisdressshopofyours?Isthewomanwhorunsitpleasantandsympathetictoworkfor?”
“Ishouldhardlydescribeherasthat!She’saWhitechapelJewesswithdyedhairandavoicelikeacorncrake.”
“ButmydearMidge—”
Edward’sfaceofconsternationalmostmadeMidgelaugh.Hewassoconcerned.
“Butmydearchild—youcan’tputupwiththatsortofthing.Ifyoumusthaveajob,youmusttakeonewherethesurroundingsareharmoniousandwhereyoulikethepeopleyouareworkingwith.”
Midgelookedathimforamomentwithoutanswering.
Howexplain,shethought,toapersonlikeEdward?WhatdidEdwardknowofthelabourmarket,ofjobs?
Andsuddenlyatideofbitternessroseinher.Lucy,Henry,Edward—yes,evenHenrietta—theywerealldividedfromherbyanimpassablegulf—thegulfthatseparatestheleisuredfromtheworking.
Theyhadnoconceptionofthedifficultiesofgettingajob,andonceyouhadgotit,ofkeepingit!Onemightsay,perhaps,thattherewasnoneed,actually,forhertoearnherliving.LucyandHenrywouldgladlygiveherahome—theywouldwithequalgladnesshavemadeheranallowance.Edwardwouldalsowillinglyhavedonethelatter.
ButsomethinginMidgerebelledagainsttheacceptanceofeaseofferedherbyherwell-to-dorelations.Tocomeonrareoccasionsandsinkintothewell-orderedluxuryofLucy’slifewasdelightful.Shecouldrevelinthat.Butsomesturdyindependenceofspiritheldherbackfromacceptingthatlifeasagift.Thesamefeelinghadpreventedherfromstartingabusinessonherownwithmoneyborrowedfromrelationsandfriends.Shehadseentoomuchofthat.
Shewouldborrownomoney—usenoinfluence.Shehadfoundajobforherselfatfourpoundsaweek,andifshehadactuallybeengiventhejobbecauseMadameAlfregehopedthatMidgewouldbringher“smart”friendstobuy,MadameAlfregewasdisappointed.Midgediscouragedanysuchnotionsternlyonthepartofherfriends.
Shehadnoparticularillusionsaboutworking.Shedislikedtheshop,shedislikedMadameAlfrege,shedislikedtheeternalsubserviencetoill-temperedandimpolitecustomers,butshedoubtedverymuchwhethershecouldobtainanyotherjobwhichshewouldlikebettersinceshehadnoneofthenecessaryqualifications.
Edward’sassumptionthatawiderangeofchoicewasopentoherwassimplyunbearablyirritatingthismorning.WhatrighthadEdwardtoliveinaworldsodivorcedfromreality?
TheywereAngkatells,allofthem.Andshe—wasonlyhalfanAngkatell!Andsometimes,likethismorning,shedidnotfeellikeanAngkatellatall!Shewasallherfather’sdaughter.
Shethoughtofherfatherwiththeusualpangofloveandcompunction,agrey-haired,middle-agedmanwithatiredface.Amanwhohadstruggledforyearsrunningasmallfamilybusinessthatwasbound,forallhiscareandefforts,togoslowlydownthehill.Itwasnotincapacityonhispart—itwasthemarchofprogress.
Strangelyenough,itwasnottoherbrilliantAngkatellmotherbuttoherquiet,tiredfatherthatMidge’sdevotionhadalwaysbeengiven.Eachtime,whenshecamebackfromthosevisitstoAinswick,whichwerethewilddelightofherlife,shewouldanswerthefaintdeprecatingquestionsinherfather’stiredfacebyflingingherarmsroundhisneckandsaying:“I’mgladtobehome—I’mgladtobehome.”
HermotherhaddiedwhenMidgewasthirteen.SometimesMidgerealizedthatsheknewverylittleabouthermother.Shehadbeenvague,charming,gay.Hadsheregrettedhermarriage,themarriagethathadtakenheroutsidethecircleoftheAngkatellclan?Midgehadnoidea.Herfatherhadgrowngreyerandquieterafterhiswife’sdeath.Hisstrugglesagainsttheextinctionofhisbusinesshadgrownmoreunavailing.HehaddiedquietlyandinconspicuouslywhenMidgewaseighteen.
MidgehadstayedwithvariousAngkatellrelations,hadacceptedpresentsfromtheAngkatells,hadhadgoodtimeswiththeAngkatells,butshehadrefusedtobefinanciallydependentontheirgoodwill.Andmuchasshelovedthem,thereweretimes,suchasthese,whenshefeltsuddenlyandviolentlydivergentfromthem.
Shethoughtwithrancour:“Theydon’tknowanything!”
Edward,sensitiveasalways,waslookingatherwithapuzzledface.Heaskedgently:
“I’veupsetyou?Why?”
Lucydriftedintotheroom.Shewasinthemiddleofoneofherconversations.
“—yousee,onedoesn’treallyknowwhethershe’dprefertheWhiteHarttousornot?”
Midgelookedatherblankly—thenatEdward.
“It’snouselookingatEdward,”saidLadyAngkatell.“Edwardsimplywouldn’tknow;you,Midge,arealwayssopractical.”
“Idon’tknowwhatyouaretalkingabout,Lucy.”
Lucylookedsurprised.
“Theinquest,darling.Gerdahastocomedownforit.Shouldshestayhere?OrgototheWhiteHart?Theassociationsherearepainful,ofcourse—butthenattheWhiteHarttherewillbepeoplewhowillstareandquantitiesofreporters.Wednesday,youknow,ateleven,orisiteleventhirty?”AsmilelitupLadyAngkatell’sface.“Ihaveneverbeentoaninquest!Ithoughtmygrey—andahat,ofcourse,likechurch—butnotgloves.
“Youknow,”wentonLadyAngkatell,crossingtheroomandpickingupthetelephonereceiverandgazingdownatitearnestly,“Idon’tbelieveI’vegotanyglovesexceptgardeningglovesnowadays!AndofcourselotsoflongeveningonesputawayfromtheGovernmentHousedays.Glovesareratherstupid,don’tyouthinkso?”
“Theonlyuseistoavoidfingerprintsincrimes,”saidEdward,smiling.
“Now,it’sveryinterestingthatyoushouldsaythat,Edward—veryinteresting.WhatamIdoingwiththisthing?”LadyAngkatelllookedatthetelephonereceiverwithfaintdistaste.
“Wereyougoingtoringupsomeone?”
“Idon’tthinkso.”LadyAngkatellshookherheadvaguelyandputthereceiverbackonitsstandverygingerly.
ShelookedfromEdwardtoMidge.
“Idon’tthink,Edward,thatyououghttoupsetMidge.Midgemindssuddendeathsmorethanwedo.”
“MydearLucy,”exclaimedEdward.“IwasonlyworryingaboutthisplacewhereMidgeworks.Itsoundsallwrongtome.”
“EdwardthinksIoughttohaveadelightfulsympatheticemployerwhowouldappreciateme,”saidMidgedryly.
“DearEdward,”saidLucywithcompleteappreciation.
ShesmiledatMidgeandwentoutagain.
“Seriously,Midge,”saidEdward,“Iamworried.”
Sheinterruptedhim:
“Thedamnedwomanpaysmefourpoundsaweek.That’sallthatmatters.”
Shebrushedpasthimandwentoutintothegarden.
SirHenrywassittinginhisusualplaceonthelowwall,butMidgeturnedawayandwalkeduptowardstheflowerwalk
Herrelationswerecharming,butshehadnousefortheircharmthismorning.
DavidAngkatellwassittingontheseatatthetopofthepath.
TherewasnooverdonecharmaboutDavid,andMidgemadestraightforhimandsatdownbyhim,notingwithmaliciouspleasurehislookofdismay.
Howextraordinarilydifficultitwas,thoughtDavid,togetawayfrompeople.
Hehadbeendrivenfromhisbedroombythebriskincursionofhousemaids,purposefulwithmopsanddusters.
Thelibrary(andtheEncyclop?diaBritannica)hadnotbeenthesanctuaryhehadhopedoptimisticallyitmightbe.TwiceLadyAngkatellhaddriftedinandout,addressinghimkindlywithremarkstowhichthereseemednopossibleintelligentreply.
Hehadcomeoutheretobrooduponhisposition.Themereweekendtowhichhehadunwillinglycommittedhimselfhadnowlengthenedoutowingtotheexigenciesconnectedwithsuddenandviolentdeath.
David,whopreferredthecontemplationofanAcademicpastortheearnestdiscussionofaLeftWingfuture,hadnoaptitudefordealingwithaviolentandrealisticpresent.AshehadtoldLadyAngkatell,hedidnotreadtheNewsoftheWorld.ButnowtheNewsoftheWorldseemedtohavecometoTheHollow.
Murder!Davidshuddereddistastefully.Whatwouldhisfriendsthink?Howdidone,sotospeak,takemurder?Whatwasone’sattitude?Bored?Disgusted?Lightlyamused?
Tryingtosettletheseproblemsinhismind,hewasbynomeanspleasedtobedisturbedbyMidge.Helookedatheruneasilyasshesatbesidehim.
Hewasratherstartledbythedefiantstarewithwhichshereturnedhislook.Adisagreeablegirlofnointellectualvalue.
Shesaid,“Howdoyoulikeyourrelations?”
Davidshruggedhisshoulders.Hesaid:
“Doesonereallythinkaboutrelations?”
Midgesaid:
“Doesonereallythinkaboutanything?”
Doubtless,Davidthought,shedidn’t.Hesaidalmostgraciously:
“Iwasanalysingmyreactionstomurder.”
“Itiscertainlyodd,”saidMidge,“tobeinone.”
Davidsighedandsaid:
“Wearisome.”Thatwasquitethebestattitude.“Alltheclichésthatonethoughtonlyexistedinthepagesofdetectivefiction!”
“Youmustbesorryyoucame,”saidMidge.
Davidsighed.
“Yes,ImighthavebeenstayingwithafriendofmineinLondon.”Headded,“HekeepsaLeftWingbookshop.”
“Iexpectit’smorecomfortablehere,”saidMidge.
“Doesonereallycareaboutbeingcomfortable?”Davidaskedscornfully.
“Therearetimes,”saidMidge,“whenIfeelIdon’tcareaboutanythingelse.”
“Thepamperedattitudetolife,”saidDavid.“Ifyouwereaworker—”
Midgeinterruptedhim.
“Iamaworker.That’sjustwhybeingcomfortableissoattractive.Boxbeds,downpillows—early-morningteasoftlydepositedbesidethebed—aporcelainbathwithlashingsofhotwater—anddeliciousbathsalts.Thekindofeasychairyoureallysinkinto….”
Midgepausedinhercatalogue.
“Theworkers,”saidDavid,“shouldhaveallthesethings.”
Buthewasalittledoubtfulaboutthesoftlydepositedearly-morningtea,whichsoundedimpossiblysybariticforanearnestlyorganizedworld.
“Icouldn’tagreewithyoumore,”saidMidgeheartily.
Fifteen
HerculePoirot,enjoyingamid-morningcupofchocolate,wasinterruptedbytheringingofthetelephone.Hegotupandliftedthereceiver.
“’Allo?”
“M.Poirot?”
“LadyAngkatell?”
“Howniceofyoutoknowmyvoice!AmIdisturbingyou?”
“Butnotatall.Youare,Ihope,nonetheworseforthedistressingeventsofyesterday?”
“No,indeed.Distressing,asyousay,butonefeels,Ifind,quitedetached.Irangyouuptoknowifyoucouldpossiblycomeover—animposition,Iknow,butIamreallyingreatdistress.”
“Butcertainly,LadyAngkatell.Didyoumeannow?”
“Well,yes,Ididmeannow.Asquicklyasyoucan.That’sverysweetofyou.”
“Notatall.Iwillcomebythewoods,then?”
“Oh,ofcourse—theshortestway.Thankyousomuch,dearM.Poirot.”
Pausingonlytobrushafewspecksofdustoffthelapelsofhiscoatandtosliponathinovercoat,Poirotcrossedthelaneandhurriedalongthepaththroughthechestnuts.Theswimmingpoolwasdeserted—thepolicehadfinishedtheirworkandgone.Itlookedinnocentandpeacefulinthesoftmistyautumnlight.
Poirottookaquicklookintothepavilion.Theplatinumfoxcape,henoted,hadbeenremoved.Butthesixboxesofmatchesstillstooduponthetablebythesettee.Hewonderedmorethaneveraboutthosematches.
“Itisnotaplacetokeepmatches—hereinthedamp.Onebox,forconvenience,perhaps—butnotsix.”
Hefrowneddownonthepaintedirontable.Thetrayofglasseshadbeenremoved.Someonehadscrawledwithapencilonthetable—aroughdesignofanightmarishtree.ItpainedHerculePoirot.Itoffendedhistidymind.
Heclickedhistongue,shookhishead,andhurriedontowardsthehouse,wonderingatthereasonforthisurgentsummons.
LadyAngkatellwaswaitingforhimatthefrenchwindowsandswepthimintotheemptydrawingroom.
“Itwasniceofyoutocome,M.Poirot.”
Sheclaspedhishandwarmly.
“Madame,Iamatyourservice.”
LadyAngkatell’shandsfloatedoutexpressively.Herwide,beautifuleyesopened.
“Yousee,it’sallsodifficult.Theinspectorpersonisinterviewing—no,questioning—takingastatement—whatisthetermtheyuse?—Gudgeon.AndreallyourwholelifeheredependsonGudgeon,andonedoessosympathizewithhim.Becausenaturallyitisterribleforhimtobequestionedbythepolice—evenInspectorGrange,whoIdofeelisreallyniceandprobablyafamilyman—boys,Ithink,andhehelpsthemwithMeccanointheevenings—andawifewhohaseverythingspotlessbutalittleovercrowded….”
HerculePoirotblinkedasLadyAngkatelldevelopedherimaginarysketchofInspectorGrange’shomelife.
“Bythewayhismoustachedroops,”wentonLadyAngkatell,“Ithinkthatahomethatistoospotlessmightbesometimesdepressing—likesoaponhospitalnurses’faces.Quiteashine!Butthatismoreinthecountrywherethingslagbehind—inLondonnursinghomestheyhavelotsofpowderandreallyvividlipstick.ButIwassaying,M.Poirot,thatyoureallymustcometolunchproperlywhenallthisridiculousbusinessisover.”
“Youareverykind.”
“Idonotmindthepolicemyself,”saidLadyAngkatell.“Ireallyfinditallquiteinteresting.‘DoletmehelpyouinanywayIcan,’IsaidtoInspectorGrange.Heseemsratherabewilderedsortofperson,butmethodical.
“Motiveseemssoimportanttopolicemen,”shewenton.“Talkingofhospitalnursesjustnow,IbelievethatJohnChristow—anursewithredhairandanupturnednose—quiteattractive.Butofcourseitwasalongtimeagoandthepolicemightnotbeinterested.Onedoesn’treallyknowhowmuchpoorGerdahadtoputupwith.Sheistheloyaltype,don’tyouthink?Orpossiblyshebelieveswhatistoldher.Ithinkifonehasnotagreatdealofintelligence,itiswisetodothat.”
Quitesuddenly,LadyAngkatellflungopenthestudydoorandusheredPoirotin,cryingbrightly,“HereisM.Poirot.”Shesweptroundhimandout,shuttingthedoor.InspectorGrangeandGudgeonweresittingbythedesk.Ayoungmanwithanotebookwasinacorner.Gudgeonroserespectfullytohisfeet.
Poirothastenedintoapologies.
“Iretireimmediately.IassureyouIhadnoideathatLadyAngkatell—”
“No,no,youwouldn’thave.”Grange’smoustachelookedmorepessimisticthaneverthismorning.“Perhaps,”thoughtPoirot,fascinatedbyLadyAngkatell’srecentsketchofGrange,“therehasbeentoomuchcleaningorperhapsaBenaresbrasstablehasbeenpurchasedsothatthegoodinspectorhereallycannothavespacetomove.”
Angrilyhedismissedthesethoughts.InspectorGrange’scleanbutovercrowdedhome,hiswife,hisboysandtheiraddictiontoMeccanowereallfigmentsofLadyAngkatell’sbusybrain.
Butthevividnesswithwhichtheyassumedconcreterealityinterestedhim.Itwasquiteanaccomplishment.
“Sitdown,M.Poirot,”saidGrange.“There’ssomethingIwanttoaskyouabout,andI’venearlyfinishedhere.”
HeturnedhisattentionbacktoGudgeon,whodeferentiallyandalmostunderprotestresumedhisseatandturnedanexpressionlessfacetowardshisinterlocutor.
“Andthat’sallyoucanremember?”
“Yes,sir.Everything,sir,wasverymuchasusual.Therewasnounpleasantnessofanykind.”
“There’safurcapething—outinthatsummerhousebythepool.Whichoftheladiesdiditbelongto?”
“Areyoureferring,sir,toacapeofplatinumfox?InoticedityesterdaywhenItookouttheglassestothepavilion.Butitisnotthepropertyofanyoneinthishouse,sir.”
“Whoseisit,then?”
“ItmightpossiblybelongtoMissCray,sir.MissVeronicaCray,themotionpictureactress.Shewaswearingsomethingofthekind.”
“When?”
“Whenshewasherethenightbeforelast,sir.”
“Youdidn’tmentionherashavingbeenaguesthere?”
“Shewasnotaguest,sir.MissCraylivesatDovecotes,the—er—cottageupthelane,andshecameoverafterdinner,havingrunoutofmatches,toborrowsome.”
“Didshetakeawaysixboxes?”askedPoirot.
Gudgeonturnedtohim.
“Thatiscorrect,sir.Herladyship,afterhavinginquiredifwehadplenty,insistedonMissCray’stakinghalfadozenboxes.”
“Whichsheleftinthepavilion,”saidPoirot.
“Yes,sir,Iobservedthemthereyesterdaymorning.”
“Thereisnotmuchthatthatmandoesnotobserve,”remarkedPoirotasGudgeondeparted,closingthedoorsoftlyanddeferentiallybehindhim.
InspectorGrangemerelyremarkedthatservantswerethedevil!
“However,”hesaidwithalittlerenewedcheerfulness,“there’salwaysthekitchenmaid.Kitchenmaidstalk—notlikethesestuck-upupperservants.
“I’veputamanontomakeinquiriesatHarleyStreet,”hewenton.“AndIshallbetheremyselflaterintheday.Weoughttogetsomethingthere.Daresay,youknow,thatwifeofChristow’shadagoodbittoputupwith.Someofthesefashionabledoctorsandtheirladypatients—well,you’dbesurprised!AndIgatherfromLadyAngkatellthattherewassometroubleoverahospitalnurse.Ofcourse,shewasveryvagueaboutit.”
“Yes,”Poirotagreed.“Shewouldbevague.”
Askilfullybuilt-uppicture…JohnChristowandamorousintrigueswithhospitalnurses…theopportunitiesofadoctor’slife…plentyofreasonsforGerdaChristow’sjealousywhichhadculminatedatlastinmurder.
Yes,askilfullysuggestedpicture,drawingattentiontoaHarleyStreetbackground—awayfromTheHollow—awayfromthemomentwhenHenriettaSavernake,steppingforward,hadtakentherevolverfromGerdaChristow’sunresistinghand…AwayfromthatothermomentwhenJohnChristow,dying,hadsaid“Henrietta.”
Suddenlyopeninghiseyes,whichhadbeenhalf-closed,HerculePoirotdemandedwithirresistiblecuriosity:
“DoyourboysplaywithMeccano?”
“Eh,what?”InspectorGrangecamebackfromafrowningreverietostareatPoirot.“Why,whatonearth?Asamatteroffact,they’reabityoung—butIwasthinkingofgivingTeddyaMeccanosetforChristmas.Whatmadeyouask?”
Poirotshookhishead.
WhatmadeLadyAngkatelldangerous,hethought,wasthefactthatthoseintuitive,wildguessesofhersmightbeoftenright.Withacareless(seeminglycareless?)wordshebuiltupapicture—andifpartofthepicturewasright,wouldn’tyou,inspiteofyourself,believeintheotherhalfofthepicture?….
InspectorGrangewasspeaking.
“There’sapointIwanttoputtoyou,M.Poirot.ThisMissCray,theactress—shetraipsesoverhereborrowingmatches.Ifshewantedtoborrowmatches,whydidn’tshecometoyourplace,onlyasteportwoaway?Whycomeabouthalfamile?”
HerculePoirotshruggedhisshoulders.
“Theremightbereasons.Snobreasons,shallwesay?Mylittlecottage,itissmall,unimportant.Iamonlyaweekender,butSirHenryandLadyAngkatellareimportant—theylivehere—theyarewhatiscalledinthecountry.ThisMissVeronicaCray,shemayhavewantedtogettoknowthem—andafterall,thiswasaway.”
InspectorGrangegotup.
“Yes,”hesaid,“that’sperfectlypossible,ofcourse,butonedoesn’twanttooverlookanything.Still,I’venodoubtthateverything’sgoingtobeplainsailing.SirHenryhasidentifiedthegunasoneofhiscollection.Itseemstheywereactuallypractisingwithittheafternoonbefore.AllMrs.Christowhadtodowastogointothestudyandgetitfromwhereshe’dseenSirHenryputitandtheammunitionaway.It’sallquitesimple.”
“Yes,”Poirotmurmured.“Itseemsallquitesimple.”
Justso,hethought,wouldawomanlikeGerdaChristowcommitacrime.Withoutsubterfugeorcomplexity—drivensuddenlytoviolencebythebitteranguishofanarrowbutdeeplylovingnature.
Andyetsurely—surely,shewouldhavehadsomesenseofself-preservation.Orhadsheactedinthatblindness—thatdarknessofthespirit—whenreasonisentirelylaidaside?
Herecalledherblank,dazedface.
Hedidnotknow—hesimplydidnotknow
Buthefeltthatheoughttoknow.
Sixteen
GerdaChristowpulledtheblackdressupoverherheadandletitfallonachair.
Hereyeswerepiteouswithuncertainty.
Shesaid:“Idon’tknow—Ireallydon’tknow.Nothingseemstomatter.”
“Iknow,dear,Iknow.”Mrs.Pattersonwaskindbutfirm.Sheknewexactlyhowtotreatpeoplewhohadhadabereavement.“Elsieiswonderfulinacrisis,”herfamilysaidofher.
AtthepresentmomentshewassittinginhersisterGerda’sbedroominHarleyStreetbeingwonderful.ElsiePattersonwastallandsparewithanenergeticmanner.ShewaslookingnowatGerdawithamixtureofirritationandcompassion.
PoordearGerda—tragicforhertoloseherhusbandinsuchanawfulway.Andreally,evennow,shedidn’tseemtotakeinthe—well,theimplications,properly.Ofcourse,Mrs.Pattersonreflected,Gerdaalwayswasterriblyslow.Andtherewasshock,too,totakeintoaccount
Shesaidinabriskvoice:“IthinkIshoulddecideonthatblackmarocainattwelveguineas.”
OnealwaysdidhavetomakeupGerda’smindforher.
Gerdastoodmotionless,herbrowpuckered.Shesaidhesitantly:
“Idon’treallyknowifJohnlikedmourning.IthinkIonceheardhimsayhedidn’t.”
“John,”shethought.“IfonlyJohnwereheretotellmewhattodo.”
ButJohnwouldneverbethereagain.Never—never—never…Muttongettingcold—congealingonthetable…thebangoftheconsultingroomdoor,Johnrunninguptwostepsatatime,alwaysinahurry,sovital,soalive….
Alive.
Lyingonhisbackbytheswimmingpool…theslowdripofbloodovertheedge…thefeeloftherevolverinherhand….
Anightmare,abaddream,presentlyshewouldwakeupandnoneofitwouldbetrue.
Hersister’scrispvoicecamecuttingthroughhernebulousthoughts.
“Youmusthavesomethingblackfortheinquest.Itwouldlookmostoddifyouturnedupinbrightblue.”
Gerdasaid:“Thatawfulinquest!”andhalf-shuthereyes.
“Terribleforyou,darling,”saidElsiePattersonquickly.“Butafteritisalloveryouwillcomestraightdowntousandweshalltakegreatcareofyou.”
ThenebulousblurofGerdaChristow’sthoughtshardened.Shesaid,andhervoicewasfrightened,almostpanic-stricken:
“WhatamIgoingtodowithoutJohn?”
ElsiePattersonknewtheanswertothatone.“You’vegotyourchildren.You’vegottoliveforthem.”
Zena,sobbingandcrying,“MyDaddy’sdead!”Throwingherselfonherbed.Terry,pale,inquiring,sheddingnotears.
Anaccidentwitharevolver,shehadtoldthem—poorDaddyhashadanaccident
BerylCollins(sothoughtfulofher)hadconfiscatedthemorningpaperssothatthechildrenshouldnotseethem.Shehadwarnedtheservantstoo.Really,Berylhadbeenmostkindandthoughtful.
Terencecomingtohismotherinthedimdrawingroom,hislipspursedclosetogether,hisfacealmostgreenishinitsoddpallor.
“WhywasFathershot?”
“Anaccident,dear.I—Ican’ttalkaboutit.”
“Itwasn’tanaccident.Whydoyousaywhatisn’ttrue?Fatherwaskilled.Itwasmurder.Thepapersaysso.”
“Terry,howdidyougetholdofapaper?ItoldMissCollins—”
Hehadnodded—queerrepeatednodslikeaveryoldman.
“Iwentoutandboughtone,ofcourse.Iknewtheremustbesomethinginthemthatyouweren’ttellingus,orelsewhydidMissCollinshidethem?”
ItwasneveranygoodhidingtruthfromTerence.Thatqueer,detached,scientificcuriosityofhishadalwaystobesatisfied.
“Whywashekilled,Mother?”
Shehadbrokendownthen,becominghysterical.
“Don’taskmeaboutit—don’ttalkaboutit—Ican’ttalkaboutit…it’salltoodreadful.”
“Butthey’llfindout,won’tthey?Imean,theyhavetofindout.It’snecessary.”
Soreasonable,sodetached.ItmadeGerdawanttoscreamandlaughandcry.Shethought:“Hedoesn’tcare—hecan’tcare—hejustgoesonaskingquestions.Why,hehasn’tcried,even.”
Terencehadgoneaway,evadinghisAuntElsie’sministrations,alonelylittleboywithastiff,pinchedface.Hehadalwaysfeltalone.Butithadn’tmattereduntiltoday.
Today,hethought,wasdifferent.Ifonlytherewassomeonewhowouldanswerquestionsreasonablyandintelligently.
Tomorrow,Tuesday,heandNicholsonMinorweregoingtomakenitroglycerine.Hehadbeenlookingforwardtoitwithathrill.Thethrillhadgone.Hedidn’tcareifhenevermadenitroglycerine.
Terencefeltalmostshockedathimself.Nottocareanymoreaboutscientificexperiment.Butwhenachap’sfatherhadbeenmurdered…Hethought:“Myfather—murdered.”
Andsomethingstirred—tookroot—grew…aslowanger.
BerylCollinstappedonthebedroomdoorandcamein.Shewaspale,composed,efficient.Shesaid:
“InspectorGrangeishere.”AndasGerdagaspedandlookedatherpiteously,Berylwentonquickly:“Hesaidtherewasnoneedforhimtoworryyou.He’llhaveawordwithyoubeforehegoes,butitisjustroutinequestionsaboutDr.Christow’spracticeandIcantellhimeverythinghewantstoknow.”
“Ohthankyou,Collie.”
BerylmadearapidexitandGerdasighedout:
“Collieissuchahelp.She’ssopractical.”
“Yes,indeed,”saidMrs.Patterson.“Anexcellentsecretary,I’msure.Veryplain,poorgirl,isn’tshe?Oh,well,Ialwaysthinkthat’sjustaswell.EspeciallywithanattractivemanlikeJohn.”
Gerdaflamedoutather:
“Whatdoyoumean,Elsie?Johnwouldnever—henever—youtalkasthoughJohnwouldhaveflirtedorsomethinghorridifhehadhadaprettysecretary.Johnwasn’tlikethatatall.”
“Ofcoursenot,darling,”saidMrs.Patterson.“Butafterall,oneknowswhatmenarelike!”
IntheconsultingroomInspectorGrangefacedthecool,belligerentglanceofBerylCollins.Itwasbelligerent,henotedthat.Well,perhapsthatwasonlynatural.
“Plainbitofgoods,”hethought.“Nothingbetweenherandthedoctor,Ishouldn’tthink.Shemayhavebeensweetonhim,though.Itworksthatwaysometimes.”
Butnotthistime,hecametotheconclusion,whenheleanedbackinhischairaquarterofanhourlater.BerylCollins’sanswerstohisquestionshadbeenmodelsofclearness.Sherepliedpromptly,andobviouslyhadeverydetailofthedoctor’spracticeatherfingertips.HeshiftedhisgroundandbegantoprobegentlyintotherelationsexistingbetweenJohnChristowandhiswife.
Theyhadbeen,Berylsaid,onexcellentterms.
“Isupposetheyquarrelledeverynowandthenlikemostmarriedcouples?”Theinspectorsoundedeasyandconfidential.
“Idonotrememberanyquarrels.Mrs.Christowwasquitedevotedtoherhusband—reallyquiteslavishlyso.”
Therewasafaintedgeofcontemptinhervoice.InspectorGrangeheardit.
“Bitofafeminist,thisgirl,”hethought.
Aloudhesaid:
“Didn’tstandupforherselfatall?”
“No.EverythingrevolvedroundDr.Christow.”
“Tyrannical,eh?”
Berylconsidered.
“No,Iwouldn’tsaythat.ButhewaswhatIshouldcallaveryselfishman.HetookitforgrantedthatMrs.Christowwouldalwaysfallinwithhisideas.”
“Anydifficultieswithpatients—women,Imean?Youneedn’tthinkaboutbeingfrank,MissCollins.Oneknowsdoctorshavetheirdifficultiesinthatline.”
“Oh,thatsortofthing!”Beryl’svoicewasscornful.“Dr.Christowwasquiteequaltodealingwithanydifficultiesinthatline.Hehadanexcellentmannerwithpatients.”Sheadded,“Hewasreallyawonderfuldoctor.”
Therewasanalmostgrudgingadmirationinhervoice.
Grangesaid:“Washetangledupwithanywoman?Don’tbeloyal,MissCollins,it’simportantthatweshouldknow.”
“Yes,Icanappreciatethat.Nottomyknowledge.”
Alittletoobrusque,hethought.Shedoesn’tknow,butperhapssheguesses.
Hesaidsharply,“WhataboutMissHenriettaSavernake?”
Beryl’slipsclosedtightly.
“Shewasaclosefriendofthefamily’s.”
“No—troublebetweenDr.andMrs.Christowonheraccount?”
“Certainlynot.”
Theanswerwasemphatic.(Overemphatic?)
Theinspectorshiftedhisground.
“WhataboutMissVeronicaCray?”
“VeronicaCray?”
TherewaspureastonishmentinBeryl’svoice.
“ShewasafriendofDr.Christow’s,wasshenot?”
“Ineverheardofher.Atleast,Iseemtoknowthename—”
“Themotionpictureactress.”
Beryl’sbrowcleared.
“Ofcourse!Iwonderedwhythenamewasfamiliar.ButIdidn’tevenknowthatDr.Christowknewher.”
Sheseemedsopositiveonthepointthattheinspectorabandoneditatonce.HewentontoquestionheraboutDr.Christow’smannerontheprecedingSaturday.Andhere,forthefirsttime,theconfidenceofBeryl’sreplieswavered.Shesaidslowly:
“Hismannerwasn’tquiteasusual.”
“Whatwasthedifference?”
“Heseemeddistrait.Therewasquitealonggapbeforeherangforhislastpatient—andyetnormallyhewasalwaysinahurrytogetthroughwhenhewasgoingaway.Ithought—yes,Idefinitelythoughthehadsomethingonhismind.”
Butshecouldnotbemoredefinite.
InspectorGrangewasnotverysatisfiedwithhisinvestigations.He’dcomenowherenearestablishingmotive—andmotivehadtobeestablishedbeforetherewasacasetogotothePublicProsecutor.
HewasquitecertaininhisownmindthatGerdaChristowhadshotherhusband.Hesuspectedjealousyasthemotive—butsofarhehadfoundnothingtogoon.SergeantCoombeshadbeenworkingonthemaidsbuttheyalltoldthesamestory.Mrs.Christowworshippedthegroundherhusbandwalkedon.
Whateverhappened,hethought,musthavehappeneddownatTheHollow.AndrememberingTheHollowhefeltavaguedisquietude.Theywereanoddlotdownthere.
ThetelephoneonthedeskrangandMissCollinspickedupthereceiver.
Shesaid:“It’sforyou,Inspector,”andpassedtheinstrumenttohim.
“Hallo,Grangehere.What’sthat?”Berylheardthealterationinhistoneandlookedathimcuriously.Thewooden-lookingfacewasimpassiveasever.Hewasgrunting—listening.
“Yes…yes,I’vegotthat.That’sabsolutelycertain,isit?Nomarginoferror.Yes…yes…yes,I’llbedown.I’veaboutfinishedhere.Yes.”
Heputthereceiverbackandsatforamomentmotionless.Beryllookedathimcuriously.
Hepulledhimselftogetherandaskedinavoicethatwasquitedifferentfromthevoiceofhispreviousquestions:
“You’venoideasofyourown,Isuppose,MissCollins,aboutthismatter?”
“Youmean—”
“ImeannoideasastowhoitwaskilledDr.Christow?”
Shesaidflatly:
“I’veabsolutelynoideaatall,Inspector.”
Grangesaidslowly:
“Whenthebodywasfound,Mrs.Christowwasstandingbesideitwiththerevolverinherhand—”
Heleftitpurposelyasanunfinishedsentence.
Herreactioncamepromptly.Notheated,coolandjudicial.
“IfyouthinkMrs.Christowkilledherhusband,Iamquitesureyouarewrong.Mrs.Christowisnotatallaviolentwoman.Sheisverymeekandsubmissive,andshewasentirelyunderthedoctor’sthumb.Itseemstomequiteridiculousthatanyonecouldimagineforamomentthatsheshothim,howevermuchappearancesmaybeagainsther.”
“Thenifshedidn’t,whodid?”heaskedsharply.
Berylsaidslowly,“I’venoidea.”
Theinspectormovedtothedoor.Berylasked:
“DoyouwanttoseeMrs.Christowbeforeyougo?”
“No—yes,perhapsI’dbetter.”
AgainBerylwondered;thiswasnotthesamemanwhohadbeenquestioningherbeforethetelephonerang.Whatnewshadhegotthathadalteredhimsomuch?
Gerdacameintotheroomnervously.Shelookedunhappyandbewildered.Shesaidinalow,shakyvoice:
“HaveyoufoundoutanymoreaboutwhokilledJohn?”
“Notyet,Mrs.Christow.”
“It’ssoimpossible—soabsolutelyimpossible.”
“Butithappened,Mrs.Christow.”
Shenodded,lookingdown,screwingahandkerchiefintoalittleball.
Hesaidquietly:
“Hadyourhusbandanyenemies,Mrs.Christow?”
“John?Oh,no.Hewaswonderful.Everyoneadoredhim.”
“Youcan’tthinkofanyonewhohadagrudgeagainsthim”—hepaused—“oragainstyou?”
“Againstme?”Sheseemedamazed.“Oh,no,Inspector.”
InspectorGrangesighed.
“WhataboutMissVeronicaCray?”
“VeronicaCray?Oh,youmeantheonewhocamethatnighttoborrowmatches?”
“Yes,that’stheone.Youknewher?”
Gerdashookherhead.
“I’dneverseenherbefore.Johnknewheryearsago—orsoshesaid.”
“Isupposeshemighthavehadagrudgeagainsthimthatyoudidn’tknowabout.”
Gerdasaidwithdignity:
“Idon’tbelieveanybodycouldhavehadagrudgeagainstJohn.Hewasthekindestandmostunselfish—oh,andoneofthenoblestmen.”
“H’m,”saidtheinspector.“Yes.Quiteso.Well,goodmorning,Mrs.Christow.Youunderstandabouttheinquest?Eleveno’clockWednesdayinMarketDepleach.Itwillbeverysimple—nothingtoupsetyou—probablybeadjournedforaweeksothatwecanmakefurtherinquiries.”
“Oh,Isee.Thankyou.”
Shestoodtherestaringafterhim.Hewonderedwhether,evennow,shehadgraspedthefactthatshewastheprincipalsuspect.
Hehailedataxi—justifiableexpenseinviewofthepieceofinformationhehadjustbeengivenoverthetelephone.Justwherethatpieceofinformationwasleadinghim,hedidnotknow.Onthefaceofit,itseemedcompletelyirrelevant—crazy.Itsimplydidnotmakesense.Yetinsomewayhecouldnotyetsee,itmustmakesense.
Theonlyinferencetobedrawnfromitwasthatthecasewasnotquitethesimple,straightforwardonethathehadhithertoassumedittobe.
Seventeen
SirHenrystaredcuriouslyatInspectorGrange.
Hesaidslowly:“I’mnotquitesurethatIunderstandyou,Inspector.”
“It’squitesimple,SirHenry.I’maskingyoutocheckoveryourcollectionoffirearms.Ipresumetheyarecataloguedandindexed?”
“Naturally.ButIhavealreadyidentifiedtherevolveraspartofmycollection.”
“Itisn’tquitesosimpleasthat,SirHenry.”Grangepausedamoment.Hisinstinctswerealwaysagainstgivingoutanyinformation,buthishandwasbeingforcedinthisparticularinstance.SirHenrywasapersonofimportance.Hewoulddoubtlesscomplywiththerequestthatwasbeingmadetohim,buthewouldalsorequireareason.Theinspectordecidedthathehadgottogivehimthereason.
Hesaidquietly:
“Dr.Christowwasnotshotwiththerevolveryouidentifiedthismorning.”
SirHenry’seyebrowsrose.
“Remarkable!”hesaid.
Grangefeltvaguelycomforted.Remarkablewasexactlywhathefelthimself.HewasgratefultoSirHenryforsayingso,andequallygratefulforhisnotsayinganymore.Itwasasfarastheycouldgoatthemoment.Thethingwasremarkable—andbeyondthatsimplydidnotmakesense.
SirHenryasked:
“Haveyouanyreasontobelievethattheweaponfromwhichthefatalshotwasfiredcomesfrommycollection?”
“Noreasonatall.ButIhavegottomakesure,shallwesay,thatitdoesn’t.”
SirHenrynoddedhisheadinconfirmation.
“Iappreciateyourpoint.Well,wewillgettowork.Itwilltakealittletime.”
Heopenedthedeskandtookoutaleather-boundvolume.
Asheopeneditherepeated:
“Itwilltakealittletimetocheckup—”
Grange’sattentionwasheldbysomethinginhisvoice.Helookedupsharply.SirHenry’sshoulderssaggedalittle—heseemedsuddenlyanolderandmoretiredman.
InspectorGrangefrowned.
Hethought:“DevilifIknowwhattomakeofthesepeopledownhere.”
“Ah—”
Grangespunround.Hiseyesnotedthetimebytheclock,thirtyminutes—twentyminutes—sinceSirHenryhadsaid,“Itwilltakealittletime.”
Grangesaidsharply:
“Yes,sir?”
“A.38SmithandWessonismissing.Itwasinabrownleatherholsterandwasattheendoftherackinthisdrawer.”
“Ah!”Theinspectorkepthisvoicecalm,buthewasexcited.“Andwhen,sir,toyourcertainknowledge,didyoulastseeitinitsproperplace?”
SirHenryreflectedforamomentortwo
“Thatisnotveryeasytosay,Inspector.IlasthadthisdraweropenaboutaweekagoandIthink—Iamalmostcertain—thatiftherevolverhadbeenmissingthenIshouldhavenoticedthegap.ButIshouldnotliketosweardefinitelythatIsawitthere.”
InspectorGrangenoddedhishead.
“Thankyou,sir,Iquiteunderstand.Well,Imustbegettingonwiththings.”
Helefttheroom,abusy,purposefulman.
SirHenrystoodmotionlessforawhileaftertheinspectorhadgone,thenhewentoutslowlythroughthefrenchwindowsontotheterrace.Hiswifewasbusywithagardeningbasketandgloves.Shewaspruningsomerareshrubswithapairofsecateurs.
Shewavedtohimbrightly.
“Whatdidtheinspectorwant?Ihopeheisnotgoingtoworrytheservantsagain.Youknow,Henry,theydon’tlikeit.Theycan’tseeitasamusingorasanoveltylikewedo.”
“Doweseeitlikethat?”
Histoneattractedherattention.Shesmiledupathimsweetly.
“Howtiredyoulook,Henry.Mustyouletallthisworryyousomuch?”
“Murderisworrying,Lucy.”
LadyAngkatellconsideredamoment,absentlyclippingoffsomebranches,thenherfacecloudedover.
“Oh,dear—thatistheworstofsecateurs,theyaresofascinating—onecan’tstopandonealwaysclipsoffmorethanonemeans.Whatwasityouweresaying—somethingaboutmurderbeingworrying?Butreally,Henry,Ihaveneverseenwhy.Imean,ifonehastodie,itmaybecancer,ortuberculosisinoneofthosedreadfulbrightsanatoriums,orastroke—horrid,withone’sfaceallononeside—orelseoneisshotorstabbedorstrangledperhaps.Butthewholethingcomestothesameintheend.Thereoneis,Imean,dead!Outofitall.Andalltheworryover.Andtherelationshaveallthedifficulties—moneyquarrelsandwhethertowearblackornot—andwhowastohaveAuntSelina’swritingdesk—thingslikethat!”
SirHenrysatdownonthestonecoping.Hesaid:
“Thisisallgoingtobemoreupsettingthanwethought,Lucy.”
“Well,darling,weshallhavetobearit.Andwhenit’salloverwemightgoawaysomewhere.Let’snotbotheraboutpresenttroublesbutlookforwardtothefuture.Ireallyamhappyaboutthat.I’vebeenwonderingwhetheritwouldbenicetogotoAinswickforChristmas—orleaveituntilEaster.Whatdoyouthink?”
“PlentyoftimetomakeplansforChristmas.”
“Yes,butIliketoseethingsinmymind.Easter,perhaps…yes.”Lucysmiledhappily.“Shewillcertainlyhavegotoveritbythen.”
“Who?”SirHenrywasstartled.
LadyAngkatellsaidcalmly:
“Henrietta.IthinkiftheyweretohavetheweddinginOctober—Octoberofnextyear,Imean,thenwecouldgoandstopforthatChristmas.I’vebeenthinking,Henry—”
“Iwishyouwouldn’t,mydear.Youthinktoomuch.”
“Youknowthebarn?Itwillmakeaperfectstudio.AndHenriettawillneedastudio.Shehasrealtalent,youknow.Edward,Iamsure,willbeimmenselyproudofher.Twoboysandagirlwouldbenice—ortwoboysandtwogirls.”
“Lucy—Lucy!Howyourunon.”
“But,darling,”LadyAngkatellopenedwide,beautifuleyes.“EdwardwillnevermarryanyonebutHenrietta.Heisvery,veryobstinate.Ratherlikemyfatherinthatway.Hegetsanideainhishead!SoofcourseHenriettamustmarryhim—andshewillnowthatJohnChristowisoutoftheway.Hewasreallythegreatestmisfortunethatcouldpossiblyhavehappenedtoher.”
“Poordevil!”
“Why?Oh,youmeanbecausehe’sdead?Oh,well,everyonehastodiesometime.Ineverworryoverpeopledying….”
Helookedathercuriously.
“IalwaysthoughtyoulikedChristow,Lucy?”
“Ifoundhimamusing.Andhehadcharm.ButIneverthinkoneoughttoattachtoomuchimportancetoanybody.”
Andgently,withasmilingface,LadyAngkatellclippedremorselesslyataViburnumCarlesii.
Eighteen
HerculePoirotlookedoutofhiswindowandsawHenriettaSavernakewalkingupthepathtothefrontdoor.Shewaswearingthesamegreentweedsthatshehadwornonthedayofthetragedy.Therewasaspanielwithher.
Hehastenedtothefrontdoorandopenedit.Shestoodsmilingathim.
“CanIcomeinandseeyourhouse?Ilikelookingatpeople’shouses.I’mjusttakingthedogforawalk.”
“Butmostcertainly.HowEnglishitistotakethedogforawalk!”
“Iknow,”saidHenrietta.“Ithoughtofthat.Doyouknowthatnicepoem:‘Thedayspassedslowlyonebyone.Ifedtheducks,reprovedmywife,playedHandel’sLargoonthefifeandtookthedogarun.’”
Againshesmiled,abrilliant,insubstantialsmile.
Poirotusheredherintohissittingroom.Shelookedrounditsneatandprimarrangementandnoddedherhead.
“Nice,”shesaid,“twoofeverything.Howyouwouldhatemystudio.”
“WhyshouldIhateit?”
“Oh,alotofclaystickingtothings—andhereandtherejustonethingthatIhappentolikeandwhichwouldberuinedifthereweretwoofthem.”
“ButIcanunderstandthat,Mademoiselle.Youareanartist.”
“Aren’tyouanartist,too,M.Poirot?”
Poirotputhisheadononeside.
“Itisaquestion,that.ButonthewholeIwouldsay,no.Ihaveknowncrimesthatwereartistic—theywere,youunderstand,supremeexercisesofimagination.Butthesolvingofthem—no,itisnotthecreativepowerthatisneeded.Whatisrequiredisapassionforthetruth.”
“Apassionforthetruth,”saidHenriettameditatively.“Yes,Icanseehowdangerousthatmightmakeyou.Wouldthetruthsatisfyyou?”
Helookedathercuriously.
“Whatdoyoumean,MissSavernake?”
“Icanunderstandthatyouwouldwanttoknow.Butwouldknowledgebeenough?Wouldyouhavetogoastepfurtherandtranslateknowledgeintoaction?”
Hewasinterestedinherapproach.
“YouaresuggestingthatifIknewthetruthaboutDr.Christow’sdeath—Imightbesatisfiedtokeepthatknowledgetomyself.Doyouknowthetruthabouthisdeath?”
Henriettashruggedhershoulders.
“TheobviousanswerseemstobeGerda.Howcynicalitisthatawifeorahusbandisalwaysthefirstsuspect.”
“Butyoudonotagree?”
“Ialwaysliketokeepanopenmind.”
Poirotsaidquietly:
“Whydidyoucomehere,MissSavernake?”
“ImustadmitthatIhaven’tyourpassionfortruth,M.Poirot.TakingthedogforawalkwassuchaniceEnglishcountrysideexcuse.ButofcoursetheAngkatellshaven’tgotadog—asyoumayhavenoticedtheotherday.”
“Thefacthadnotescapedme.”
“SoIborrowedthegardener’sspaniel.Iamnot,youmustunderstand,M.Poirot,verytruthful.”
Againthatbrilliantbrittlesmileflashedout.Hewonderedwhyheshouldsuddenlyfinditunendurablymoving.Hesaidquietly:
“No,butyouhaveintegrity.”
“Whyonearthdoyousaythat?”
Shewasstartled—almost,hethought,dismayed.
“BecauseIbelieveittobetrue.”
“Integrity,”Henriettarepeatedthoughtfully.“Iwonderwhatthatwordreallymeans.”
Shesatverystill,staringdownatthecarpet,thensheraisedherheadandlookedathimsteadily.
“Don’tyouwanttoknowwhyIdidcome?”
“Youfindadifficulty,perhaps,inputtingitintowords.”
“Yes,IthinkIdo.Theinquest,M.Poirot,istomorrow.Onehastomakeupone’smindjusthowmuch—”
Shebrokeoff.Gettingup,shewanderedacrosstothemantelpiece,displacedoneortwooftheornamentsandmovedavaseofMichaelmasdaisiesfromitspositioninthemiddleofatabletotheextremecornerofthemantelpiece.Shesteppedback,eyeingthearrangementwithherheadononeside.
“Howdoyoulikethat,M.Poirot?”
“Notatall,Mademoiselle.”
“Ithoughtyouwouldn’t.”Shelaughed,movedeverythingquicklyanddeftlybacktoitsoriginalposition.“Well,ifonewantstosayathingonehastosayit!Youare,somehow,thesortofpersononecantalkto.Heregoes.Isitnecessary,doyouthink,thatthepoliceshouldknowthatIwasJohnChristow’smistress?”
Hervoicewasquitedryandunemotional.Shewaslooking,notathim,butatthewalloverhishead.Withoneforefingershewasfollowingthecurveofthejarthatheldthepurpleflowers.Hehadanideathatinthetouchofthatfingerwasheremotionaloutlet.
HerculePoirotsaidpreciselyandalsowithoutemotion:
“Isee.Youwerelovers?”
“Ifyouprefertoputitlikethat.”
Helookedathercuriously.
“Itwasnothowyouputit,Mademoiselle.”
“No.”
“Whynot?”
Henriettashruggedhershoulders.Shecameandsatdownbyhimonthesofa.Shesaidslowly:
“Onelikestodescribethingsas—asaccuratelyaspossible.”
HisinterestinHenriettaSavernakegrewstronger.Hesaid:
“YouhadbeenDr.Christow’smistress—forhowlong?”
“Aboutsixmonths.”
“Thepolicewillhave,Igather,nodifficultyindiscoveringthefact?”
Henriettaconsidered.
“Iimaginenot.Thatis,iftheyarelookingforsomethingofthatkind.”
“Oh,theywillbelooking,Icanassureyouofthat.”
“Yes,Iratherthoughttheywould.”Shepaused,stretchedoutherfingersonherkneeandlookedatthem,thengavehimaswift,friendlyglance.“Well,M.Poirot,whatdoesonedo?GotoInspectorGrangeandsay—whatdoesonesaytoamoustachelikethat?It’ssuchadomestic,familymoustache.”
Poirot’shandcrawledupwardstohisownproudlyborneadornment.
“Whereasmine,Mademoiselle?”
“Yourmoustache,M.Poirot,isanartistictriumph.Ithasnoassociationswithanythingbutitself.Itis,Iamsure,unique.”
“Absolutely.”
“AnditisprobablythereasonwhyIamtalkingtoyouasIam.GrantedthatthepolicehavetoknowthetruthaboutJohnandmyself,willitnecessarilyhavetobemadepublic?”
“Thatdepends,”saidPoirot.“Ifthepolicethinkithadnobearingonthecase,theywillbequitediscreet.You—areveryanxiousonthispoint?”
Henriettanodded.Shestareddownatherfingersforamomentortwo,thensuddenlyliftedherheadandspoke.Hervoicewasnolongerdryandlight.
“WhyshouldthingsbemadeworsethantheyareforpoorGerda?SheadoredJohnandhe’sdead.She’slosthim.Whyshouldshehavetobearanaddedburden?”
“Itisforherthatyoumind?”
“Doyouthinkthatishypocritical?Isupposeyou’rethinkingthatifIcaredatallaboutGerda’speaceofmind,IwouldneverhavebecomeJohn’smistress.Butyoudon’tunderstand—itwasnotlikethat.Ididnotbreakuphismarriedlife.Iwasonlyone—ofaprocession.”
“Ah,itwaslikethat?”
Sheturnedonhimsharply.
“No,no,no!Notwhatyouarethinking.That’swhatImindmostofall!ThefalseideathateverybodywillhaveofwhatJohnwaslike.That’swhyI’mheretalkingtoyou—becauseI’vegotavague,foggyhopethatIcanmakeyouunderstand.Understand,Imean,thesortofpersonJohnwas.Icanseesowellwhatwillhappen—theheadlinesinthepapers—ADoctor’sLoveLife—Gerda,myself,VeronicaCray.Johnwasn’tlikethat—hewasn’t,actually,amanwhothoughtmuchaboutwomen.Itwasn’twomenwhomatteredtohimmost,itwashiswork.Itwasinhisworkthathisinterestandexcitement—yes,andhissenseofadventure—reallylay.IfJohnhadbeentakenunawaresatanymomentandaskedtonamethewomanwhowasmostinhismind,doyouknowwhohewouldhavesaid?—Mrs.Crabtree.”
“Mrs.Crabtree?”Poirotwassurprised.“Who,then,isthisMrs.Crabtree?”
TherewassomethingbetweentearsandlaughterinHenrietta’svoiceasshewenton:
“She’sanoldwoman—ugly,dirty,wrinkled,quiteindomitable.Johnthoughttheworldofher.She’sapatientinSt.Christopher’sHospital.She’sgotRidgeway’sDisease.That’sadiseasethat’sveryrare,butifyougetityou’reboundtodie—therejustisn’tanycure.ButJohnwasfindingacure—Ican’texplaintechnically—itwasallverycomplicated—somequestionofhormonesecretions.He’dbeenmakingexperimentsandMrs.Crabtreewashisprizepatient—yousee,she’sgotguts,shewantstolive—andshewasfondofJohn.Sheandhewerefightingonthesameside.Ridgeway’sDiseaseandMrs.CrabtreeiswhathasbeenuppermostinJohn’smindformonths—nightandday—nothingelsereallycounted.That’swhatbeingthekindofdoctorJohnwasreallymeans—notalltheHarleyStreetstuffandtherich,fatwomen,that’sonlyasideline.It’stheintensescientificcuriosityandtheachievement.I—oh,IwishIcouldmakeyouunderstand.”
Herhandsflewoutinacuriouslydespairinggesture,andHerculePoirotthoughthowverylovelyandsensitivethosehandswere.
Hesaid:
“Youseemtounderstandverywell.”
“Oh,yes,Iunderstood.Johnusedtocomeandtalk,doyousee?Notquitetome—partly,Ithink,tohimself.Hegotthingsclearthatway.Sometimeshewasalmostdespairing—hecouldn’tseehowtoovercometheheightenedtoxicity—andthenhe’dgetanideaforvaryingthetreatment.Ican’texplaintoyouwhatitwaslike—itwaslike,yes,abattle.Youcan’timaginethe—thefuryofitandtheconcentration—andyes,sometimestheagony.Andsometimesthesheertiredness….”
Shewassilentforaminuteortwo,hereyesdarkwithremembrance.
Poirotsaidcuriously:
“Youmusthaveacertaintechnicalknowledgeyourself?”
Sheshookherhead.
“Notreally.OnlyenoughtounderstandwhatJohnwastalkingabout.Igotbooksandreadaboutit.”
Shewassilentagain,herfacesoftened,herlipshalf-parted.Shewas,hethought,remembering.
Withasigh,hermindcamebacktothepresent.Shelookedathimwistfully.
“IfIcouldonlymakeyousee—”
“Butyouhave,Mademoiselle.”
“Really?”
“Yes.Onerecognizesauthenticitywhenonehearsit.”
“Thankyou.Butitwon’tbesoeasytoexplaintoInspectorGrange.”
“Probablynot.Hewillconcentrateonthepersonalangle.”
Henriettasaidvehemently:
“Andthatwassounimportant—socompletelyunimportant.”
Poirot’seyebrowsroseslowly.Sheansweredhisunspokenprotest.
“Butitwas!Yousee—afterawhile—IgotbetweenJohnandwhathewasthinkingof.Iaffectedhim,asawoman.Hecouldn’tconcentrateashewantedtoconcentrate—becauseofme.Hebegantobeafraidthathewasbeginningtoloveme—hedidn’twanttoloveanyone.He—hemadelovetomebecausehedidn’twanttothinkaboutmetoomuch.Hewantedittobelight,easy,justanaffairlikeotheraffairsthathehadhad.”
“Andyou—”Poirotwaswatchingherclosely.“Youwerecontenttohaveit—likethat.”
Henriettagotup.Shesaid,andoncemoreitwasherdryvoice:
“No,Iwasn’t—content.Afterall,oneishuman….”
Poirotwaitedaminutethenhesaid:
“Thenwhy,Mademoiselle—”
“Why?”Shewhirledroundonhim.“IwantedJohntobesatisfied,IwantedJohntohavewhathewanted.Iwantedhimtobeabletogoonwiththethinghecaredabout—hiswork.Ifhedidn’twanttobehurt—tobevulnerableagain—why—why,thatwasallrightbyme.”
Poirotrubbedhisnose.
“Justnow,MissSavernake,youmentionedVeronicaCray.WasshealsoafriendofJohnChristow’s?”
“UntillastSaturdaynight,hehadn’tseenherforfifteenyears.”
“Heknewherfifteenyearsago?”
“Theywereengagedtobemarried.”Henriettacamebackandsatdown.“IseeI’vegottomakeitallclearer.JohnlovedVeronicadesperately.Veronicawas,andis,abitchofthefirstwater.She’sthesupremeegoist.HertermswerethatJohnwastochuckeverythinghecaredaboutandbecomeMissVeronicaCray’slittletamehusband.Johnbrokeupthewholething—quiterightly.Buthesufferedlikehell.HisoneideawastomarrysomeoneasunlikeVeronicaaspossible.HemarriedGerda,whomyoumightdescribeinelegantlyasafirst-classchump.Thatwasallveryniceandsafe,butasanyonecouldhavetoldhimthedaycamewhenbeingmarriedtoachumpirritatedhim.Hehadvariousaffairs—noneofthemimportant.Gerda,ofcourse,neverknewaboutthem.ButIthink,myself,thatforfifteenyearstherehasbeensomethingwrongwithJohn—somethingconnectedwithVeronica.Heneverreallygotoverher.Andthen,lastSaturday,hemetheragain.”
Afteralongpause,Poirotreciteddreamily:
“HewentoutwithherthatnighttoseeherhomeandreturnedtoTheHollowat3a.m.”
“Howdoyouknow?”
“Ahousemaidhadthetoothache.”
Henriettasaidirrelevantly,“Lucyhasfartoomanyservants.”
“Butyouyourselfknewthat,Mademoiselle.”
“Yes.”
“Howdidyouknow?”
Againtherewasaninfinitesimalpause.ThenHenriettarepliedslowly:
“Iwaslookingoutofmywindowandsawhimcomebacktothehouse.”
“Thetoothache,Mademoiselle?”
Shesmiledathim.
“Quiteanotherkindofache,M.Poirot.”
Shegotupandmovedtowardsthedoor,andPoirotsaid:
“Iwillwalkbackwithyou,Mademoiselle.”
Theycrossedthelaneandwentthroughthegateintothechestnutplantation.
Henriettasaid:
“Weneednotgopastthepool.Wecangouptotheleftandalongthetoppathtotheflowerwalk.”
Atrackledsteeplyuphilltowardsthewoods.Afterawhiletheycametoabroaderpathatrightanglesacrossthehillsideabovethechestnuttrees.PresentlytheycametoabenchandHenriettasatdown,Poirotbesideher.Thewoodswereaboveandbehindthem,andbelowwerethecloselyplantedchestnutgroves.Justinfrontoftheseatacurvingpathleddownwards,towherejustaglimmerofbluewatercouldbeseen.
PoirotwatchedHenriettawithoutspeaking.Herfacehadrelaxed,thetensionhadgone.Itlookedrounderandyounger.Herealizedwhatshemusthavelookedlikeasayounggirl.
Hesaidverygentlyatlast:
“Ofwhatareyouthinking,Mademoiselle?”
“OfAinswick.”
“WhatisAinswick?”
“Ainswick?It’saplace.”Almostdreamily,shedescribedAinswicktohim.Thewhite,gracefulhouse,thebigmagnoliagrowingupit,thewholesetinanamphitheatreofwoodedhills.
“Itwasyourhome?”
“Notreally.IlivedinIreland.Itwaswherewecame,allofus,forholidays.EdwardandMidgeandmyself.ItwasLucy’shomeactually.Itbelongedtoherfather.AfterhisdeathitcametoEdward.”
“NottoSirHenry?Butitishewhohasthetitle.”
“Oh,that’saKCB,”sheexplained.“Henrywasonlyadistantcousin.”
“AndafterEdwardAngkatell,towhomdoesitgo,thisAinswick?”
“Howodd,I’veneverreallythought.IfEdwarddoesn’tmarry—”Shepaused.Ashadowpassedoverherface.HerculePoirotwonderedexactlywhatthoughtwaspassingthroughhermind.
“Isuppose,”saidHenriettaslowly,“itwillgotoDavid.Sothat’swhy—”
“Whywhat?”
“WhyLucyaskedhimhere…DavidandAinswick?”Sheshookherhead.“Theydon’tfitsomehow.”
Poirotpointedtothepathinfrontofthem.
“Itisbythatpath,Mademoiselle,thatyouwentdowntotheswimmingpoolyesterday?”
Shegaveaquickshiver.
“No,bytheonenearerthehouse.ItwasEdwardwhocamethisway.”Sheturnedonhimsuddenly.“Mustwetalkaboutitanymore?Ihatetheswimmingpool.IevenhateTheHollow.”
Poirotmurmured:
“Ihatethedreadfulhollowbehindthelittlewood;Itslipsinthefieldabovearedabbledwithblood-redheath,Thered-ribb’dledgesdripwithasilenthorrorofbloodAndEchothere,whateverisask’dher,answers‘Death.’”
Henriettaturnedanastonishedfaceonhim.
“Tennyson,”saidHerculePoirot,noddinghisheadproudly.“ThepoetryofyourLordTennyson.”
Henriettawasrepeating:
“AndEchothere,whateverisask’dher…”Shewenton,almosttoherself,“Butofcourse—Isee—that’swhatitis—Echo!”
“Howdoyoumean,Echo?”
“Thisplace—TheHollowitself!Ialmostsawitbefore—onSaturdaywhenEdwardandIwalkeduptotheridge.AnechoofAinswick.Andthat’swhatweare,weAngkatells.Echoes!We’renotreal—notrealasJohnwasreal.”SheturnedtoPoirot.“Iwishyouhadknownhim,M.Poirot.We’reallshadowscomparedtoJohn.Johnwasreallyalive.”
“Iknewthatevenwhenhewasdying,Mademoiselle.”
“Iknow.Onefeltit…AndJohnisdead,andwe,theechoes,arealive…It’slike,youknow,averybadjoke.”
Theyouthhadgonefromherfaceagain.Herlipsweretwisted,bitterwithsuddenpain.
WhenPoirotspoke,askingaquestion,shedidnot,foramoment,takeinwhathewassaying.
“Iamsorry.Whatdidyousay,M.Poirot?”
“Iwasaskingwhetheryouraunt,LadyAngkatell,likedDr.Christow?”
“Lucy?Sheisacousin,bytheway,notanaunt.Yes,shelikedhimverymuch.”
“Andyour—alsoacousin?—Mr.EdwardAngkatell—didhelikeDr.Christow?”
Hervoicewas,hethought,alittleconstrained,asshereplied:
“Notparticularly—butthenhehardlyknewhim.”
“Andyour—yetanothercousin?Mr.DavidAngkatell?”
Henriettasmiled.
“David,Ithink,hatesallofus.HespendshistimeimmuredinthelibraryreadingtheEncyclop?diaBritannica.”
“Ah,aserioustemperament.”
“IamsorryforDavid.Hehashadadifficulthomelife.Hismotherwasunbalanced—aninvalid.Nowhisonlywayofprotectinghimselfistotrytofeelsuperiortoeveryone.It’sallrightaslongasitworks,butnowandthenitbreaksdownandthevulnerableDavidpeepsthrough.”
“DidhefeelhimselfsuperiortoDr.Christow?”
“Hetriedto—butIdon’tthinkitcameoff.IsuspectthatJohnChristowwasjustthekindofmanthatDavidwouldliketobe.HedislikedJohninconsequence.”
Poirotnoddedhisheadthoughtfully.
“Yes—self-assurance,confidence,virility—alltheintensivemalequalities.Itisinteresting—veryinteresting.”
Henriettadidnotanswer.
Throughthechestnuts,downbythepool,HerculePoirotsawamanstooping,searchingforsomething,orsoitseemed.
Hemurmured:“Iwonder—”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
Poirotsaid:“ThatisoneofInspectorGrange’smen.Heseemstobelookingforsomething.”
“Clues,Isuppose.Don’tpolicemenlookforclues?Cigaretteash,footprints,burntmatches.”
Hervoiceheldakindofbittermockery.Poirotansweredseriously.
“Yes,theylookforthesethings—andsometimestheyfindthem.Buttherealclues,MissSavernake,inacaselikethis,usuallylieinthepersonalrelationshipsofthepeopleconcerned.”
“Idon’tthinkIunderstandyou.”
“Littlethings,”saidPoirot,hisheadthrownback,hiseyeshalf-closed.“Notcigaretteash,orarubberheelmark—butagesture,alook,anunexpectedaction….”
Henriettaturnedherheadsharplytolookathim.Hefelthereyes,buthedidnotturnhishead.Shesaid:
“Areyouthinkingof—anythinginparticular?”
“IwasthinkingofhowyousteppedforwardandtooktherevolveroutofMrs.Christow’shandthendroppeditinthepool.”
Hefelttheslightstartshegave.Buthervoicewasquitenormalandcalm.
“Gerda,M.Poirot,isratheraclumsyperson.Intheshockofthemoment,andiftherevolverhadhadanothercartridgeinit,shemighthavefireditand—andhurtsomeone.”
“Butitwasratherclumsyofyou,wasitnot,todropitinthepool?”
“Well,Ihadhadashocktoo.”Shepaused.“Whatareyousuggesting,M.Poirot?”
Poirotsatup,turnedhishead,andspokeinabrisk,matter-of-factway.
“Iftherewerefingerprintsonthatrevolver,thatistosay,fingerprintsmadebeforeMrs.Christowhandledit,itwouldbeinterestingtoknowwhosetheywere—andthatweshallneverknownow.”
Henriettasaidquietlybutsteadily:
“Meaningthatyouthinktheyweremine.YouaresuggestingthatIshotJohnandthenlefttherevolverbesidehimsothatGerdacouldcomealongandpickitupandbeleftholdingthebaby.Thatiswhatyouaresuggesting,isn’tit?Butsurely,ifIdidthat,youwillgivemecreditforenoughintelligencetohavewipedoffmyownfingerprintsfirst!”
“Butsurelyyouareintelligentenoughtosee,Mademoiselle,thatifyouhaddonesoandiftherevolverhadhadnofingerprintsonitbutMrs.Christow’s,thatwouldhavebeenveryremarkable!Foryouwereallshootingwiththatrevolverthedaybefore.GerdaChristowwouldhardlyhavewipedtherevolvercleanoffingerprintsbeforeusingit—whyshouldshe?”
Henriettasaidslowly:
“SoyouthinkIkilledJohn?”
“WhenDr.Christowwasdying,hesaid:‘Henrietta.’”
“Andyouthinkthatthatwasanaccusation?Itwasnot.”
“Whatwasitthen?”
Henriettastretchedoutherfootandtracedapatternwiththetoe.Shesaidinalowvoice:
“Aren’tyouforgetting—whatItoldyounotverylongago?Imean—thetermswewereon?”
“Ah,yes—hewasyourlover—andso,asheisdying,hesays:‘Henrietta.’Thatisverytouching.”
Sheturnedblazingeyesuponhim.
“Mustyousneer?”
“Iamnotsneering.ButIdonotlikebeingliedto—andthat,Ithink,iswhatyouaretryingtodo.”
Henriettasaidquietly:
“IhavetoldyouthatIamnotverytruthful—butwhenJohnsaid:‘Henrietta’hewasnotaccusingmeofhavingmurderedhim.Can’tyouunderstandthatpeopleofmykind,whomakethings,arequiteincapableoftakinglife?Idon’tkillpeople,M.Poirot.Icouldn’tkillanyone.That’stheplainstarktruth.Yoususpectmesimplybecausemynamewasmurmuredbyadyingmanwhohardlyknewwhathewassaying.”
“Dr.Christowknewperfectlywhathewassaying.Hisvoicewasasaliveandconsciousasthatofadoctordoingavitaloperationwhosayssharplyandurgently:‘Nurse,theforceps,please.’”
“But—”Sheseemedataloss,takenaback.HerculePoirotwentonrapidly:
“AnditisnotjustonaccountofwhatDr.Christowsaidwhenhewasdying.Idonotbelieveforonemomentthatyouarecapableofpremeditatedmurder—that,no.Butyoumighthavefiredthatshotinasuddenmomentoffierceresentment—andifso—ifso,Mademoiselle,youhavethecreativeimaginationandabilitytocoveryourtracks.”
Henriettagotup.Shestoodforamoment,paleandshaken,lookingathim.Shesaidwithasudden,ruefulsmile:
“AndIthoughtyoulikedme.”
HerculePoirotsighed.Hesaidsadly:
“Thatiswhatissounfortunateforme.Ido.”
Nineteen
I
WhenHenriettahadlefthim,PoirotsatonuntilhesawbelowhimInspectorGrangewalkpastthepoolwitharesolute,easystrideandtakethepathonpastthepavilion.
Theinspectorwaswalkinginapurposefulway.
Hemustbegoing,therefore,eithertoResthavenortoDovecotes.Poirotwonderedwhich.
Hegotupandretracedhisstepsalongthewayhehadcome.IfInspectorGrangewascomingtoseehim,hewasinterestedtohearwhattheinspectorhadtosay.
ButwhenhegotbacktoResthaventherewasnosignofavisitor.PoirotlookedthoughtfullyupthelaneinthedirectionofDovecotes.VeronicaCrayhadnot,heknew,gonebacktoLondon.
HefoundhiscuriosityrisingaboutVeronicaCray.Thepale,shiningfoxfurs,theheapedboxesofmatches,thatsuddenimperfectlyexplainedinvasionontheSaturdaynight,andfinallyHenriettaSavernake’srevelationsaboutJohnChristowandVeronica.
Itwas,hethought,aninterestingpattern.Yes,thatwashowhesawit:apattern.
Adesignofintermingledemotionsandtheclashofpersonalities.Astrangeinvolveddesign,withdarkthreadsofhateanddesirerunningthroughit.
HadGerdaChristowshotherhusband?Orwasitnotquitesosimpleasthat?
HethoughtofhisconversationwithHenriettaanddecidedthatitwasnotsosimple.
Henriettahadjumpedtotheconclusionthathesuspectedherofthemurder,butactuallyhehadnotgonenearlyasfarasthatinhismind.NofurtherindeedthanthebeliefthatHenriettaknewsomething.Knewsomethingorwasconcealingsomething—which?
Heshookhishead,dissatisfied.
Thescenebythepool.Asetscene.Astagescene.
Stagedbywhom?Stagedforwhom?
Theanswertothesecondquestionwas,hestronglysuspected,HerculePoirot.Hehadthoughtsoatthetime.Buthehadthoughtthenthatitwasanimpertinence—ajoke.
Itwasstillanimpertinence—butnotajoke.
Andtheanswertothefirstquestion?
Heshookhishead.Hedidnotknow.Hehadnottheleastidea.
Buthehalf-closedhiseyesandconjuredthemup—allofthem—seeingthemclearlyinhismind’seye.SirHenry,upright,responsible,trustedadministratorofEmpire.LadyAngkatell,shadowy,elusive,unexpectedlyandbewilderinglycharming,withthatdeadlypowerofinconsequentsuggestion.HenriettaSavernake,whohadlovedJohnChristowbetterthanshelovedherself.ThegentleandnegativeEdwardAngkatell.Thedark,positivegirlcalledMidgeHardcastle.Thedazed,bewilderedfaceofGerdaChristowclaspingarevolverinherhand.TheoffendedadolescentpersonalityofDavidAngkatell.
Theretheyallwere,caughtandheldinthemeshesofthelaw.Boundtogetherforalittlewhileintherelentlessaftermathofsuddenandviolentdeath.Eachofthemhadtheirowntragedyandmeaning,theirownstory.
Andsomewhereinthatinterplayofcharactersandemotionslaythetruth.
ToHerculePoirottherewasonlyonethingmorefascinatingthanthestudyofhumanbeings,andthatwasthepursuitoftruth.
HemeanttoknowthetruthofJohnChristow’sdeath.
II
“Butofcourse,Inspector,”saidVeronica.“I’monlytooanxioustohelpyou.”
“Thankyou,MissCray.”
VeronicaCraywasnot,somehow,atallwhattheinspectorhadimagined.
Hehadbeenpreparedforglamour,forartificiality,evenpossiblyforheroics.Hewouldnothavebeenatallsurprisedifshehadputonanactofsomekind.
Infact,shewas,heshrewdlysuspected,puttingonanact.Butitwasnotthekindofacthehadexpected.
Therewasnooverdonefemininecharm—glamourwasnotstressed.
Insteadhefeltthathewassittingoppositetoanexceedinglygood-lookingandexpensivelydressedwomanwhowasalsoagoodbusinesswoman.VeronicaCray,hethought,wasnofool.
“Wejustwantaclearstatement,MissCray.YoucameovertoTheHollowonSaturdayevening?”
“Yes,I’drunoutofmatches.Oneforgetshowimportantthesethingsareinthecountry.”
“YouwentallthewaytoTheHollow?Whynottoyournext-doorneighbour,M.Poirot?”
Shesmiled—asuperb,confidentcamerasmile.
“Ididn’tknowwhomynext-doorneighbourwas—otherwiseIshouldhave.IjustthoughthewassomelittleforeignerandIthought,youknow,hemightbecomeabore—livingsonear.”
“Yes,”thoughtGrange,“quiteplausible.”She’dworkedthatoneoutreadyfortheoccasion.
“Yougotyourmatches,”hesaid.“AndyourecognizedanoldfriendinDr.Christow,Iunderstand?”
Shenodded.
“PoorJohn.Yes,Ihadn’tseenhimforfifteenyears.”
“Really?”Therewaspolitedisbeliefintheinspector’stone.
“Really.”Hertonewasfirmlyassertive.
“Youwerepleasedtoseehim?”
“Verypleased.It’salwaysdelightful,don’tyouthink,Inspector,tocomeacrossanoldfriend?”
“Itcanbeonsomeoccasions.”
VeronicaCraywentonwithoutwaitingforfurtherquestioning:
“Johnsawmehome.You’llwanttoknowifhesaidanythingthatcouldhaveabearingonthetragedy,andI’vebeenthinkingoverourconversationverycarefully—butreallytherewasn’tapointerofanykind.”
“Whatdidyoutalkabout,MissCray?”
“Olddays.‘Doyourememberthis,thatandtheother?’”Shesmiledpensively.“WehadknowneachotherintheSouthofFrance.Johnhadreallychangedverylittle—older,ofcourse,andmoreassured.Igatherhewasquitewell-knowninhisprofession.Hedidn’ttalkabouthispersonallifeatall.Ijustgottheimpressionthathismarriedlifewasn’tperhapsfrightfullyhappy—butitwasonlythevaguestimpression.Isupposehiswife,poorthing,wasoneofthosedim,jealouswomen—probablyalwaysmakingafussabouthisbetter-lookingladypatients.”
“No,”saidGrange.“Shedoesn’treallyseemtohavebeenthatway.”
Veronicasaidquickly:
“Youmean—itwasallunderneath?Yes—yes,Icanseethatthatwouldbefarmoredangerous.”
“IseeyouthinkMrs.Christowshothim,MissCray?”
“Ioughtn’ttohavesaidthat.Onemustn’tcomment—isthatit—beforeatrial?I’mextremelysorry,Inspector.Itwasjustthatmymaidtoldmeshe’dbeenfoundactuallystandingoverthebodywiththerevolverstillinherhand.Youknowhowinthesequietcountryplaceseverythinggetssoexaggeratedandservantsdopassthingson.”
“Servantscanbeveryusefulsometimes,MissCray.”
“Yes,Isupposeyougetalotofyourinformationthatway?”
Grangewentonstolidly:
“It’saquestion,ofcourse,ofwhohadamotive—”
Hepaused.Veronicasaidwithafaint,ruefulsmile:
“Andawifeisalwaysthefirstsuspect?Howcynical!Butthere’susuallywhat’scalled‘theotherwoman.’Isupposeshemightbeconsideredtohaveamotivetoo?”
“YouthinktherewasanotherwomaninDr.Christow’slife?”
“Well—yes,Ididratherimaginetheremightbe.Onejustgetsanimpression,youknow.”
“Impressionscanbeveryhelpfulsometimes,”saidGrange.
“Iratherimagined—fromwhathesaid—thatthatsculptresswomanwas,well,averyclosefriend.ButIexpectyouknowallaboutthatalready?”
“Wehavetolookintoallthesethings,ofcourse.”
InspectorGrange’svoicewasstrictlynoncommittal,buthesaw,withoutappearingtosee,aquick,spitefulflashofsatisfactioninthoselargeblueeyes.
Hesaid,makingthequestionveryofficial:
“Dr.Christowsawyouhome,yousay.Whattimewasitwhenyousaidgoodnighttohim?”
“Doyouknow,Ireallycan’tremember!Wetalkedforsometime,Idoknowthat.Itmusthavebeenquitelate.”
“Hecamein?”
“Yes,Igavehimadrink.”
“Isee.Iimaginedyourconversationmighthavetakenplaceinthe—er—pavilionbytheswimmingpool.”
Hesawhereyelidsflicker.Therewashardlyamoment’shesitationbeforeshesaid:
“Youreallyareadetective,aren’tyou?Yes,wesatthereandsmokedandtalkedforsometime.Howdidyouknow?”
Herfaceborethepleased,eagerexpressionofachildaskingtobeshownaclevertrick.
“Youleftyourfursbehindthere,MissCray.”Headdedjustwithoutemphasis:“Andthematches.”
“Yes,ofcourseIdid.”
“Dr.ChristowreturnedtoTheHollowat3a.m.,”announcedtheinspector,againwithoutemphasis.
“Wasitreallyaslateasthat?”Veronicasoundedquiteamazed.
“Yes,itwas,MissCray.”
“Ofcourse,wehadsomuchtotalkover—nothavingseeneachotherforsomanyyears.”
“AreyousureitwasquitesolongsinceyouhadseenDr.Christow?”
“I’vejusttoldyouIhadn’tseenhimforfifteenyears.”
“Areyouquitesureyou’renotmakingamistake?I’vegottheimpressionyoumighthavebeenseeingquitealotofhim.”
“Whatonearthmakesyouthinkthat?”
“Well,thisnoteforonething.”InspectorGrangetookoutaletterfromhispocket,glanceddownatit,clearedhisthroatandread:
Pleasecomeoverthismorning.Imustseeyou.Veronica.
“Ye-es.”Shesmiled.“Itisalittleperemptory,perhaps.I’mafraidHollywoodmakesone—well,ratherarrogant.”
“Dr.Christowcameovertoyourhousethefollowingmorninginanswertothatsummons.Youhadaquarrel.Wouldyoucaretotellme,MissCray,whatthatquarrelwasabout?”
Theinspectorhadunmaskedhisbatteries.Hewasquicktoseizetheflashofanger,theill-temperedtighteningofthelips.Shesnappedout:
“Wedidn’tquarrel.”
“Oh,yes,youdid,MissCray.Yourlastwordswere:‘IthinkIhateyoumorethanIbelievedIcouldhateanyone.’”
Shewassilentnow.Hecouldfeelherthinking—thinkingquicklyandwarily.Somewomenmighthaverushedintospeech.ButVeronicaCraywastoocleverforthat.
Sheshruggedhershouldersandsaidlightly:
“Isee.Moreservants’tales.Mylittlemaidhasratheralivelyimagination.Therearedifferentwaysofsayingthings,youknow.IcanassureyouthatIwasn’tbeingmelodramatic.Itwasreallyamildlyflirtatiousremark.Wehadbeensparringtogether.”
“Thewordswerenotintendedtobetakenseriously?”
“Certainlynot.AndIcanassureyou,Inspector,thatitwasfifteenyearssinceIhadlastseenJohnChristow.Youcanverifythatforyourself.”
Shewaspoisedagain,detached,sureofherself.
Grangedidnotargueorpursuethesubject.Hegotup.
“That’sallforthemoment,MissCray,”hesaidpleasantly.
HewentoutofDovecotesanddownthelane,andturnedinatthegateofResthaven.
III
HerculePoirotstaredattheinspectorintheutmostsurprise.Herepeatedincredulously:
“TherevolverthatGerdaChristowwasholdingandwhichwassubsequentlydroppedintothepoolwasnottherevolverthatfiredthefatalshot?Butthatisextraordinary.”
“Exactly,M.Poirot.Putbluntly,itjustdoesn’tmakesense.”
Poirotmurmuredsoftly:
“No,itdoesnotmakesense.Butallthesame,Inspector,ithasgottomakesense,eh?”
Theinspectorsighedheavily:“That’sjustit,M.Poirot.We’vegottofindsomewaythatitdoesmakesense—butatthemomentIcan’tseeit.Thetruthisthatweshan’tgetmuchfurtheruntilwe’vefoundthegunthatwasused.ItcamefromSirHenry’scollectionallright—atleast,there’sonemissing—andthatmeansthatthewholethingisstilltiedupwithTheHollow.”
“Yes,”murmuredPoirot.“ItisstilltiedupwithTheHollow.”
“Itseemedasimple,straightforwardbusiness,”wentontheinspector.“Well,itisn’tsosimpleorsostraightforward.”
“No,”saidPoirot,“itisnotsimple.”
“We’vegottoadmitthepossibilitythatthethingwasaframe-up—that’stosaythatitwasallsettoimplicateGerdaChristow.Butifthatwasso,whynotleavetherightrevolverlyingbythebodyforhertopickup?”
“Shemightnothavepickeditup.”
“That’strue,butevenifshedidn’t,solongasnobodyelse’sfingerprintswereonthegun—that’stosayifitwaswipedafteruse—shewouldprobablyhavebeensuspectedallright.Andthat’swhatthemurdererwanted,wasn’tit?”
“Wasit?”
Grangestared.
“Well,ifyou’ddoneamurder,you’dwanttoplantitgoodandquickonsomeoneelse,wouldn’tyou?Thatwouldbeamurderer’snormalreaction.”
“Ye-es,”saidPoirot.“Butthenperhapswehaveherearatherunusualtypeofmurderer.Itispossiblethatthatisthesolutionofourproblem.”
“Whatisthesolution?”
Poirotsaidthoughtfully:
“Anunusualtypeofmurderer.”
InspectorGrangestaredathimcuriously.Hesaid:
“Butthen—whatwasthemurderer’sidea?Whatwasheorshegettingat?”
Poirotspreadouthishandswithasigh
“Ihavenoidea—Ihavenoideaatall.Butitseemstome—dimly—”
“Yes?”
“ThatthemurdererissomeonewhowantedtokillJohnChristowbutwhodidnotwanttoimplicateGerdaChristow.”
“H’h!Actually,wesuspectedherrightaway.”
“Ah,yes,butitwasonlyamatteroftimebeforethefactsabouttheguncametolight,andthatwasboundtogiveanewangle.Intheintervalthemurdererhashadtime—”Poirotcametoafullstop.
“Timetodowhat?”
“Ah,momami,thereyouhaveme.AgainIhavetosayIdonotknow.”
InspectorGrangetookaturnortwoupanddowntheroom.ThenhestoppedandcametoastandinfrontofPoirot.
“I’vecometoyouthisafternoon,M.Poirot,fortworeasons.OneisbecauseIknow—it’sprettywellknownintheForce—thatyou’reamanofwideexperiencewho’sdonesomeverytrickyworkonthistypeofproblem.That’sreasonnumberone.Butthere’sanotherreason.Youwerethere.Youwereaneyewitness.Yousawwhathappened.”
Poirotnodded.
“Yes,Isawwhathappened—buttheeyes,InspectorGrange,areveryunreliablewitnesses.”
“Whatdoyoumean,M.Poirot?”
“Theeyessee,sometimes,whattheyaremeanttosee.”
“Youthinkthatitwasplannedoutbeforehand?”
“Isuspectit.Itwasexactly,youunderstand,likeastagescene.WhatIsawwasclearenough.Amanwhohadjustbeenshotandthewomanwhohadshothimholdinginherhandthegunshehadjustused.ThatiswhatIsaw,andalreadyweknowthatinoneparticularthepictureiswrong.ThatgunhadnotbeenusedtoshootJohnChristow.”
“Hm!”Theinspectorpulledhisdroopingmoustachefirmlydownwards.“Whatyouaregettingatisthatsomeoftheotherparticularsofthepicturemaybewrongtoo?”
Poirotnodded.Hesaid:
“Therewerethreeotherpeoplepresent—threepeoplewhohadapparentlyjustarrivedonthescene.Butthatmaynotbetrueeither.Thepoolissurroundedbyathickgroveofyoungchestnuts.Fromthepoolfivepathsleadaway,onetothehouse,oneuptothewoods,oneuptotheflowerwalk,onedownfromthepooltothefarmandonetothelanehere.
“Ofthosethreepeople,eachonecamealongadifferentpath,EdwardAngkatellfromthewoodsabove,LadyAngkatellupfromthefarm,andHenriettaSavernakefromtheflowerborderabovethehouse.Thosethreearriveduponthesceneofthecrimealmostsimultaneously,andafewminutesafterGerdaChristow.
“Butoneofthosethree,Inspector,couldhavebeenatthepoolbeforeGerdaChristowarrived,couldhaveshotJohnChristow,andcouldhaveretreatedupordownoneofthepathsandthen,turningaround,couldhavearrivedatthesametimeastheothers.”
InspectorGrangesaid:
“Yes,it’spossible.”
“Andanotherpossibility,notenvisagedatthetime.Someonecouldhavecomealongthepathfromthelane,couldhaveshotJohnChristow,andcouldhavegonebackthesameway,unseen.”
Grangesaid:“You’redeadright.TherearetwootherpossiblesuspectsbesidesGerdaChristow.We’vegotthesamemotive—jealousy.It’sdefinitelyacrimepassionel.ThereweretwootherwomenmixedupwithJohnChristow.”
Hepausedandsaid:
“ChristowwentovertoseeVeronicaCraythatmorning.Theyhadarow.Shetoldhimthatshe’dmakehimsorryforwhathe’ddone,andshesaidshehatedhimmorethanshebelievedshecouldhateanyone.”
“Interesting,”murmuredPoirot.
“She’sstraightfromHollywood—andbywhatIreadinthepaperstheydoabitofshootingeachotherouttheresometimes.Shecouldhavecomealongtogetherfurs,whichshe’dleftinthepavilionthenightbefore.Theycouldhavemet—thewholethingcouldhaveflaredup—shefiredathim—andthen,hearingsomeonecoming,shecouldhavedodgedbackthewayshecame.”
Hepausedamomentandaddedirritably:
“Andnowwecometothepartwhereitallgoeshaywire.Thatdamnedgun!Unless,”hiseyesbrightened,“sheshothimwithherowngunanddroppedonethatshe’dpinchedfromSirHenry’sstudysoastothrowsuspiciononthecrowdatTheHollow.Shemightn’tknowaboutourbeingabletoidentifythegunusedfromthemarksontherifling.”
“Howmanypeopledoknowthat,Iwonder?”
“IputthepointtoSirHenry.Hesaidhethoughtquitealotofpeoplewouldknow—onaccountofallthedetectivestoriesthatarewritten.Quotedanewone,TheClueoftheDrippingFountain,whichhesaidJohnChristowhimselfhadbeenreadingonSaturdayandwhichemphasizedthatparticularpoint.”
“ButVeronicaCraywouldhavehadtohavegotthegunsomehowfromSirHenry’sstudy.”
“Yes,itwouldmeanpremeditation.”Theinspectortookanothertugathismoustache,thenhelookedatPoirot.“Butyou’vehintedyourselfatanotherpossibility,M.Poirot.There’sMissSavernake.Andhere’swhereyoureyewitnessstuff,orratherIshouldsay,earwitnessstuff,comesinagain.Dr.Christowsaid:‘Henrietta’whenhewasdying.Youheardhim—theyallheardhim,thoughMr.Angkatelldoesn’tseemtohavecaughtwhathesaid.”
“EdwardAngkatelldidnothear?Thatisinteresting.”
“Buttheothersdid.MissSavernakeherselfsayshetriedtospeaktoher.LadyAngkatellsaysheopenedhiseyes,sawMissSavernake,andsaid:‘Henrietta.’Shedoesn’t,Ithink,attachanyimportancetoit.”
Poirotsmiled.“No—shewouldnotattachimportancetoit.”
“Now,M.Poirot,whataboutyou?Youwerethere—yousaw—youheard.WasDr.ChristowtryingtotellyouallthatitwasHenriettawhohadshothim?Inshort,wasthatwordanaccusation?”
Poirotsaidslowly:
“Ididnotthinksoatthetime.”
“Butnow,M.Poirot?Whatdoyouthinknow?”
Poirotsighed.Thenhesaidslowly:
“Itmayhavebeenso.Icannotsaymorethanthat.Itisanimpressiononlyforwhichyouareaskingme,andwhenthemomentispastthereisatemptationtoreadintothingsameaningwhichwasnotthereatthetime.”
Grangesaidhastily:
“Ofcourse,thisisallofftherecord.WhatM.Poirotthoughtisn’tevidence—Iknowthat.It’sonlyapointerI’mtryingtoget.”
“Oh,Iunderstandyouverywell—andanimpressionfromaneyewitnesscanbeaveryusefulthing.ButIamhumiliatedtohavetosaythatmyimpressionsarevalueless.Iwasunderthemisconception,inducedbythevisualevidence,thatMrs.Christowhadjustshotherhusband;sothatwhenDr.Christowopenedhiseyesandsaid‘Henrietta’Ineverthoughtofitasbeinganaccusation.Itistemptingnow,lookingback,toreadintothatscenesomethingthatwasnotthere.”
“Iknowwhatyoumean,”saidGrange.“Butitseemstomethatsince‘Henrietta’wasthelastwordChristowspoke,itmusthavemeantoneoftwothings.Itwaseitheranaccusationofmurderorelseitwas—well,purelyemotional.She’sthewomanhe’sinlovewithandhe’sdying.Now,bearingeverythinginmind,whichofthetwodiditsoundliketoyou?”
Poirotsighed,stirred,closedhiseyes,openedthemagain,stretchedouthishandsinacutevexation.Hesaid:
“Hisvoicewasurgent—thatisallIcansay—urgent.Itseemedtomeneitheraccusingnoremotional—buturgent,yes!AndofonethingIamsure.Hewasinfullpossessionofhisfaculties.Hespoke—yes,hespokelikeadoctor—adoctorwhohas,say,asuddensurgicalemergencyonhishands—apatientwhoisbleedingtodeath,perhaps.”Poirotshruggedhisshoulders.“ThatisthebestIcandoforyou.”
“Medical,eh?”saidtheinspector.“Well,yes,thatisathirdwayoflookingatit.Hewasshot,hesuspectedhewasdying,hewantedsomethingdoneforhimquickly.Andif,asLadyAngkatellsays,MissSavernakewasthefirstpersonhesawwhenhiseyesopened,thenhewouldappealtoher.It’snotverysatisfactory,though.”
“Nothingaboutthiscaseissatisfactory,”saidPoirotwithsomebitterness.
Amurderscene,setandstagedtodeceiveHerculePoirot—andwhichhaddeceivedhim!No,itwasnotsatisfactory.
InspectorGrangewaslookingoutofthewindow.
“Hallo,”hesaid,“here’sClark,mysergeant.Looksasthoughhe’sgotsomething.He’sbeenworkingontheservants—thefriendlytouch.He’sanicelookingchap,gotawaywithwomen.”
SergeantClarkcameinalittlebreathlessly.Hewasclearlypleasedwithhimself,thoughsubduingthefactunderarespectfulofficialmanner.
“ThoughtI’dbettercomeandreport,sir,sinceIknewwhereyou’dgone.”
Hehesitated,shootingadoubtfulglanceatPoirot,whoseexoticforeignappearancedidnotcommenditselftohissenseofofficialreticence.
“Outwithit,mylad,”saidGrange.“NevermindM.Poirothere.He’sforgottenmoreaboutthisgamethanyou’llknowformanyyearstocome.”
“Yes,sir.It’sthisway,sir.Igotsomethingoutofthekitchenmaid—”
Grangeinterrupted.HeturnedtoPoirottriumphantly.
“WhatdidItellyou?There’salwayshopewherethere’sakitchenmaid.Heavenhelpuswhendomesticstaffsaresoreducedthatnobodykeepsakitchenmaidanymore.Kitchenmaidstalk,kitchenmaidsbabble.They’resokeptdownandintheirplacebythecookandtheupperservantsthatit’sonlyhumannaturetotalkaboutwhattheyknowtosomeonewhowantstohearit.Goon,Clark.”
“Thisiswhatthegirlsays,sir.ThatonSundayafternoonshesawGudgeon,thebutler,walkingacrossthehallwitharevolverinhishand.”
“Gudgeon?”
“Yes,sir.”Clarkreferredtoanotebook.“Theseareherownwords.‘Idon’tknowwhattodo,butIthinkIoughttosaywhatIsawthatday.IsawMr.Gudgeon,hewasstandinginthehallwitharevolverinhishand.Mr.Gudgeonlookedverypeculiarindeed.’
“Idon’tsuppose,”saidClark,breakingoff,“thatthepartaboutlookingpeculiarmeansanything.Sheprobablyputthatinoutofherhead.ButIthoughtyououghttoknowaboutitatonce,sir.”
InspectorGrangerose,withthesatisfactionofamanwhoseesataskaheadofhimwhichheiswell-fittedtoperform
“Gudgeon?”hesaid.“I’llhaveawordwithMr.Gudgeonrightaway.”
Twenty
SittingoncemoreinSirHenry’sstudy,InspectorGrangestaredattheimpassivefaceofthemaninfrontofhim.
Sofar,thehonourslaywithGudgeon.
“Iamverysorry,sir,”herepeated.“IsupposeIoughttohavementionedtheoccurrence,butithadslippedmymemory.”
HelookedapologeticallyfromtheinspectortoSirHenry.
“Itwasabout5:30ifIrememberrightly,sir.IwascrossingthehalltoseeiftherewereanylettersforthepostwhenInoticedarevolverlyingonthehalltable.Ipresumeditwasfromthemaster’scollection,soIpickeditupandbroughtitinhere.Therewasagapontheshelfbythemantelpiecewhereithadcomefrom,soIreplaceditwhereitbelonged.”
“Pointitouttome,”saidGrange.
Gudgeonroseandwenttotheshelfinquestion,theinspectorclosebehindhim
“Itwasthisone,sir.”Gudgeon’sfingerindicatedasmallMauserpistolattheendoftherow.
Itwasa.25—quiteasmallweapon.ItwascertainlynotthegunthathadkilledJohnChristow.
Grange,withhiseyesonGudgeon’sface,said:
“That’sanautomaticpistol,notarevolver.”
Gudgeoncoughed.
“Indeed,sir?I’mafraidthatIamnotatallwell-upinfirearms.Imayhaveusedthetermrevolverratherloosely,sir.”
“Butyouarequitesurethatthatisthegunyoufoundinthehallandbroughtinhere?”
“Oh,yes,sir,therecanbenopossibledoubtaboutthat.”
Grangestoppedhimashewasabouttostretchoutahand.
“Don’ttouchit,please.Imustexamineitforfingerprintsandtoseeifitisloaded.”
“Idon’tthinkitisloaded,sir.NoneofSirHenry’scollectioniskeptloaded.And,asforfingerprints,Ipolisheditoverwithmyhandkerchiefbeforereplacingit,sir,sotherewillonlybemyfingerprintsonit.”
“Whydidyoudothat?”askedGrangesharply.
ButGudgeon’sapologeticsmiledidnotwaver.
“Ifancieditmightbedusty,sir.”
ThedooropenedandLadyAngkatellcamein.Shesmiledattheinspector.
“Hownicetoseeyou,InspectorGrange!WhatisallthisaboutarevolverandGudgeon?Thatchildinthekitchenisinfloodsoftears.Mrs.Medwayhasbeenbullyingher—butofcoursethegirlwasquiterighttosaywhatshesawifshethoughtsheoughttodoso.Ialwaysfindrightandwrongsobewilderingmyself—easy,youknow,ifrightisunpleasantandwrongisagreeable,becausethenoneknowswhereoneis—butconfusingwhenitistheotherwayabout—andIthink,don’tyou,Inspector,thateveryonemustdowhattheythinkrightthemselves.Whathaveyoubeentellingthemaboutthatpistol,Gudgeon?”
Gudgeonsaidwithrespectfulemphasis:
“Thepistolwasinthehall,mylady,onthecentretable.Ihavenoideawhereitcamefrom.Ibroughtitinhereandputitawayinitsproperplace.ThatiswhatIhavejusttoldtheinspectorandhequiteunderstands.”
LadyAngkatellshookherhead.Shesaidgently:
“Youreallyshouldn’thavesaidthat,Gudgeon.I’lltalktotheinspectormyself.”
Gudgeonmadeaslightmovement,andLadyAngkatellsaidverycharmingly:
“Idoappreciateyourmotives,Gudgeon.Iknowhowyoualwaystrytosaveustroubleandannoyance.”Sheaddedingentledismissal:“Thatwillbeallnow.”
Gudgeonhesitated,threwafleetingglancetowardsSirHenryandthenattheinspector,thenbowedandmovedtowardsthedoor.
Grangemadeamotionasthoughtostophim,butforsomereasonhewasnotabletodefinetohimself,helethisarmfallagain.Gudgeonwentoutandclosedthedoor.
LadyAngkatelldroppedintoachairandsmiledatthetwomen.Shesaidconversationally:
“Youknow,IreallydothinkthatwasverycharmingofGudgeon.Quitefeudal,ifyouknowwhatImean.Yes,feudalistherightword.”
Grangesaidstiffly:
“AmItounderstand,LadyAngkatell,thatyouyourselfhavesomefurtherknowledgeaboutthematter?”
“Ofcourse.Gudgeondidn’tfinditinthehallatall.Hefounditwhenhetooktheeggsout.”
“Theeggs?”InspectorGrangestaredather.
“Outofthebasket,”saidLadyAngkatell.
Sheseemedtothinkthateverythingwasnowquiteclear.SirHenrysaidgently:
“Youmusttellusalittlemore,mydear.InspectorGrangeandIarestillatsea.”
“Oh.”LadyAngkatellsetherselftobeexplicit.“Thepistol,yousee,wasinthebasket,undertheeggs.”
“Whatbasketandwhateggs,LadyAngkatell?”
“ThebasketItookdowntothefarm.Thepistolwasinit,andthenIputtheeggsinontopofthepistolandforgotallaboutit.AndwhenwefoundpoorJohnChristowdeadbythepool,itwassuchashockIletgoofthebasketandGudgeonjustcaughtitintime(becauseoftheeggs,Imean.IfI’ddroppedittheywouldhavebeenbroken).Andhe
AndLadyAngkatellfinishedupbygivingtheinspectorabeamingsmile.
“ThetruthiswhatImeantoget,”saidGrangerathergrimly.
LadyAngkatellsighed.
“Itallseemssuchafuss,doesn’tit?”shesaid.“Imean,allthishoundingpeopledown.Idon’tsupposewhoeveritwaswhoshotJohnChristowreallymeanttoshoothim—notseriously,Imean.IfitwasGerda,I’msureshedidn’t.Infact,I’mreallysurprisedthatshedidn’tmiss—it’sthesortofthingthatonewouldexpectofGerda.Andshe’sreallyaverynicekindcreature.Andifyougoandputherinprisonandhangher,whatonearthisgoingtohappentothechildren?IfshedidshootJohn,she’sprobablydreadfullysorryaboutitnow.It’sbadenoughforchildrentohaveafatherwho’sbeenmurdered—butitwillmakeitinfinitelyworseforthemtohavetheirmotherhangedforit.SometimesIdon’tthinkyoupolicementhinkofthesethings.”
“Wearenotcontemplatingarrestinganyoneatpresent,LadyAngkatell.”
“Well,that’ssensibleatanyrate.ButIhavethoughtallalong,InspectorGrange,thatyouwereaverysensiblesortofman.”
Againthatcharming,almostdazzlingsmile.
InspectorGrangeblinkedalittle.Hecouldnothelpit,buthecamefirmlytothepointatissue.
“Asyousaidjustnow,LadyAngkatell,it’sthetruthIwanttogetat.Youtookthepistolfromhere—whichgunwasit,bytheway?”
LadyAngkatellnoddedherheadtowardstheshelfbythemantelpiece.“Thesecondfromtheend.TheMauser.25.”Somethinginthecrisp,technicalwayshespokejarredonGrange.Hehadnot,somehow,expectedLadyAngkatell,whomuptonowhehadlabelledinhisownmindas“vague”and“justabitbatty,”todescribeafirearmwithsuchtechnicalprecision.
“Youtookthepistolfromhereandputitinyourbasket.Why?”
“Iknewyou’daskmethat,”saidLadyAngkatell.Hertone,unexpectedly,wasalmosttriumphant.“Andofcoursetheremustbesomereason.Don’tyouthinkso,Henry?”Sheturnedtoherhusband.“Don’tyouthinkImusthavehadareasonfortakingapistoloutthatmorning?”
“Ishouldcertainlyhavethoughtso,mydear,”saidSirHenrystiffly.
“Onedoesthings,”saidLadyAngkatell,gazingthoughtfullyinfrontofher,“andthenonedoesn’trememberwhyonehasdonethem.ButIthink,youknow,Inspector,thattherealwaysisareasonifonecanonlygetatit.ImusthavehadsomeideainmyheadwhenIputtheMauserintomyeggbasket.”Sheappealedtohim.“Whatdoyouthinkitcanhavebeen?”
Grangestaredather.Shedisplayednoembarrassment—justachildlikeeagerness.Itbeathim.HehadneveryetmetanyonelikeLucyAngkatell,andjustforthemomenthedidn’tknowwhattodoaboutit.
“Mywife,”saidSirHenry,“isextremelyabsentminded,Inspector.”
“Soitseems,sir,”saidGrange.Hedidnotsayitverynicely.
“WhydoyouthinkItookthatpistol?”LadyAngkatellaskedhimconfidentially.
“Ihavenoidea,LadyAngkatell.”
“Icameinhere,”musedLadyAngkatell.“IhadbeentalkingtoSimmonsaboutthepillowcases—andIrememberdimlycrossingovertothefireplace—andthinkingwemustgetanewpoker—thecurate,nottherector—”
InspectorGrangestared.Hefelthisheadgoinground.
“AndIrememberpickinguptheMauser—itwasanicehandylittlegun,I’vealwayslikedit—anddroppingitintothebasket—I’djustgotthebasketfromtheflowerroom.Butthereweresomanythingsinmyhead—Simmons,youknow,andthebindweedintheMichaelmasdaisies—andhopingMrs.MedwaywouldmakeareallyrichNiggerinhisShirt—”
“Aniggerinhisshirt?”InspectorGrangehadtobreakin.
“Chocolate,youknow,andeggs—andthencoveredwithwhippedcream.Justthesortofsweetaforeignerwouldlikeforlunch.”
InspectorGrangespokefiercelyandbrusquely,feelinglikeamanwhobrushesawayfinespiders’webswhichareimpairinghisvision.
“Didyouloadthepistol?”
Hehadhopedtostartleher—perhapseventofrightenheralittle,butLadyAngkatellonlyconsideredthequestionwithakindofdesperatethoughtfulness.
“NowdidI?That’ssostupid.Ican’tremember.ButIshouldthinkImusthave,don’tyou,Inspector?Imean,what’sthegoodofapistolwithoutammunition?IwishIcouldrememberexactlywhatwasinmyheadatthetime.”
“MydearLucy,”saidSirHenry.“Whatgoesonordoesnotgooninyourheadhasbeenthedespairofeveryonewhoknowsyouwellforyears.”
Sheflashedhimaverysweetsmile.
“Iamtryingtoremember,Henrydear.Onedoessuchcuriousthings.Ipickedupthetelephonereceivertheothermorningandfoundmyselflookingdownatitquitebewildered.Icouldn’timaginewhatIwantedwithit.”
“Presumablyyouweregoingtoringsomeoneup,”saidtheinspectorcoldly.
“No,funnilyenough,Iwasn’t.Irememberedafterwards—I’dbeenwonderingwhyMrs.Mears,thegardener’swife,heldherbabyinsuchanoddway,andIpickedupthetelephonereceivertotry,youknow,justhowonewouldholdababy,andofcourseIrealizedthatithadlookedoddbecauseMrs.Mearswasleft-handedandhaditsheadtheotherwayround.”
Shelookedtriumphantlyfromonetotheotherofthetwomen.
“Well,”thoughttheinspector,“Isupposeit’spossiblethattherearepeoplelikethis.”
Buthedidnotfeelverysureaboutit.
Thewholething,herealized,mightbeatissueoflies.Thekitchenmaid,forinstance,haddistinctlystatedthatitwasarevolverGudgeonhadbeenholding.Still,youcouldn’tsetmuchstorebythat.Thegirlknewnothingoffirearms.Shehadheardarevolvertalkedaboutinconnectionwiththecrime,andrevolverorpistolwouldbeallonetoher.
BothGudgeonandLadyAngkatellhadspecifiedtheMauserpistol—buttherewasnothingtoprovetheirstatement.ItmightactuallyhavebeenthemissingrevolverthatGudgeonhadbeenhandlingandhemighthavereturnedit,nottothestudy,buttoLadyAngkatellherself.Theservantsallseemedabsolutelybesottedaboutthedamnedwoman.
SupposingitwasactuallyshewhohadshotJohnChristow?(Butwhyshouldshe?Hecouldn’tseewhy.)Wouldtheystillbackherupandtellliesforher?Hehadanuncomfortablefeelingthatthatwasjustwhattheywoulddo.
Andnowthisfantasticstoryofhersaboutnotbeingabletoremember—surelyshecouldthinkupsomethingbetterthanthat.Andlookingsonaturalaboutit—notintheleastembarrassedorapprehensive.Damnitall,shegaveyoutheimpressionthatshewasspeakingtheliteraltruth.
Hegotup.
“Whenyourememberalittlemore,perhapsyou’lltellme,LadyAngkatell,”hesaiddryly.
Sheanswered:“OfcourseIwill,Inspector.Thingscometoonequitesuddenlysometimes.”
Grangewentoutofthestudy.Inthehallheputafingerroundtheinsideofacollaranddrewadeepbreath.
Hefeltalltangledupinthethistledown.Whatheneededwashisoldestandfoulestpipe,apintofaleandagoodsteakandchips.Somethingplainandobjective.
Twenty-one
InthestudyLadyAngkatellflittedabouttouchingthingshereandtherewithavagueforefinger.SirHenrysatbackinhischairwatchingher.Hesaidatlast:
“Whydidyoutakethepistol,Lucy?”
LadyAngkatellcamebackandsankdowngracefullyintoachair.
“I’mnotreallyquitesure,Henry.IsupposeIhadsomevagueideasofanaccident.”
“Accident?”
“Yes.Allthoserootsoftrees,youknow,”saidLadyAngkatellvaguely,“stickingout—soeasy,justtotripoverone.Onemighthavehadafewshotsatthetargetandleftoneshotinthemagazine—careless,ofcourse—butthenpeoplearecareless.I’vealwaysthought,youknow,thataccidentwouldbethesimplestwaytodoathingofthatkind.Onewouldbedreadfullysorry,ofcourse,andblameoneself….”
Hervoicediedaway.Herhusbandsatverystillwithouttakinghiseyesoffherface.Hespokeagaininthesamequiet,carefulvoice.
“Whowastohavehad—theaccident?”
Lucyturnedherheadalittle,lookingathiminsurprise.
“JohnChristow,ofcourse.”
“GoodGod,Lucy—”Hebrokeoff.
Shesaidearnestly:
“Oh,Henry,I’vebeensodreadfullyworried.AboutAinswick.”
“Isee.It’sAinswick.You’vealwayscaredtoomuchaboutAinswick,Lucy.SometimesIthinkit’stheonlythingyoudocarefor.”
“EdwardandDavidarethelast—thelastoftheAngkatells.AndDavidwon’tdo,Henry.He’llnevermarry—becauseofhismotherandallthat.He’llgettheplacewhenEdwarddies,andhewon’tmarry,andyouandIwillbedeadlongbeforehe’sevenmiddle-aged.He’llbethelastoftheAngkatellsandthewholethingwilldieout.”
“Doesitmattersomuch,Lucy?”
“Ofcourseitmatters!Ainswick!”
“Youshouldhavebeenaboy,Lucy.”
Buthesmiledalittle—forhecouldnotimagineLucybeinganythingbutfeminine.
“ItalldependsonEdward’smarrying—andEdward’ssoobstinate—thatlongheadofhis,likemyfather’s.Ihopedhe’dgetoverHenriettaandmarrysomenicegirl—butIseenowthatthat’shopeless.ThenIthoughtthatHenrietta’saffairwithJohnwouldruntheusualcourse.John’saffairswerenever,Iimagine,verypermanent.ButIsawhimlookingathertheotherevening.Hereallycaredabouther.IfonlyJohnwereoutofthewayIfeltthatHenriettawouldmarryEdward.She’snotthekindofpersontocherishamemoryandliveinthepast.So,yousee,itallcametothat—getridofJohnChristow.”
“Lucy.Youdidn’t—Whatdidyoudo,Lucy?”
LadyAngkatellgotupagain.Shetooktwodeadflowersoutofavase.
“Darling,”shesaid.“Youdon’timagineforamoment,doyou,thatIshotJohnChristow?Ididhavethatsillyideaaboutanaccident.Butthen,youknow,Irememberedthatwe’daskedJohnChristowhere—it’snotasthoughheproposedhimself.Onecan’tasksomeonetobeyourguestandthenarrangeaccidents.EvenArabsaremostparticularabouthospitality.Sodon’tworry,willyou,Henry?”
Shestoodlookingathimwithabrilliant,affectionatesmile.Hesaidheavily:
“Ialwaysworryaboutyou,Lucy.”
“There’snoneed,darling.Andyousee,everythinghasactuallyturnedoutallright.Johnhasbeengotridofwithoutourdoinganythingaboutit.Itremindsme,”saidLadyAngkatellreminiscently,“ofthatmaninBombaywhowassofrightfullyrudetome.Hewasrunoverbyatramthreedayslater.”
Sheunboltedthefrenchwindowsandwentoutintothegarden.
SirHenrysatstill,watchinghertall,slenderfigurewanderdownthepath.Helookedoldandtired,andhisfacewasthefaceofamanwholivesatclosequarterswithfear.
InthekitchenatearfulDorisEmmottwaswiltingunderthesternreproofofMr.Gudgeon.Mrs.MedwayandMissSimmonsactedasakindofGreekchorus.
“Puttingyourselfforwardandjumpingtoconclusionsinawayonlyaninexperiencedgirlwoulddo.”
“That’sright,”saidMrs.Medway.
“Ifyouseemewithapistolinmyhand,theproperthingtodoistocometomeandsay:‘Mr.Gudgeon,willyoubesokindastogivemeanexplanation?’”
“Oryoucouldhavecometome,”putinMrs.Medway.“I’malwayswillingtotellayounggirlwhatdoesn’tknowtheworldwhatsheoughttothink.”
“Whatyoushouldnothavedone,”saidGudgeonseverely,“istogobabblingofftoapoliceman—andonlyasergeantatthat!Nevergetmixedupwiththepolicemorethanyoucanhelp.It’spainfulenoughhavingtheminthehouseatall.”
“Inexpressiblypainful,”murmuredMissSimmons.
“Suchathingneverhappenedtomebefore.”
“Weallknow,”wentonGudgeon,“whatherladyshipislike.Nothingherladyshipdoeswouldeversurpriseme—butthepolicedon’tknowherladyshipthewaywedo,andit’snottobethoughtofthatherladyshipshouldbeworriedwithsillyquestionsandsuspicionsjustbecauseshewandersaboutwithfirearms.It’sthesortofthingshewoulddo,butthepolicehavethekindofmindthatjustseesmurderandnastythingslikethat.Herladyshipisthekindofabsentmindedladywhowouldn’thurtafly,butthere’snodenyingthatsheputsthingsinfunnyplaces.Ishallneverforget,”addedGudgeonwithfeeling,“whenshebroughtbackalivelobsterandputitinthecardtrayinthehall.ThoughtIwasseeingthings!”
“Thatmusthavebeenbeforemytime,”saidSimmonswithcuriosity.
Mrs.MedwaycheckedtheserevelationswithaglanceattheerringDoris.
“Someothertime,”shesaid.“Nowthen,Doris,we’veonlybeenspeakingtoyouforyourowngood.It’scommontobemixedupwiththepolice,anddon’tyouforgetit.Youcangetonwiththevegetablesnow,andbemorecarefulwiththerunnerbeansthanyouwerelastnight.”
Dorissniffed.
“Yes,Mrs.Medway,”shesaid,andshuffledovertothesink.
Mrs.Medwaysaidforebodingly:
“Idon’tfeelasI’mgoingtohavealighthandwithmypastry.Thatnastyinquesttomorrow.GivesmeaturneverytimeIthinkofit.Athinglikethat—happeningtous.”
Twenty-two
ThelatchofthegateclickedandPoirotlookedoutofthewindowintimetoseethevisitorwhowascomingupthepathtothefrontdoor.Heknewatoncewhoshewas.HewonderedverymuchwhatbroughtVeronicaCraytoseehim.
Shebroughtadeliciousfaintscentintotheroomwithher,ascentthatPoirotrecognized.SheworetweedsandbroguesasHenriettahaddone—butshewas,hedecided,verydifferentfromHenrietta.
“M.Poirot.”Hertonewasdelightful,alittlethrilled.“I’veonlyjustdiscoveredwhomyneighbouris.AndI’vealwayswantedtoknowyousomuch.”
Hetookheroutstretchedhands,bowedoverthem.
“Enchanted,Madame.”
Sheacceptedthehomagesmilingly,refusedhisofferoftea,coffeeorcocktail.
“No,I’vejustcometotalktoyou.Totalkseriously.I’mworried.”
“Youareworried?Iamsorrytohearthat.”
Veronicasatdownandsighed.
“It’saboutJohnChristow’sdeath.Theinquest’stomorrow.Youknowthat?”
“Yes,yes,Iknow.”
“Andthewholethinghasreallybeensoextraordinary—”
Shebrokeoff.
“Mostpeoplereallywouldn’tbelieveit.Butyouwould,Ithink,becauseyouknowsomethingabouthumannature.”
“Iknowalittleabouthumannature,”admittedPoirot.
“InspectorGrangecametoseeme.He’dgotitintohisheadthatI’dquarrelledwithJohn—whichistrueinawaythoughnotinthewayhemeant.ItoldhimthatIhadn’tseenJohnforfifteenyears—andhesimplydidn’tbelieveme.Butit’strue,M.Poirot.”
Poirotsaid:“Sinceitistrue,itcaneasilybeproved,sowhyworry?”
Shereturnedhissmileinthefriendliestfashion.
“TherealtruthisthatIsimplyhaven’tdaredtotelltheinspectorwhatactuallyhappenedonSaturdayevening.It’ssoabsolutelyfantasticthathecertainlywouldn’tbelieveit.ButIfeltImusttellsomeone.That’swhyIhavecometoyou.”
Poirotsaidquietly:“Iamflattered.”
Thatfact,henoted,shetookforgranted.Shewasawoman,hethought,whowasverysureoftheeffectshewasproducing.Sosurethatshemight,occasionally,makeamistake.
“JohnandIwereengagedtobemarriedfifteenyearsago.Hewasverymuchinlovewithme—somuchsothatitratheralarmedmesometimes.Hewantedmetogiveupacting—togiveuphavinganymindorlifeofmyown.HewassopossessiveandmasterfulthatIfeltIcouldn’tgothroughwithit,andIbrokeofftheengagement.I’mafraidhetookthatveryhard.”
Poirotclickedadiscreetandsympathetictongue.
“Ididn’tseehimagainuntillastSaturdaynight.Hewalkedhomewithme.Itoldtheinspectorthatwetalkedaboutoldtimes—that’strueinaway.Buttherewasfarmorethanthat.”
“Yes?”
“Johnwentmad—quitemad.Hewantedtoleavehiswifeandchildren,hewantedmetogetadivorcefrommyhusbandandmarryhim.Hesaidhe’dneverforgottenme—thatthemomenthesawmetimestoodstill.”
Sheclosedhereyes,sheswallowed.Underhermakeupherfacewasverypale.
SheopenedhereyesagainandsmiledalmosttimidlyatPoirot.
“Canyoubelievethata—afeelinglikethatispossible?”sheasked.
“Ithinkitispossible,yes,”saidPoirot.
“Nevertoforget—togoonwaiting—planning—hoping.Todeterminewithallone’sheartandmindtogetwhatonewantsintheend.Therearemenlikethat,M.Poirot.”
“Yes—andwomen.”
Shegavehimahardstare.
“I’mtalkingaboutmen—aboutJohnChristow.Well,that’showitwas.Iprotestedatfirst,laughed,refusedtotakehimseriously.ThenItoldhimhewasmad.Itwasquitelatewhenhewentbacktothehouse.We’darguedandargued.Hewasstill—justasdetermined.”
Sheswallowedagain.
“That’swhyIsenthimanotethenextmorning.Icouldn’tleavethingslikethat.Ihadtomakehimrealizethatwhathewantedwas—impossible.”
“Itwasimpossible?”
“Ofcourseitwasimpossible!Hecameover.Hewouldn’tlistentowhatIhadtosay.Hewasjustasinsistent.Itoldhimthatitwasnogood,thatIdidn’tlovehim,thatIhatedhim…”Shepaused,breathinghard.“Ihadtobebrutalaboutit.Sowepartedinanger…Andnow—he’sdead.”
Hesawherhandscreeptogether,sawthetwistedfingersandtheknucklesstandout.Theywerelarge,rathercruelhands.
Thestrongemotionthatshewasfeelingcommunicateditselftohim.Itwasnotsorrow,notgrief—no,itwasanger.Theanger,hethought,ofabaffledegoist.
“Well,M.Poirot?”Hervoicewascontrolledandsmoothagain.“WhatamItodo?Tellthestory,orkeepittomyself?It’swhathappened—butittakesabitofbelieving.”
Poirotlookedather,along,consideringgaze.
HedidnotthinkthatVeronicaCraywastellingthetruth,andyettherewasanundeniableundercurrentofsincerity.Ithappened,hethought,butitdidnothappenlikethat.
Andsuddenlyhegotit.Itwasatruestory,inverted.ItwasshewhohadbeenunabletoforgetJohnChristow.Itwasshewhohadbeenbaffledandrepulsed.Andnow,unabletobearinsilencethefuriousangerofatigressdeprivedofwhatsheconsideredherlegitimateprey,shehadinventedaversionofthetruththatshouldsatisfyherwoundedprideandfeedalittletheachinghungerforamanwhohadgonebeyondthereachofherclutchinghands.Impossibletoadmitthatshe,VeronicaCray,couldnothavewhatshewanted!Soshehadchangeditallround.
Poirotdrewadeepbreathandspoke.
“IfallthishadanybearingonJohnChristow’sdeath,youwouldhavetospeakout,butifithasnot—andIcannotseewhyitshouldhave—thenIthinkyouarequitejustifiedinkeepingittoyourself.”
Hewonderedifshewasdisappointed.Hehadafancythatinherpresentmoodshewouldliketohurlherstoryintotheprintedpageofanewspaper.Shehadcometohim—why?Totryoutherstory?Totesthisreactions?Ortousehim—toinducehimtopassthestoryon?
Ifhismildresponsedisappointedher,shedidnotshowit.Shegotupandgavehimoneofthoselong,well-manicuredhands.
“Thankyou,M.Poirot.Whatyousayseemseminentlysensible.I’msogladIcametoyou.I—IfeltIwantedsomebodytoknow.”
“Ishallrespectyourconfidence,Madame.”
Whenshehadgone,heopenedthewindowsalittle.Scentsaffectedhim.HedidnotlikeVeronica’sscent.Itwasexpensivebutcloying,overpoweringlikeherpersonality.
Hewondered,asheflappedthecurtains,whetherVeronicaCrayhadkilledJohnChristow.
Shewouldhavebeenwillingtokillhim—hebelievedthat.Shewouldhaveenjoyedpressingthetrigger—wouldhaveenjoyedseeinghimstaggerandfall.
Butbehindthatvindictiveangerwassomethingcoldandshrewd,somethingthatappraisedchances,acool,calculatingintelligence.HowevermuchVeronicaCraywishedtokillJohnChristow,hedoubtedwhethershewouldhavetakentherisk.
Twenty-three
Theinquestwasover.Ithadbeenthemerestformalityofanaffair,andthoughwarnedofthisbeforehand,yetnearlyeveryonehadaresentfulsenseofanticlimax.
Adjournedforafortnightattherequestofthepolice.
GerdahaddrivendownwithMrs.PattersonfromLondoninahiredDaimler.Shehadonablackdressandanunbecominghat,andlookednervousandbewildered.
PreparatorytosteppingbackintotheDaimler,shepausedasLadyAngkatellcameuptoher.
“Howareyou,Gerdadear?Notsleepingtoobadly,Ihope.Ithinkitwentoffaswellaswecouldhopefor,don’tyou?Sosorrywehaven’tgotyouwithusatTheHollow,butIquiteunderstandhowdistressingthatwouldbe.”
Mrs.Pattersonsaidinherbrightvoice,glancingreproachfullyathersisterfornotintroducingherproperly:
“ThiswasMissCollins’sidea—todrivestraightdownandback.Expensive,ofcourse,butwethoughtitwasworthit.”
“Oh,Idosoagreewithyou.”
Mrs.Pattersonloweredhervoice.
“IamtakingGerdaandthechildrenstraightdowntoBexhill.Whatsheneedsisrestandquiet.Thereporters!You’venoidea!SimplyswarmingroundHarleyStreet.”
Ayoungmansnappedoffacamera,andElsiePattersonpushedhersisterintothecarandtheydroveoff.
TheothershadamomentaryviewofGerda’sfacebeneaththeunbecominghatbrim.Itwasvacant,lost—shelookedforthemomentlikeahalf-wittedchild.
MidgeHardcastlemutteredunderherbreath:“Poordevil.”
Edwardsaidirritably:
“WhatdideverybodyseeinChristow?Thatwretchedwomanlookscompletelyheartbroken.”
“Shewasabsolutelywrappedupinhim,”saidMidge.
“Butwhy?Hewasaselfishsortoffellow,goodcompanyinaway,but—”Hebrokeoff.Thenheasked:“Whatdidyouthinkofhim,Midge?”
“I?”Midgereflected.Shesaidatlast,rathersurprisedatherownwords:“IthinkIrespectedhim.”
“Respectedhim?Forwhat?”
“Well,heknewhisjob.”
“You’rethinkingofhimasadoctor?”
“Yes.”
Therewasnotimeformore.
HenriettawasdrivingMidgebacktoLondoninhercar.EdwardwasreturningtolunchatTheHollowandgoingupbytheafternoontrainwithDavid.HesaidvaguelytoMidge:“Youmustcomeoutandlunchoneday,”andMidgesaidthatthatwouldbeverynicebutthatshecouldn’ttakemorethananhouroff.Edwardgaveherhischarmingsmileandsaid:
“Oh,it’saspecialoccasion.I’msurethey’llunderstand.”
ThenhemovedtowardsHenrietta.“I’llringyouup,Henrietta.”
“Yes,do,Edward.ButImaybeoutagooddeal.”
“Out?”
Shegavehimaquick,mockingsmile.
“Drowningmysorrow.Youdon’texpectmetositathomeandmope,doyou?”
Hesaidslowly:“Idon’tunderstandyounowadays,Henrietta.Youarequitedifferent.”
Herfacesoftened.Shesaidunexpectedly:“DarlingEdward,”andgavehisarmaquicksqueeze.
ThensheturnedtoLucyAngkatell.“IcancomebackifIwantto,can’tI,Lucy?”
LadyAngkatellsaid:“Ofcourse,darling.Andanywaytherewillbetheinquestagaininafortnight.”
Henriettawenttowhereshehadparkedthecarinthemarketsquare.HersuitcasesandMidge’swerealreadyinside.
Theygotinanddroveoff.
Thecarclimbedthelonghillandcameoutontheroadovertheridge.Belowthemthebrownandgoldenleavesshiveredalittleinthechillofagreyautumnday.
Midgesaidsuddenly:“I’mgladtogetaway—evenfromLucy.Darlingassheis,shegivesmethecreepssometimes.”
Henriettawaslookingintentlyintothesmalldrivingmirror.
Shesaidratherinattentively:
“Lucyhastogivethecoloraturatouch—eventomurder.”
“Youknow,I’dneverthoughtaboutmurderbefore.”
“Whyshouldyou?Itisn’tathingonethinksabout.It’sasix-letterwordinacrossword,orapleasantentertainmentbetweenthecoversofabook.Buttherealthing—”
Shepaused.Midgefinished:
“Isreal.Thatiswhatstartlesone.”
Henriettasaid:
“Itneedn’tbestartlingtoyou.Youareoutsideit.Perhapstheonlyoneofuswhois.”
Midgesaid:
“We’realloutsideitnow.We’vegotaway.”
Henriettamurmured:“Havewe?”
Shewaslookinginthedrivingmirroragain.Suddenlysheputherfootdownontheaccelerator.Thecarresponded.Sheglancedatthespeedometer.Theyweredoingoverfifty.Presentlytheneedlereachedsixty.
MidgelookedsidewaysatHenrietta’sprofile.ItwasnotlikeHenriettatodriverecklessly.Shelikedspeed,butthewindingroadhardlyjustifiedthepacetheyweregoing.TherewasagrimsmilehoveringroundHenrietta’smouth.
Shesaid:“Lookoveryourshoulder,Midge.Seethatcarwaybackthere?”
“Yes?”
“It’saVentnor10.”
“Isit?”Midgewasnotparticularlyinterested.
“They’reusefullittlecars,lowpetrolconsumption,keeptheroadwell,butthey’renotfast.”
“No?”
Curious,thoughtMidge,howfascinatedHenriettaalwayswasbycarsandtheirperformance.
“AsIsay,they’renotfast—butthatcar,Midge,hasmanagedtokeepitsdistancealthoughwe’vebeengoingoversixty.”
Midgeturnedastartledfacetoher.
“Doyoumeanthat—”
Henriettanodded.“Thepolice,Ibelieve,havespecialenginesinveryordinary-lookingcars.”
Midgesaid:
“Youmeanthey’restillkeepinganeyeonusall?”
“Itseemsratherobvious.”
Midgeshivered.
“Henrietta,canyouunderstandthemeaningofthissecondgunbusiness?”
“No,itletsGerdaout.Butbeyondthatitjustdoesn’tseemtoadduptoanything.”
“But,ifitwasoneofHenry’sguns—”
“Wedon’tknowthatitwas.Ithasn’tbeenfoundyet,remember.”
“No,that’strue.Itcouldbesomeoneoutsidealtogether.DoyouknowwhoI’dliketothinkkilledJohn,Henrietta?Thatwoman.”
“VeronicaCray?”
“Yes.”
Henriettasaidnothing.Shedroveonwithhereyesfixedsternlyontheroadaheadofher.
“Don’tyouthinkit’spossible?”persistedMidge.
“Possible,yes,”saidHenriettaslowly.
“Thenyoudon’tthink—”
“It’snogoodthinkingathingbecauseyouwanttothinkit.It’stheperfectsolution—lettingallofusout!”
“Us?But—”
“We’reinit—allofus.Evenyou,Midgedarling—thoughthey’dbehardputtoittofindamotiveforyourshootingJohn.OfcourseI’dlikeittobeVeronica.Nothingwouldpleasemebetterthantoseehergivingalovelyperformance,asLucywouldputit,inthedock!”
Midgeshotaquicklookather.
“Tellme,Henrietta,doesitallmakeyoufeelvindictive?”
“Youmean”—Henriettapausedamoment—“becauseIlovedJohn?”
“Yes.”
Asshespoke,Midgerealizedwithaslightsenseofshockthatthiswasthefirsttimethebaldfacthadbeenputintowords.Ithadbeenacceptedbythemall,byLucyandHenry,byMidge,byEdwardeven,thatHenriettalovedJohnChristow,butnobodyhadeversomuchashintedatthefactinwordsbefore.
TherewasapausewhilstHenriettaseemedtobethinking.Thenshesaidinathoughtfulvoice:
“Ican’texplaintoyouwhatIfeel.PerhapsIdon’tknowmyself.”
TheyweredrivingnowoverAlbertBridge.
Henriettasaid:
“You’dbettercometothestudio,Midge.We’llhavetea,andI’lldriveyoutoyourdigsafterwards.”
HereinLondontheshortafternoonlightwasalreadyfading.TheydrewupatthestudiodoorandHenriettaputherkeyintothedoor.Shewentinandswitchedonthelight.
“It’schilly,”shesaid.“We’dbetterlightthegasfire.Oh,bother—Imeanttogetsomematchesontheway.”
“Won’talighterdo?”
“Mine’snogood,andanywayit’sdifficulttolightagasfirewithone.Makeyourselfathome.There’sanoldblindmanstandsonthecorner.Iusuallygetmymatchesoffhim.Ishan’tbeaminuteortwo.”
Leftaloneinthestudio,MidgewanderedroundlookingatHenrietta’swork.Itgaveheraneeriefeelingtobesharingtheemptystudiowiththesecreationsofwoodandbronze.
Therewasabronzeheadwithhighcheekbonesandatinhat,possiblyaRedArmysoldier,andtherewasanairystructureoftwistedribbonlikealuminiumwhichintriguedheragooddeal.Therewasavaststaticfroginpinkishgranite,andattheendofthestudioshecametoanalmostlife-sizedwoodenfigure.
ShewasstaringatitwhenHenrietta’skeyturnedinthedoorandHenriettaherselfcameinslightlybreathless.
Midgeturned.
“What’sthis,Henrietta?It’sratherfrightening.”
“That?That’sTheWorshipper.It’sgoingtotheInternationalGroup.”
Midgerepeated,staringatit:
“It’sfrightening.”
Kneelingtolightthegasfire,Henriettasaidoverhershoulder:
“It’sinterestingyoursayingthat.Whydoyoufinditfrightening?”
“Ithink—becauseithasn’tanyface.”
“Howrightyouare,Midge.”
“It’sverygood,Henrietta.”
Henriettasaidlightly:
“It’sanicebitofpearwood.”
Sherosefromherknees.Shetossedherbigsatchelbagandherfursontothedivan,andthrewdownacoupleofboxesofmatchesonthetable.
Midgewasstruckbytheexpressiononherface—ithadasuddenquiteinexplicableexultation.
“Nowfortea,”saidHenrietta,andinhervoicewasthesamewarmjubilationthatMidgehadalreadyglimpsedinherface.
Itstruckanalmostjarringnote—butMidgeforgotitinatrainofthoughtarousedbythesightofthetwoboxesofmatches.
“YourememberthosematchesVeronicaCraytookawaywithher?”
“WhenLucyinsistedonfoistingawholehalf-dozenonher?Yes.”
“Didanyoneeverfindoutwhethershehadmatchesinhercottageallthetime?”
“Iexpectthepolicedid.They’reverythorough.”
AfaintlytriumphantsmilewascurvingHenrietta’slips.Midgefeltpuzzledandalmostrepelled.
Shethought:“CanHenriettareallyhavecaredforJohn?Canshe?Surelynot.”
Andafaintdesolatechillstruckthroughherasshereflected:
“Edwardwillnothavetowaitverylong….”
Ungenerousofhernottoletthatthoughtbringwarmth.ShewantedEdwardtobehappy,didn’tshe?Itwasn’tasthoughshecouldhaveEdwardherself.ToEdwardshewouldbealways“littleMidge.”Nevermorethanthat.Neverawomantobeloved.
Edward,unfortunately,wasthefaithfulkind.Well,thefaithfulkindusuallygotwhattheywantedintheend.
EdwardandHenriettaatAinswick…thatwastheproperendingtothestory.EdwardandHenriettalivinghappyeverafterwards.
Shecouldseeitallveryclearly.
“Cheerup,Midge,”saidHenrietta.“Youmustn’tletmurdergetyoudown.Shallwegooutlaterandhaveaspotofdinnertogether?”
ButMidgesaidquicklythatshemustgetbacktoherrooms.Shehadthingstodo—letterstowrite.Infact,she’dbettergoassoonasshe’dfinishedhercupoftea.
“Allright.I’lldriveyouthere.”
“Icouldgetataxi.”
“Nonsense.Let’susethecar,asit’sthere.”
Theywentoutintodampeveningair.AstheydrovepasttheendoftheMewsHenriettapointedoutacardrawnintotheside.
“AVentnor10.Ourshadow.You’llsee.He’llfollowus.”
“Howbeastlyitallis!”
“Doyouthinkso?Idon’treallymind.”
HenriettadroppedMidgeatherroomsandcamebacktotheMewsandputhercarawayinthegarage.
Thensheletherselfintothestudiooncemore.
Forsomeminutesshestoodabstractedlydrummingwithherfingersonthemantelpiece.Thenshesighedandmurmuredtoherself:
“Well—towork.Betternotwastetime.”
Shethrewoffhertweedsandgotintoheroverall.
Anhourandahalflatershedrewbackandstudiedwhatshehaddone.Thereweredabsofclayonhercheekandherhairwasdishevelled,butshenoddedapprovalatthemodelonthestand.
Itwastheroughsimilitudeofahorse.Theclayhadbeenslappedoningreatirregularlumps.Itwasthekindofhorsethatwouldhavegiventhecolonelofacavalryregimentapoplexy,sounlikewasittoanyfleshandbloodhorsethathadeverbeenfoaled.ItwouldalsohavedistressedHenrietta’sIrishhuntingforebears.Neverthelessitwasahorse—ahorseconceivedintheabstract.
HenriettawonderedwhatInspectorGrangewouldthinkofitifheeversawit,andhermouthwidenedalittleinamusementasshepicturedhisface.
Twenty-four
EdwardAngkatellstoodhesitantlyintheswirloffoottrafficinShaftesburyAvenue.Hewasnervinghimselftoentertheestablishmentwhichborethegold-letteredsign:“MadameAlfrege.”
SomeobscureinstincthadpreventedhimfrommerelyringingupandaskingMidgetocomeoutandlunch.ThatfragmentoftelephoneconversationatTheHollowhaddisturbedhim—more,hadshockedhim.TherehadbeeninMidge’svoiceasubmission,asubserviencethathadoutragedallhisfeelings.
ForMidge,thefree,thecheerful,theoutspoken,tohavetoadoptthatattitude.Tohavetosubmit,assheclearlywassubmitting,torudenessandinsolenceontheotherendofthewire.Itwasallwrong—thewholethingwaswrong!Andthen,whenhehadshownhisconcern,shehadmethimpoint-blankwiththeunpalatabletruththatonehadtokeepone’sjob,thatjobsweren’teasytoget,andthattheholdingdownofjobsentailedmoreunpleasantnessthanthemereperformingofastipulatedtask.
UptillthenEdwardhadvaguelyacceptedthefactthatagreatmanyyoungwomenhad“jobs”nowadays.Ifhehadthoughtaboutitatall,hehadthoughtthatonthewholetheyhadjobsbecausetheylikedjobs—thatitflatteredtheirsenseofindependenceandgavethemaninterestoftheirowninlife.
Thefactthataworkingdayofninetosix,withanhouroffforlunch,cutagirlofffrommostofthepleasuresandrelaxationsofaleisuredclasshadsimplynotoccurredtoEdward.ThatMidge,unlessshesacrificedherlunchhour,couldnotdropintoapicturegallery,thatshecouldnotgotoanafternoonconcert,driveoutoftownonafinesummer’sday,lunchinaleisurelywayatadistantrestaurant,buthadinsteadtorelegateherexcursionsintothecountrytoSaturdayafternoonsandSundays,andtosnatchherlunchinacrowdedLyonsorasnackbar,wasanewandunwelcomediscovery.HewasveryfondofMidge.LittleMidge—thatwashowhethoughtofher.Arrivingshyandwide-eyedatAinswickfortheholidays,tongue-tiedatfirst,thenopeningupintoenthusiasmandaffection.
Edward’stendencytoliveexclusivelyinthepast,andtoacceptthepresentdubiouslyassomethingyetuntested,haddelayedhisrecognitionofMidgeasawage-earningadult.
ItwasonthateveningatTheHollowwhenhehadcomeincoldandshiveringfromthatstrange,upsettingclashwithHenrietta,andwhenMidgehadknelttobuildupthefire,thathehadbeenfirstawareofaMidgewhowasnotanaffectionatechildbutawoman.Ithadbeenanupsettingvision—hehadfeltforamomentthathehadlostsomething—somethingthatwasapreciouspartofAinswick.Andhehadsaidimpulsively,speakingoutofthatsuddenlyarousedfeeling,“IwishIsawmoreofyou,littleMidge….”
Standingoutsideinthemoonlight,speakingtoaHenriettawhowasnolongerstartinglythefamiliarHenriettahehadlovedforsolong—hehadknownsuddenpanic.Andhehadcomeintoafurtherdisturbanceofthesetpatternwhichwashislife.LittleMidgewasalsoapartofAinswick—andthiswasnolongerlittleMidge,butacourageousandsad-eyedadultwhomhedidnotknow.
Eversincethenhehadbeentroubledinhismind,andhadindulgedinagooddealofself-reproachfortheunthinkingwayinwhichhehadneverbotheredaboutMidge’shappinessorcomfort.TheideaofheruncongenialjobatMadameAlfrege’shadworriedhimmoreandmore,andhehaddeterminedatlasttoseeforhimselfjustwhatthisdressshopof
Edwardpeeredsuspiciouslyintotheshowwindowatalittleblackdresswithanarrowgoldbelt,somerakish-looking,skimpyjumpersuits,andaneveninggownofrathertawdrycolouredlace.
Edwardknewnothingaboutwomen’sclothesexceptbyinstinct,buthadashrewdideathatalltheseexhibitsweresomehowofameretriciousorder.No,hethought,thisplacewasnotworthyofher.Someone—LadyAngkatell,perhaps—mustdosomethingaboutit.
Overcominghisshynesswithaneffort,Edwardstraightenedhisslightlystoopingshouldersandwalkedin.
Hewasinstantlyparalysedwithembarrassment.Twoplatinumblondelittleminxeswithshrillvoiceswereexaminingdressesinashowcase,withadarksaleswomaninattendance.Atthebackoftheshopasmallwomanwithathicknose,hennaredhairandadisagreeablevoicewasarguingwithastoutandbewilderedcustomeroversomealterationstoaneveninggown.Fromanadjacentcubicleawoman’sfretfulvoicewasraised.
“Frightful—perfectlyfrightful—can’tyoubringmeanythingdecenttotry?”
InresponseheheardthesoftmurmurofMidge’svoice—adeferential,persuasivevoice.
“Thiswinemodelisreallyverysmart.AndIthinkitwouldsuityou.Ifyou’djustslipiton—”
“I’mnotgoingtowastemytimetryingonthingsthatIcanseearenogood.Dotakealittletrouble.I’vetoldyouIdon’twantreds.Ifyou’dlistentowhatyouaretold—”
ThecoloursurgedupintoEdward’sneck.HehopedMidgewouldthrowthedressintheodiouswoman’sface.Insteadshemurmured:
“I’llhaveanotherlook.Youwouldn’tcareforgreenIsuppose,Madam?Orthispeach?”
“Dreadful—perfectlydreadful!No,Iwon’tseeanythingmore.Sheerwasteoftime—”
ButnowMadameAlfrege,detachingherselffromthestoutcustomer,hadcomedowntoEdwardandwaslookingathiminquiringly.
Hepulledhimselftogether.
“Is—couldIspeak—isMissHardcastlehere?”
MadameAlfrege’seyebrowswentup,butshetookintheSavileRowcutofEdward’sclothes,andsheproducedasmilewhosegraciousnesswasrathermoreunpleasantthanherbadtemperwouldhavebeen.
Frominsidethecubiclethefretfulvoicerosesharply.
“Dobecareful!Howclumsyyouare.You’vetornmyhairnet.”
AndMidge,hervoiceunsteady:
“I’mverysorry,Madam.”
“Stupidclumsiness.”(Thevoiceappearedmuffled.)“No,I’lldoitmyself.Mybelt,please.”
“MissHardcastlewillbefreeinaminute,”saidMadameAlfrege.Hersmilewasnowaleer.
Asandy-haired,bad-tempered-lookingwomanemergedfromthecubiclecarryingseveralparcelsandwentoutintothestreet.Midge,inasevereblackdress,openedthedoorforher.Shelookedpaleandunhappy.
“I’vecometotakeyououttolunch,”saidEdwardwithoutpreamble.
Midgegaveaharriedglanceupattheclock.
“Idon’tgetoffuntilquarterpastone,”shebegan.
Itwastenpastone.
MadameAlfregesaidgraciously:
“Youcangooffnowifyoulike,MissHardcastle,asyourfriendhascalledforyou.”
Midgemurmured:“Ohthankyou,MadameAlfrege,”andtoEdward:“I’llbereadyinaminute,”anddisappearedintothebackoftheshop.
Edward,whohadwincedundertheimpactofMadameAlfrege’sheavyemphasison“friend,”stoodhelplesslywaiting.
MadameAlfregewasjustabouttoenterintoarchconversationwithhimwhenthedooropenedandanopulent-lookingwomanwithaPekinesecamein,andMadameAlfrege’sbusinessinstinctstookherforwardtothenewcomer.
Midgereappearedwithhercoaton,andtakingherbytheelbow,Edwardsteeredheroutoftheshopintothestreet.
“MyGod,”hesaid,“isthatthesortofthingyouhavetoputupwith?Iheardthatdamnedwomantalkingtoyoubehindthecurtain.Howcanyoustickit,Midge?Whydidn’tyouthrowthedamnedfrocksatherhead?”
“I’dsoonlosemyjobifIdidthingslikethat.”
“Butdon’tyouwanttoflingthingsatawomanofthatkind?”
Midgedrewadeepbreath.
“OfcourseIdo.Andtherearetimes,especiallyattheendofahotweekduringthesummersales,whenIamafraidthatonedayIshallletgoandjusttelleveryoneexactlywheretheygetoff—insteadof‘Yes,Madam,’‘No,Madam’—‘I’llseeifwehaveanythingelse,Madam.’”
“Midge,dearlittleMidge,youcan’tputupwithallthis!”
Midgelaughedalittleshakily.
“Don’tbeupset,Edward.Whyonearthdidyouhavetocomehere?Whynotringup?”
“Iwantedtoseeformyself.I’vebeenworried.”Hepausedandthenbrokeout,“Why,Lucywouldn’ttalktoascullerymaidthewaythatwomantalkedtoyou.It’sallwrongthatyoushouldhavetoputupwithinsolenceandrudeness.GoodGod,Midge,I’dliketotakeyourightoutofitalldowntoAinswick.I’dliketohailataxi,bundleyouintoit,andtakeyoudowntoAinswicknowbythe2:15.”
Midgestopped.Herassumednonchalancefellfromher.Shehadhadalongtiringmorningwithtryingcustomers,andMadameathermostbullying.SheturnedonEdwardwithasuddenflareofresentment.
“Well,then,whydon’tyou?Thereareplentyoftaxis!”
Hestaredather,takenabackbyhersuddenfury.Shewenton,herangerflamingup:
“Whydoyouhavetocomealongandsaythesethings?Youdon’tmeanthem.DoyouthinkitmakesitanyeasierafterI’vehadthehellofamorningtoberemindedthatthereareplaceslikeAinswick?DoyouthinkI’mgratefultoyouforstandingthereandbabblingabouthowmuchyou’dliketotakemeoutofitall?Allverysweetandinsincere.Youdon’treallymeanawordofit.Don’tyouknowthatI’dsellmysoultocatchthe2:15toAinswickandgetawayfromeverything?Ican’tbeareventothinkofAinswick,doyouunderstand?Youmeanwell,Edward,butyou’recruel!Sayingthings—justsayingthings….”
Theyfacedeachother,seriouslyincommodingthelunchtimecrowdinShaftesburyAvenue.Yettheywereconsciousofnothingbuteachother.Edwardwasstaringatherlikeamansuddenlyarousedfromsleep.
Hesaid:“Allrightthen,damnit.You’recomingtoAinswickbythe2:15!”
Heraisedhisstickandhailedapassingtaxi.Itdrewintothekerb.Edwardopenedthedoor,andMidge,slightlydazed,gotin.Edwardsaid:“PaddingtonStation”tothedriverandfollowedherin.
Theysatinsilence.Midge’slipsweresettogether.Hereyesweredefiantandmutinous.Edwardstaredstraightaheadofhim.
AstheywaitedforthetrafficlightsinOxfordStreet,Midgesaiddisagreeably:
“Iseemtohavecalledyourbluff.”
Edwardsaidshortly:
“Itwasn’tbluff.”
Thetaxistartedforwardagainwithajerk.
ItwasnotuntilthetaxiturnedleftinEdgwareRoadintoCambridgeTerracethatEdwardsuddenlyregainedhisnormalattitudetolife.
Hesaid:“Wecan’tcatchthe2:15,”andtappingontheglasshesaidtothedriver:“GototheBerkeley.”
Midgesaidcoldly:“Whycan’twecatchthe2:15?It’sonlytwenty-fivepastonenow.”
Edwardsmiledather.
“Youhaven’tgotanyluggage,littleMidge.Nonightgownsortoothbrushesorcountryshoes.There’sa4:15,youknow.We’llhavesomelunchnowandtalkthingsover.”
Midgesighed.
“That’ssolikeyou,Edward.Torememberthepracticalside.Impulsedoesn’tcarryyouveryfar,doesit?Oh,well,itwasanicedreamwhileitlasted.”
Sheslippedherhandintohisandgavehimheroldsmile.
“I’msorryIstoodonthepavementandabusedyoulikeafish-wife,”shesaid.“Butyouknow,Edward,youwereirritating.”
“Yes,”hesaid.“Imusthavebeen.”
TheywentintotheBerkeleyhappilysidebyside.TheygotatablebythewindowandEdwardorderedanexcellentlunch.
Astheyfinishedtheirchicken,Midgesighedandsaid:“Ioughttohurrybacktotheshop.Mytime’sup.”
“You’regoingtotakedecenttimeoveryourlunchtoday,evenifIhavetogobackandbuyhalftheclothesintheshop!”
“DearEdward,youarereallyrathersweet.”
TheyateCrêpesSuzette,andthenthewaiterbroughtthemcoffee.Edwardstirredhissugarinwithhisspoon.
Hesaidgently:
“YoureallydoloveAinswick,don’tyou?”
“MustwetalkaboutAinswick?I’vesurvivednotcatchingthe2:15—andIquiterealizethatthereisn’tanyquestionofthe4:15—butdon’trubitin.”
Edwardsmiled.“No,I’mnotproposingthatwecatchthe4:15.ButIamsuggestingthatyoucometoAinswick,Midge.I’msuggestingthatyoucomethereforgood—thatis,ifyoucanputupwithme.”
Shestaredathimovertherimofhercoffeecup—putitdownwithahandthatshemanagedtokeepsteady.
“Whatdoyoureallymean,Edward?”
“I’msuggestingthatyoushouldmarryme,Midge.Idon’tsupposethatI’maveryromanticproposition.I’madulldog,Iknowthat,andnotmuchgoodatanything.Ijustreadbooksandpotteraround.ButalthoughI’mnotaveryexcitingperson,we’veknowneachotheralongtimeandIthinkthatAinswickitselfwould—well,wouldcompensate.Ithinkyou’dbehappyatAinswick,Midge.Willyoucome?”
Midgeswallowedonceortwice,thenshesaid:
“ButIthought—Henrietta—”andstopped.
Edwardsaid,hisvoicelevelandunemotional:
“Yes,I’veaskedHenriettatomarrymethreetimes.Eachtimeshehasrefused.Henriettaknowswhatshedoesn’twant.”
Therewasasilence,andthenEdwardsaid:
“Well,Midgedear,whataboutit?”
Midgelookedupathim.Therewasacatchinhervoice.Shesaid:
“Itseemssoextraordinary—tobeofferedheavenonaplateasitwere,attheBerkeley!”
Hisfacelightedup.Helaidhishandoverhersforabriefmoment.
“Heavenonaplate,”hesaid.“SoyoufeellikethataboutAinswick.Oh,Midge,I’mglad.”
Theysattherehappily.Edwardpaidthebillandaddedanenormoustip.Thepeopleintherestaurantwerethinningout.Midgesaidwithaneffort:
“We’llhavetogo.IsupposeI’dbettergobacktoMadameAlfrege.Afterall,she’scountingonme.Ican’tjustwalkout.”
“No,Isupposeyou’llhavetogobackandresignorhandinyournoticeorwhateveryoucallit.You’renottogoonworkingthere,though.Iwon’thaveit.ButfirstIthoughtwe’dbettergotooneofthoseshopsinBondStreetwheretheysellrings.”
“Rings?”
“It’susual,isn’tit?”
Midgelaughed.
Inthedimmedlightingofthejeweller’sshop,MidgeandEdwardbentovertraysofsparklingengagementrings,whilstadiscreetsalesmanwatchedthembenignantly.
Edwardsaid,pushingawayavelvet-coveredtray:
“Notemeralds.”
Henriettaingreentweeds—HenriettainaneveningdresslikeChinesejade….
No,notemeralds.
Midgepushedawaythetinystabbingpainatherheart.
“Chooseforme,”shesaidtoEdward.
Hebentoverthetraybeforethem.Hepickedoutaringwithasinglediamond.Notaverylargestone,butastoneofbeautifulcolourandfire.
“I’dlikethis.”
Midgenodded.ShelovedthisdisplayofEdward’sunerringandfastidioustaste.SheslippeditonherfingerasEdwardandtheshopmandrewaside.
Edwardwroteoutachequeforthreehundredandforty-twopoundsandcamebacktoMidgesmiling.
Hesaid:“Let’sgoandberudetoMadameAlfrege.”
Twenty-five
“But,darling,Iamsodelighted!”
LadyAngkatellstretchedoutafragilehandtoEdwardandtouchedMidgesoftlywiththeother.
“Youdidquiteright,Edward,tomakeherleavethathorridshopandbringherrightdownhere.She’llstayhere,ofcourse,andbemarriedfromhere.St.George’s,youknow,threemilesbytheroad,thoughonlyamilethroughthewoods,butthenonedoesn’tgotoaweddingthroughwoods.AndIsupposeitwillhavetobethevicar—poorman,hehassuchdreadfulcoldsintheheadeveryautumn.Thecurate,now,hasoneofthosehighAnglicanvoices,andthewholethingwouldbefarmoreimpressive—andmorereligious,too,ifyouknowwhatImean.Itissohardtokeepone’smindreverentwhensomebodyissayingthingsthroughtheirnoses.”
Itwas,Midgedecided,averyLucyishreception.Itmadeherwanttobothlaughandcry.
“I’dlovetobemarriedfromhere,Lucy,”shesaid.
“Thenthat’ssettled,darling.Off-whitesatin,Ithink,andanivoryprayerbook—notabouquet.Bridesmaids?”
“No.Idon’twantafuss.Justaveryquietwedding.”
“Iknowwhatyoumean,darling,andIthinkperhapsyouareright.Withanautumnweddingit’snearlyalwayschrysanthemums—suchanuninspiringflower,Ialwaysthink.Andunlessonetakesalotoftimetochoosethemcarefullybridesmaidsnevermatchproperly,andthere’snearlyalwaysoneterriblyplainonewhoruinsthewholeeffect—butonehastohaveherbecauseshe’susuallythebridegroom’ssister.Butofcourse—”LadyAngkatellbeamed,“Edwardhasn’tgotanysisters.”
“Thatseemstobeonepointinmyfavour,”saidEdward,smiling.
“Butchildrenarereallytheworstatweddings,”wentonLadyAngkatell,happilypursuingherowntrainofthought.“Everyonesays:‘Howsweet!’but,mydear,theanxiety!Theysteponthetrain,orelsetheyhowlforNannie,andquiteoftenthey’resick.Ialwayswonderhowagirlcangouptheaisleinaproperframeofmind,whileshe’ssouncertainaboutwhatishappeningbehindher.”
“Thereneedn’tbeanythingbehindme,”saidMidgecheerfully.“Notevenatrain.Icanbemarriedinacoatandskirt.”
“Oh,no,Midge,that’ssolikeawidow.No,off-whitesatinandnotfromMadameAlfrege’s.”
“CertainlynotfromMadameAlfrege’s,”saidEdward.
“IshalltakeyoutoMireille,”saidLadyAngkatell.
“MydearLucy,Ican’tpossiblyaffordMireille.”
“Nonsense,Midge.HenryandIaregoingtogiveyouyourtrousseau.AndHenry,ofcourse,willgiveyouaway.Idohopethebandofhistrouserswon’tbetootight.It’snearlytwoyearssincehelastwenttoawedding.AndIshallwear—”
LadyAngkatellpausedandclosedhereyes.
“Yes,Lucy?”
“Hydrangeablue,”announcedLadyAngkatellinaraptvoice.“Isuppose,Edward,youwillhaveoneofyourownfriendsforbestman,otherwise,ofcourse,thereisDavid.IcannothelpfeelingitwouldbefrightfullygoodforDavid.Itwouldgivehimpoise,youknow,andhewouldfeelwealllikedhim.That,Iamsure,isveryimportantwithDavid.Itmustbedisheartening,youknow,tofeelyouarecleverandintellectualandyetnobodylikesyouanythebetterforit!Butofcourseitwouldberatherarisk.Hewouldprobablylosethering,ordropitatthelastminute.IexpectitwouldworryEdwardtoomuch.Butitwouldbeniceinawaytokeepittothesamepeoplewe’vehadhereforthemurder.”
LadyAngkatellutteredthelastfewwordsinthemostconversationaloftones.
“LadyAngkatellhasbeenentertainingafewfriendsforamurderthisautumn,”Midgecouldnothelpsaying.
“Yes,”saidLucymeditatively.“Isupposeitdidsoundlikethat.Apartyfortheshooting.Youknow,whenyoucometothinkofit,that’sjustwhatithasbeen!”
Midgegaveafaintshiverandsaid:
“Well,atanyrate,it’sovernow.”
“It’snotexactlyover—theinquestwasonlyadjourned.AndthatniceInspectorGrangehasgotmenallovertheplacesimplycrashingthroughthechestnutwoodsandstartlingallthepheasants,andspringinguplikejacksintheboxinthemostunlikelyplaces.”
“Whataretheylookingfor?”askedEdward.“TherevolverthatChristowwasshotwith?”
“Iimaginethatmustbeit.Theyevencametothehousewithasearchwarrant.Theinspectorwasmostapologeticaboutit,quiteshy,butofcourseItoldhimweshouldbedelighted.Itwasreallymostinteresting.Theylookedabsolutelyeverywhere.Ifollowedthemround,youknow,andIsuggestedoneortwoplaceswhicheventheyhadn’tthoughtof.Buttheydidn’tfindanything.Itwasmostdisappointing.PoorInspectorGrange,heisgrowingquitethinandhepullsandpullsatthatmoustacheofhis.Hiswifeoughttogivehimspeciallynourishingmealswithallthisworryheishaving—butIhaveavagueideathatshemustbeoneofthosewomenwhocaremoreabouthavingthelinoleumreallywellpolishedthanincookingatastylittlemeal.Whichremindsme,ImustgoandseeMrs.Medway.Funnyhowservantscannotbearthepolice.Hercheesesoufflélastnightwasquiteuneatable.Soufflésandpastryalwaysshowifoneisoffbalance
HerculePoirotsatonthebenchoverlookingthechestnutgrovesabovethepool.HehadnosenseoftrespassingsinceLadyAngkatellhadverysweetlybeggedhimtowanderwherehewouldatanytime.ItwasLadyAngkatell’ssweetnesswhichHerculePoirotwasconsideringatthismoment.
Fromtimetotimeheheardthecrackingoftwigsinthewoodsaboveorcaughtsightofafiguremovingthroughthechestnutgrovesbelowhim.
PresentlyHenriettacamealongthepathfromthedirectionofthelane.ShestoppedforamomentwhenshesawPoirot,thenshecameandsatdownbyhim.
“Goodmorning,M.Poirot.Ihavejustbeentocalluponyou.Butyouwereout.YoulookveryOlympian.Areyoupresidingoverthehunt?Theinspectorseemsveryactive.Whataretheylookingfor,therevolver?”
“Yes,MissSavernake.”
“Willtheyfindit,doyouthink?”
“Ithinkso.Quitesoonnow,Ishouldsay.”
Shelookedathiminquiringly.
“Haveyouanidea,then,whereitis?”
“No.ButIthinkitwillbefoundsoon.Itistimeforittobefound.”
“Youdosayoddthings,M.Poirot!”
“Oddthingshappenhere.YouhavecomebackverysoonfromLondon,Mademoiselle.”
Herfacehardened.Shegaveashort,bitterlaugh.
“Themurdererreturnstothesceneofthecrime?Thatistheoldsuperstition,isn’tit?SoyoudothinkthatI—didit!Youdon’tbelievemewhenItellyouthatIwouldn’t—thatIcouldn’tkillanybody?”
Poirotdidnotansweratonce.Atlasthesaidthoughtfully:
“Ithasseemedtomefromthebeginningthateitherthiscrimewasverysimple—sosimplethatitwasdifficulttobelieveitssimplicity(andsimplicity,Mademoiselle,canbestrangelybaffling)orelseitwasextremelycomplex.Thatistosay,wewerecontendingagainstamindcapableofintricateandingeniousinventions,sothateverytimeweseemedtobeheadingforthetruth,wewereactuallybeingledonatrailthattwistedawayfromthetruthandledustoapointwhich—endedinnothingness.Thisapparentfutility,thiscontinualbarrenness,isnotreal—itisartificial,itisplanned.Averysubtleandingeniousmindisplottingagainstusthewholetime—andsucceeding.”
“Well?”saidHenrietta.“Whathasthattodowithme?”
“Themindthatisplottingagainstusisacreativemind,Mademoiselle.”
“Isee—that’swhereIcomein?”
Shewassilent,herlipssettogetherbitterly.Fromherjacketpocketshehadtakenapencilandnowshewasidlydrawingtheoutlineofafantastictreeonthewhitepaintedwoodofthebench,frowningasshedidso.
Poirotwatchedher.Somethingstirredinhismind—standinginLadyAngkatell’sdrawingroomontheafternoonofthecrime,lookingdownatapileofbridgemarkers,standingbyapaintedirontableinthepavilionthenextmorning,andaquestionthathehadputtoGudgeon.
Hesaid:
“Thatiswhatyoudrewonyourbridgemarker—atree.”
“Yes.”Henriettaseemedsuddenlyawareofwhatshewasdoing.“Ygdrasil,M.Poirot.”Shelaughed.
“WhydoyoucallitYgdrasil?”
SheexplainedtheoriginofYgdrasil.
“Andso,whenyou‘doodle’(thatistheword,isitnot?)itisalwaysYgdrasilyoudraw?”
“Yes.Doodlingisafunnything,isn’tit?”
“Hereontheseat—onthebridgemarkeronSaturdayevening—inthepaviliononSundaymorning….”
Thehandthatheldthepencilstiffenedandstopped.Shesaidinatoneofcarelessamusement:
“Inthepavilion?”
“Yes,ontheroundirontablethere.”
“Oh,thatmusthavebeenon—onSaturdayafternoon.”
“ItwasnotonSaturdayafternoon.WhenGudgeonbroughttheglassesouttothepavilionabouttwelveo’clockonSundaymorning,therewasnothingdrawnonthetable.Iaskedhimandheisquitedefiniteaboutthat.”
“Thenitmusthavebeen”—shehesitatedforjustamoment—“ofcourse,onSundayafternoon.”
Butstillsmilingpleasantly,HerculePoirotshookhishead.
“Ithinknot.Grange’smenwereatthepoolallSundayafternoon,photographingthebody,gettingtherevolveroutofthewater.Theydidnotleaveuntildusk.Theywouldhaveseenanyonegointothepavilion.”
Henriettasaidslowly:
“Iremembernow.Iwentalongtherequitelateintheevening—afterdinner.”
Poirot’svoicecamesharply:
“Peopledonot‘doodle’inthedark,MissSavernake.Areyoutellingmethatyouwentintothepavilionatnightandstoodbyatableanddrewatreewithoutbeingabletoseewhatyouweredrawing?”
Henriettasaidcalmly:“Iamtellingyouthetruth.Naturallyyoudon’tbelieveit.Youhaveyourownideas.Whatisyouridea,bytheway?”
“IamsuggestingthatyouwereinthepaviliononSundaymorningaftertwelveo’clockwhenGudgeonbroughttheglassesout.Thatyoustoodbythattablewatchingsomeone,orwaitingforsomeone,andunconsciouslytookoutapencilanddrewYgdrasilwithoutbeingfullyawareofwhatyouweredoing.”
“IwasnotinthepaviliononSundaymorning.Isatoutontheterraceforawhile,thenIgotthegardeningbasketandwentuptothedahliaborderandcutoffheadsandtiedupsomeoftheMichaelmasdaisiesthatwereuntidy.Thenjustononeo’clockIwentalongtothepool.I’vebeenthroughitallwithInspectorGrange.Inevercamenearthepooluntiloneo’clock,justafterJohnhadbeenshot.”
“That,”saidHerculePoirot,“isyourstory.ButYgdrasil,Mademoiselle,testifiesagainstyou.”
“IwasinthepavilionandIshotJohn,that’swhatyoumean?”
“YouwerethereandyoushotDr.Christow,oryouwerethereandyousawwhoshotDr.Christow—orsomeoneelsewastherewhoknewaboutYgdrasilanddeliberatelydrewitonthetabletoputsuspiciononyou.”
Henriettagotup.Sheturnedonhimwithherchinlifted.
“YoustillthinkthatIshotJohnChristow.YouthinkthatyoucanproveIshothim.Well,Iwilltellyouthis.Youwillneverproveit.Never!”
“YouthinkthatyouareclevererthanIam?”
“Youwillneverproveit,”saidHenrietta,and,turning,shewalkedawaydownthewindingpaththatledtotheswimmingpool.
Twenty-six
GrangecameintoResthaventodrinkacupofteawithHerculePoirot.Theteawasexactlywhathehadhadapprehensionsitmightbe—extremelyweakandChinateaatthat.
“Theseforeigners,”thoughtGrange,“don’tknowhowtomaketea.Youcan’tteach’em.”Buthedidnotmindmuch.Hewasinaconditionofpessimismwhenonemorethingthatwasunsatisfactoryactuallyaffordedhimakindofgrimsatisfaction.
Hesaid:“Theadjournedinquest’sthedayaftertomorrowandwherehavewegot?Nowhereatall.Whatthehell,thatgunmustbesomewhere!It’sthisdamnedcountry—milesofwoods.Itwouldtakeanarmytosearchthemproperly.Talkofaneedleinahaystack.Itmaybeanywhere.Thefactis,we’vegottofaceuptoit—wemayneverfindthatgun.”
“Youwillfindit,”saidPoirotconfidently.
“Well,itwon’tbeforwantoftrying!”
“Youwillfindit,soonerorlater.AndIshouldsaysooner.Anothercupoftea?”
“Idon’tmindifIdo—no,nohotwater.”
“Isitnottoostrong?”
“Oh,no,it’snottoostrong.”Theinspectorwasconsciousofunderstatement.
Gloomilyhesippedatthepale,straw-colouredbeverage.
“Thiscaseismakingamonkeyofme,M.Poirot—amonkeyofme!Ican’tgetthehangofthesepeople.Theyseemhelpful—buteverythingtheytellyouseemstoleadyouawayonawild-goosechase.”
“Away?”saidPoirot.Astartledlookcameintohiseyes.“Yes,Isee.Away….”
Theinspectorwasnowdevelopinghisgrievance.
“Takethegunnow.Christowwasshot—accordingtothemedicalevidence—onlyaminuteortwobeforeyourarrival.LadyAngkatellhadthateggbasket,MissSavernakehadagardeningbasketfullofdeadflowerheads,andEdwardAngkatellwaswearingalooseshootingcoatwithlargepocketsstuffedwithcartridges.Anyoneofthemcouldhavecarriedtherevolverawaywiththem.Itwasn’thiddenanywherenearthepool—mymenhaverakedtheplace,sothat’sdefinitelyout.”
Poirotnodded.Grangewenton:
“GerdaChristowwasframed—butwhoby?That’swhereeveryclueIfollowseemstovanishintothinair.”
“Theirstoriesofhowtheyspentthemorningaresatisfactory?”
“Thestoriesareallright.MissSavernakewasgardening.LadyAngkatellwascollectingeggs.EdwardAngkatellandSirHenrywereshootingandseparatedattheendofthemorning—SirHenrycomingbacktothehouseandEdwardAngkatellcomingdownherethroughthewoods.Theyoungfellowwasupinhisbedroomreading.(Funnyplacetoreadonaniceday,buthe’stheindoor,bookishkind.)MissHardcastletookabookdowntotheorchard.Allsoundsverynaturalandlikely,andthere’snomeansofcheckinguponit.Gudgeontookatray
“Really?”
“OfcoursethemostobviouspersonisVeronicaCray.ShehadquarrelledwithChristow,shehatedhisguts,she’squitelikelytohaveshothim—butIcan’tfindtheleastiotaofproofthatshedidshoothim.NoevidenceastoherhavinghadanyopportunitytopinchtherevolversfromSirHenry’scollection.Noonewhosawhergoingtoorfromthepoolthatday.Andthemissingrevolverdefinitelyisn’tinherpossessionnow.”
“Ah,youhavemadesureofthat?”
“Whatdoyouthink?Theevidencewouldhavejustifiedasearchwarrantbuttherewasnoneed.Shewasquitegraciousaboutit.It’snotanywhereinthattin-potbungalow.AftertheinquestwasadjournedwemadeashowoflettinguponMissCrayandMissSavernake,andwe’vehadatailonthemtoseewheretheywentandwhatthey’ddo.We’vehadamanonatthefilmstudioswatchingVeronica—nosignofhertryingtoditchthegunthere.”
“AndHenriettaSavernake?”
“Nothingthereeither.ShewentstraightbacktoChelseaandwe’vekeptaneyeonhereversince.Therevolverisn’tinherstudioorinherpossession.Shewasquitepleasantaboutthesearch—seemedamused.Someofherfancystuffgaveourmanquiteaturn.Hesaiditbeathimwhypeoplewantedtodothatkindofthing—statuesalllumpsandswellings,bitsofbrassandaluminumtwistedintofancyshapes,horsesthatyouwouldn’tknowwerehorses.”
Poirotstirredalittle.
“Horses,yousay?”
“Well,ahorse.Ifyou’dcallitahorse!Ifpeoplewanttomodelahorse,whydon’ttheygoandlookatahorse!”
“Ahorse,”repeatedPoirot.
Grangeturnedhishead.
“Whatisthereaboutthatthatinterestsyouso,M.Poirot?Idon’tgetit.”
“Association—apointofthepsychology.”
“Wordassociation?Horseandcart?Rockinghorse?Clotheshorse.No,Idon’tgetit.Anyway,afteradayortwo,MissSavernakepacksupandcomesdownhereagain.Youknowthat?”
“Yes,IhavetalkedwithherandIhaveseenherwalkinginthewoods.”
“Restless,yes.Well,shewashavinganaffairwiththedoctorallright,andhissaying:‘Henrietta’ashediedisprettyneartoanaccusation.Butit’snotquitenearenough,M.Poirot.”
“No,”saidPoirotthoughtfully,“itisnotnearenough.”
Grangesaidheavily:
“There’ssomethingintheatmospherehere—itgetsyoualltangledup!It’sasthoughtheyallknewsomething.LadyAngkatellnow—she’sneverbeenabletoputoutadecentreasonwhyshetookoutagunwithherthatday.It’sacrazythingtodo—sometimesIthinksheiscrazy.”
Poirotshookhisheadverygently.
“No,”hesaid,“sheisnotcrazy.”
“Thenthere’sEdwardAngkatell.IthoughtIwasgettingsomethingonhim.LadyAngkatellsaid—no,hinted—thathe’dbeeninlovewithMissSavernakeforyears.Well,thatgiveshimamotive.AndnowIfindit’stheothergirl—MissHardcastle—thathe’sengagedto.Sobanggoesthecaseagainsthim.”
Poirotgaveasympatheticmurmur.
“Thenthere’stheyoungfellow,”pursuedtheinspector.“LadyAngkatellletslipsomethingabouthim.Hismother,itseems,diedinanasylum—persecutionmania—thoughteverybodywasconspiringtokillher.Well,youcanseewhatthatmightmean.Iftheboyhadinheritedthatparticularstrainofinsanity,hemighthavegotideasintohisheadaboutDr.Christow—mighthavefanciedthedoctorwasplanningtocertifyhim.NotthatChristowwasthatkindofdoctor.Nervousaffectionsofthealimentarycanalanddiseasesofthesuper—supersomething.ThatwasChristow’sline.Butiftheboywasabittouched,hemightimagineChristowwasheretokeephimunderobservation.He’sgotanextraordinarymanner,thatyoungfellow,nervousasacat.”
Grangesatunhappilyforamomentortwo.
“YouseewhatImean?Allvaguesuspicions,leadingnowhere.”
Poirotstirredagain.Hemurmuredsoftly:
“Away—nottowards.From,notto.Nowhereinsteadofsomewhere…Yes,ofcourse,thatmustbeit.”
Grangestaredathim.Hesaid:
“They’requeer,alltheseAngkatells.I’dswear,sometimes,thattheyknowallaboutit.”
Poirotsaidquietly:
“Theydo.”
“Youmean,theyknow,allofthem,whodidit?”theinspectoraskedincredulously.
Poirotnodded.
“Yes,theyknow.Ihavethoughtsoforsometime.Iamquitesurenow.”
“Isee.”Theinspector’sfacewasgrim.“Andthey’rehidingitupbetweenthem?Well,I’llbeatthemyet.I’mgoingtofindthatgun.”
Itwas,Poirotreflected,quitetheinspector’sthemesong.
Grangewentonwithrancour:
“I’dgiveanythingtogetevenwiththem.”
“With—”
“Allofthem!Muddlingmeup!Suggestingthings!Hinting!Helpingmymen—helpingthem!Allgossamerandspiders’webs,nothingtangible.WhatIwantisagoodsolidfact!”
HerculePoirothadbeenstaringoutofthewindowforsomemoments.Hiseyehadbeenattractedbyanirregularityinthesymmetryofhisdomain.
Hesaidnow:
“Youwantasolidfact?Ehbien,unlessIammuchmistaken,thereisasolidfactinthehedgebymygate.”
Theywentdownthegardenpath.Grangewentdownonhisknees,coaxedthetwigsaparttillhedisclosedmorefullythethingthathadbeenthrustbetweenthem.Hedrewadeepsighassomethingblackandsteelwasrevealed.
Hesaid:“It’sarevolverallright.”
JustforamomenthiseyeresteddoubtfullyonPoirot.
“No,no,myfriend,”saidPoirot.“IdidnotshootDr.ChristowandIdidnotputtherevolverinmyownhedge.”
“Ofcourseyoudidn’t,M.Poirot!Sorry!Well,we’vegotit.LooksliketheonemissingfromSirHenry’sstudy.Wecanverifythatassoonaswegetthenumber.Thenwe’llseeifitwasthegunthatshotChristow.Easydoesitnow.”
Withinfinitecareandtheuseofasilkhandkerchiefheeasedthegunoutofthehedge.
“Togiveusabreak,wewantfingerprints.I’veafeeling,youknow,thatourluck’schangedatlast.”
“Letmeknow.”
“OfcourseIwill,M.Poirot.I’llringyouup.”
Poirotreceivedtwotelephonecalls.Thefirstcamethroughthatsameevening.Theinspectorwasjubilant.
“Thatyou,M.Poirot?Well,here’sthedope.It’sthegunallright.ThegunmissingfromSirHenry’scollectionandthegunthatshotJohnChristow!That’sdefinite.Andthereareagoodsetofprintsonit.Thumb,firstfinger,partofmiddlefinger.Didn’tItellyouourluckhadchanged?”
“Youhaveidentifiedthefingerprints?”
“Notyet.They’recertainlynotMrs.Christow’s.Wetookhers.Theylookmorelikeaman’sthanawoman’sforsize.TomorrowI’mgoingalongtoTheHollowtospeakmylittlepieceandgetasamplefromeveryone.Andthen,M.Poirot,weshallknowwhereweare!”
“Ihopeso,Iamsure,”saidPoirotpolitely.
Thesecondtelephonecallcamethroughonthefollowingdayandthevoicethatspokewasnolongerjubilant.Intonesofunmitigatedgloom,Grangesaid:
“Wanttohearthelatest?Thosefingerprintsaren’ttheprintsofanybodyconnectedwiththecase!No,sir!They’renotEdwardAngkatell’s,norDavid’s,norSirHenry’s!They’renotGerdaChristow’s,northeSavernake’s,norourVeronica’s,norherladyship’s,northelittledarkgirl’s!They’renoteventhekitchenmaid’s—letaloneanyoftheotherservants’!”
Poirotmadeconsolingnoises.ThesadvoiceofInspectorGrangewenton:
“Soitlooksasthough,afterall,itwasanoutsidejob.Someone,thatistosay,whohadadownonDr.Christowandwhowedon’tknowanythingabout.Someoneinvisibleandinaudiblewhopinchedthegunsfromthestudy,andwhowentawayaftertheshootingbythepathtothelane.Someonewhoputtheguninyourhedgeandthenvanishedintothinair!”
“Wouldyoulikemyfingerprints,myfriend?”
“Idon’tmindifIdo!Itstrikesme,M.Poirot,thatyouwereonthespot,andthattakingitallroundyou’refarandawaythemostsuspiciouscharacterinthecase!”
Twenty-seven
I
Thecoronerclearedhisthroatandlookedexpectantlyattheforemanofthejury.
Thelatterlookeddownatthepieceofpaperheheldinhishand.HisAdam’sapplewaggedupanddownexcitedly.Hereadoutinacarefulvoice:
“Wefindthatthedeceasedcametohisdeathbywilfulmurderbysomepersonorpersonsunknown.”
Poirotnoddedhisheadquietlyinhiscornerbythewall.Therecouldbenootherpossibleverdict.
OutsidetheAngkatellsstoppedamomenttotalktoGerdaandhersister.Gerdawaswearingthesameblackclothes.Herfacehadthesamedazed,unhappyexpression.ThistimetherewasnoDaimler.Thetrainservice,ElsiePattersonexplained,wasreallyverygood.AfasttraintoWaterlooandtheycouldeasilycatchthe1:20toBexhill.
LadyAngkatell,claspingGerda’shand,murmured:
“Youmustkeepintouchwithus,mydear.Alittlelunch,perhaps,onedayinLondon?Iexpectyoucomeuptodoshoppingoccasionally.”
“I—Idon’tknow,”saidGerda.
ElsiePattersonsaid:
“Wemusthurry,dear,ourtrain,”andGerdaturnedawaywithanexpressionofrelief.
Midgesaid:
“PoorGerda.TheonlythingJohn’sdeathhasdoneforheristosetherfreefromyourterrifyinghospitality,Lucy.”
“Howunkindyouare,Midge.NobodycouldsayIdidn’ttry.”
“Youaremuchworsewhenyoutry,Lucy.”
“Well,it’sverynicetothinkit’sallover,isn’tit?”saidLadyAngkatell,beamingatthem.“Except,ofcourse,forpoorInspectorGrange.Idofeelsosorryforhim.Woulditcheerhimup,doyouthink,ifweaskedhimbacktolunch?Asafriend,Imean.”
“Ishouldletwellalone,Lucy,”saidSirHenry.
“Perhapsyouareright,”saidLadyAngkatellmeditatively.“Andanywayitisn’ttherightkindoflunchtoday.PartridgesauChoux—andthatdeliciousSouffléSurprisethatMrs.Medwaymakessowell.NotatallInspectorGrange’skindoflunch.Areallygoodsteak,alittleunderdone,andagoodold-fashionedappletartwithnononsenseaboutit—orperhapsappledumplings—that’swhatIshouldorderforInspectorGrange.”
“Yourinstinctsaboutfoodarealwaysverysound,Lucy.Ithinkwehadbettergethometothosepartridges.Theysounddelicious.”
“Well,Ithoughtweoughttohavesomecelebration.It’swonderful,isn’tit,howeverythingalwaysseemstoturnoutforthebest?”
“Ye-es.”
“Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,Henry,butdon’tworry.Ishallattendtoitthisafternoon.”
“Whatareyouuptonow,Lucy?”
LadyAngkatellsmiledathim.
“It’squiteallright,darling.Justtuckinginalooseend.”
SirHenrylookedatherdoubtfully.
WhentheyreachedTheHollow,Gudgeoncameouttoopenthedoorofthecar.
“Everythingwentoffverysatisfactorily,Gudgeon,”saidLadyAngkatell.“PleasetellMrs.Medwayandtheothers.Iknowhowunpleasantithasbeenforyouall,andIshouldliketotellyounowhowmuchSirHenryandIhaveappreciatedtheloyaltyyouhaveallshown.”
“Wehavebeendeeplyconcernedforyou,mylady,”saidGudgeon.
“VerysweetofGudgeon,”saidLucyasshewentintothedrawingroom,“butreallyquitewasted.Ihavereallyalmostenjoyeditall—sodifferent,youknow,fromwhatoneisaccustomedto.Don’tyoufeel,David,thatanexperiencelikethishasbroadenedyourmind?ItmustbesodifferentfromCambridge.”
“IamatOxford,”saidDavidcoldly.
LadyAngkatellsaidvaguely:“ThedearBoatRace.SoEnglish,don’tyouthink?”andwenttowardsthetelephone.
Shepickedupthereceiverand,holdingitinherhand,shewenton:
“Idohope,David,thatyouwillcomeandstaywithusagain.It’ssodifficult,isn’tit,togettoknowpeoplewhenthereisamurder?Andquiteimpossibletohaveanyreallyintellectualconversation.”
“Thankyou,”saidDavid.“ButwhenIcomedownIamgoingtoAthens—totheBritishSchool.”
LadyAngkatellturnedtoherhusband.
“Who’sgottheEmbassynow?Oh,ofcourse.Hope-Remmington.No,Idon’tthinkDavidwouldlikethem.Thosegirlsoftheirsaresoterriblyhearty.Theyplayhockeyandcricketandthefunnygamewhereyoucatchthethinginanet.”
Shebrokeoff,lookingdownatthetelephonereceiver.
“Now,whatamIdoingwiththisthing?”
“Perhapsyouweregoingtoringsomeoneup,”saidEdward.
“Idon’tthinkso.”Shereplacedit.“Doyouliketelephones,David?”
Itwasthesortofquestion,Davidreflectedirritably,thatshewouldask;onetowhichtherecouldbenointelligentanswer.Herepliedcoldlythathesupposedtheywereuseful.
“Youmean,”saidLadyAngkatell,“likemincingmachines?Orelasticbands?Allthesame,onewouldn’t—”
ShebrokeoffasGudgeonappearedinthedoorwaytoannouncelunch.
“Butyoulikepartridges,”saidLadyAngkatelltoDavidanxiously.
Davidadmittedthathelikedpartridges
“SometimesIthinkLucyreallyisabittouched,”saidMidgeassheandEdwardstrolledawayfromthehouseanduptowardsthewoods.
ThepartridgesandtheSouffléSurprisehadbeenexcellent,andwiththeinquestoveraweighthadliftedfromtheatmosphere.
Edwardsaidthoughtfully:
“IalwaysthinkLucyhasabrilliantmindthatexpressesitselflikeamissingwordcompetition.Tomixmetaphors—thehammerjumpsfromnailtonailandneverfailstohiteachonesquarelyonthehead.”
“Allthesame,”Midgesaidsoberly,“Lucyfrightensmesometimes.”Sheadded,withatinyshiver:“Thisplacehasfrightenedmelately.”
“TheHollow?”
Edwardturnedanastonishedfacetoher
“ItalwaysremindsmealittleofAinswick,”hesaid.“It’snot,ofcourse,therealthing—”
Midgeinterrupted:
“That’sjustit,Edward.I’mfrightenedofthingsthataren’ttherealthing.Youdon’tknow,yousee,what’sbehindthem.It’slike—oh,it’slikeamask.”
“Youmustn’tbefanciful,littleMidge.”
Itwastheoldtone,theindulgenttonehehadusedyearsago.Shehadlikeditthen,butnowitdisturbedher.Shestruggledtomakehermeaningclear—toshowhimthatbehindwhathecalledfancy,wassomeshapeofdimlyapprehendedreality.
“IgotawayfromitinLondon,butnowthatI’mbackhereitallcomesovermeagain.IfeelthateveryoneknowswhokilledJohnChristow.Thattheonlypersonwhodoesn’tknow—isme.”
Edwardsaidirritably:
“MustwethinkandtalkaboutJohnChristow?He’sdead.Deadandgone.”
Midgemurmured:
“Heisdeadandgone,lady,Heisdeadandgone.
Athisheadagrassgreenturf,Athisheelsastone.”
SheputherhandonEdward’sarm.“Whodidkillhim,Edward?WethoughtitwasGerda—butitwasn’tGerda.Thenwhowasit?Tellmewhatyouthink?Wasitsomeonewe’veneverheardof?”
Hesaidirritably:
“Allthisspeculationseemstomequiteunprofitable.Ifthepolicecan’tfindout,orcan’tgetsufficientevidence,thenthewholethingwillhavetobeallowedtodrop—andweshallberidofit.”
“Yes—butit’sthenotknowing.”
“Whyshouldwewanttoknow?WhathasJohnChristowtodowithus?”
Withus,shethought,withEdwardandme?Nothing!Comfortingthought—sheandEdward,linked,adualentity.Andyet—andyet—JohnChristow,forallthathehadbeenlaidinhisgraveandthewordsoftheburialservicereadoverhim,wasnotburieddeepenough.Heisdeadandgone,lady—ButJohnChristowwasnotdeadandgone—forallthatEdwardwishedhimtobe.JohnChristowwasstillhereatTheHollow.
Edwardsaid:“Wherearewegoing?”
Somethinginhistonesurprisedher.Shesaid:
“Let’swalkupontothetopoftheridge.Shallwe?”
“Ifyoulike.”
Forsomereasonhewasunwilling.Shewonderedwhy.Itwasusuallyhisfavouritewalk.HeandHenriettausednearlyalways—Herthoughtsnappedandbrokeoff.HeandHenrietta!Shesaid:“Haveyoubeenthiswayyetthisautumn?”
Hesaidstiffly:
“HenriettaandIwalkedupherethatfirstafternoon.”Theywentoninsilence.
Theycameatlasttothetopandsatonthefallentree.
Midgethought:“HeandHenriettasathere,perhaps.”
Sheturnedtheringonherfingerroundandround.Thediamondflashedcoldlyather.(“Notemeralds,”hehadsaid.)
Shesaidwithaslighteffort:
“ItwillbelovelytobeatAinswickagainforChristmas.”
Hedidnotseemtohearher.Hehadgonefaraway.
Shethought:“HeisthinkingofHenriettaandofJohnChristow.”
SittingherehehadsaidsomethingtoHenriettaorshehadsaidsomethingtohim.Henriettamightknowwhatshedidn’twant,buthebelongedtoHenriettastill.Healwayswould,Midgethought,belongtoHenrietta….
Painswoopeddownuponher.Thehappybubbleworldinwhichshehadlivedforthelastweekquiveredandbroke.
Shethought:“Ican’tlivelikethat—withHenriettaalwaysthereinhismind.Ican’tfaceit.Ican’tbearit.”
Thewindsighedthroughthetrees—theleaveswerefallingfastnow—therewashardlyanygoldenleft,onlybrown.
Shesaid:“Edward!”
Theurgencyofhervoicearousedhim.Heturnedhishead.
“Yes?”
“I’msorry,Edward.”Herlipsweretremblingbutsheforcedhervoicetobequietandself-controlled.“I’vegottotellyou.It’snouse.Ican’tmarryyou.Itwouldn’twork,Edward.”
Hesaid:“But,Midge—surelyAinswick—”
Sheinterrupted:
“Ican’tmarryyoujustforAinswick,Edward.You—youmustseethat.”
Hesighedthen,alonggentlesigh.Itwaslikeanechoofthedeadleavesslippinggentlyoffthebranchesofthetrees.
“Iseewhatyoumean,”hesaid.“Yes,Isupposeyouareright.”
“Itwasdearofyoutoaskme,dearandsweet.Butitwouldn’tdo,Edward.Itwouldn’twork.”
Shehadhadafainthope,perhaps,thathewouldarguewithher,thathewouldtrytopersuadeher,butheseemed,quitesimply,tofeeljustasshedidaboutit.Here,withtheghostofHenriettaclosebesidehim,hetoo,apparently,sawthatitcouldn’twork.
“No,”hesaid,echoingherwords,“itwouldn’twork.”
Sheslippedtheringoffherfingerandhelditouttohim.
ShewouldalwaysloveEdwardandEdwardwouldalwaysloveHenriettaandlifewasjustplainunadulteratedhell.
Shesaidwithalittlecatchinhervoice:
“It’salovelyring,Edward.”
“Iwishyou’dkeepit,Midge.I’dlikeyoutohaveit.”
Sheshookherhead.
“Icouldn’tdothat.”
Hesaidwithafaint,humoroustwistofthelips:
“Ishan’tgiveittoanyoneelse,youknow.”
Itwasallquitefriendly.Hedidn’tknow—hewouldneverknow—justwhatshewasfeeling.Heavenonaplate—andtheplatewasbrokenandheavenhadslippedbetweenherfingersorhad,perhaps,neverbeenthere.
II
Thatafternoon,Poirotreceivedhisthirdvisitor.
HehadbeenvisitedbyHenriettaSavernakeandVeronicaCray.ThistimeitwasLadyAngkatell.Shecamefloatingupthepathwithherusualappearanceofinsubstantiality.
Heopenedthedoorandshestoodsmilingathim.
“Ihavecometoseeyou,”sheannounced.
Somightafairyconferafavouronameremortal.
“Iamenchanted,Madame.”
Heledthewayintothesittingroom.Shesatdownonthesofaandoncemoreshesmiled.
HerculePoirotthought:“Sheisold—herhairisgrey—therearelinesinherface.Yetshehasmagic—shewillalwayshavemagic….”
LadyAngkatellsaidsoftly:
“Iwantyoutodosomethingforme.”
“Yes,LadyAngkatell?”
“Tobeginwith,Imusttalktoyou—aboutJohnChristow.”
“AboutDr.Christow?”
“Yes.Itseemstomethattheonlythingtodoistoputafullstoptothewholething.YouunderstandwhatImean,don’tyou?”
“IamnotsurethatIdoknowwhatyoumean,LadyAngkatell.”
Shegavehimherlovelydazzlingsmileagainandsheputonelongwhitehandonhissleeve.
“DearM.Poirot,youknowperfectly.Thepolicewillhavetohuntaboutfortheownerofthosefingerprintsandtheywon’tfindhim,andthey’llhave,intheend,toletthewholethingdrop.ButI’mafraid,youknow,thatyouwon’tletitdrop.”
“No,Ishallnotletitdrop,”saidHerculePoirot.
“ThatisjustwhatIthought.AndthatiswhyIcame.It’sthetruthyouwant,isn’tit?”
“CertainlyIwantthetruth.”
“IseeIhaven’texplainedmyselfverywell.I’mtryingtofindoutjustwhyyouwon’tletthingsdrop.Itisn’tbecauseofyourprestige—orbecauseyouwanttohangamurderer(suchanunpleasantkindofdeath,I’vealwaysthought—somedi?val).It’sjust,Ithink,thatyouwanttoknow.YoudoseewhatImean,don’tyou?Ifyouweretoknowthetruth—ifyouweretobetoldthetruth,Ithink—Ithinkperhapsthatmightsatisfyyou?Woulditsatisfyyou,M.Poirot?”
“Youareofferingtotellmethetruth,LadyAngkatell?”
Shenodded.
“Youyourselfknowthetruth,then?”
Hereyesopenedverywide.
“Oh,yes,I’veknownforalongtime.I’dliketotellyou.Andthenwecouldagreethat—well,thatitwasalloveranddonewith.”
Shesmiledathim.
“Isitabargain,M.Poirot?”
ItwasquiteaneffortforHerculePoirottosay:
“No,Madame,itisnotabargain.”
Hewanted—hewanted,verybadly,toletthewholethingdrop,simplybecauseLadyAngkatellaskedhimtodoso.
LadyAngkatellsatverystillforamoment.Thensheraisedhereyebrows.
“Iwonder,”shesaid.“Iwonderifyoureallyknowwhatyouaredoing.”
Twenty-eight
Midge,lyingdry-eyedandawakeinthedarkness,turnedrestlesslyonherpillows.Sheheardadoorunlatch,afootstepinthecorridoroutsidepassingherdoor.ItwasEdward’sdoorandEdward’sstep.Sheswitchedonthelampbyherbedandlookedattheclockthatstoodbythelamponthetable.Itwastenminutestothree.
Edwardpassingherdoorandgoingdownthestairsatthishourinthemorning.Itwasodd.
Theyhadallgonetobedearly,athalfpastten.Sheherselfhadnotslept,hadlaintherewithburningeyelidsandwithadry,achingmiseryrackingherfeverishly.
Shehadheardtheclockstrikedownstairs—hadheardowlshootoutsideherbedroomwindow.Hadfeltthatdepressionthatreachesitsnadirat2a.m.Hadthoughttoherself:“Ican’tbearit—Ican’tbearit.Tomorrowcoming—anotherday.Dayafterdaytobegotthrough.”
BanishedbyherownactfromAinswick—fromallthelovelinessanddearnessofAinswickwhichmighthavebeenherveryownpossession.
Butbetterbanishment,betterloneliness,betteradrabanduninterestinglife,thanlifewithEdwardandHenrietta’sghost.Untilthatdayinthewoodshehadnotknownherowncapacityforbitterjealousy.
Andafterall,Edwardhadnevertoldherthathelovedher.Affection,kindliness,hehadneverpretendedtomorethanthat.Shehadacceptedthelimitation,andnotuntilshehadrealizedwhatitwouldmeantoliveatclosequarterswithanEdwardwhosemindandhearthadHenriettaasapermanentguest,didsheknowthatforherEdward’saffectionwasnotenough.
Edwardwalkingpastherdoor,downthefrontstairs.Itwasodd—veryodd.Wherewashegoing?
Uneasinessgrewuponher.ItwasallpartandparceloftheuneasinessthatTheHollowgavehernowadays.WhatwasEdwarddoingdownstairsinthesmallhoursofthemorning?Hadhegoneout?
Inactivityatlastbecametoomuchforher.Shegotup,slippedonherdressinggown,and,takingatorch,sheopenedherdoorandcameoutintothepassage
Itwasquitedark,nolighthadbeenswitchedon.Midgeturnedtotheleftandcametotheheadofthestaircase.Belowallwasdarktoo.Sherandownthestairsandafteramoment’shesitationswitchedonthelightinthehall.Everythingwassilent.Thefrontdoorwasclosedandlocked.Shetriedthesidedoorbutthat,too,waslocked.
Edward,then,hadnotgoneout.Wherecouldhebe?
Andsuddenlysheraisedherheadandsniffed.
Awhiff,averyfaintwhiffofgas.
Thebaizedoortothekitchenquarterswasjustajar.Shewentthroughit—afaintlightwasshiningfromtheopenkitchendoor.Thesmellofgaswasmuchstronger.
Midgeranalongthepassageandintothekitchen.Edwardwaslyingonthefloorwithhisheadinsidethegasoven,whichwasturnedfullon.
Midgewasaquick,practicalgirl.Herfirstactwastoswingopentheshutters.Shecouldnotunlatchthewindow,and,windingaglassclothroundherarm,shesmashedit.Then,holdingherbreath,shestoopeddownandtuggedandpulledEdwardoutofthegasovenandswitchedoffthetaps.
Hewasunconsciousandbreathingqueerly,butsheknewthathecouldnothavebeenunconsciouslong.Hecouldonlyjusthavegoneunder.Thewindsweepingthroughfromthewindowtotheopendoorwasfastdispellingthegasfumes.MidgedraggedEdwardtoaspotnearthewindowwheretheairwouldhavefullplay.Shesatdownandgatheredhimintoherstrongyoungarms.
Shesaidhisname,firstsoftly,thenwithincreasingdesperation.“Edward,Edward,Edward….”
Hestirred,groaned,openedhiseyesandlookedupather.Hesaidveryfaintly:“Gasoven,”andhiseyeswentroundtothegasstove.
“Iknow,darling,butwhy—why?”
Hewasshiveringnow,hishandswerecoldandlifeless.Hesaid:“Midge?”Therewasakindofwonderingsurpriseandpleasureinhisvoice.
Shesaid:“Iheardyoupassmydoor.Ididn’tknow…Icamedown.”
Hesighed,averylongsighasthoughfromveryfaraway.“Bestwayout,”hesaid.Andthen,inexplicablyuntilsherememberedLucy’sconversationonthenightofthetragedy,“NewsoftheWorld.”
“But,Edward,why,why?”
Helookedupather,andtheblank,colddarknessofhisstarefrightenedher.
“BecauseIknowI’veneverbeenanygood.Alwaysafailure.Alwaysineffectual.It’smenlikeChristowwhodothings.Theygetthereandwomenadmirethem.I’mnothing—I’mnotevenquitealive.IinheritedAinswickandI’veenoughtoliveon—otherwiseI’dhavegoneunder.Nogoodatacareer—nevermuchgoodasawriter.Henriettadidn’twantme.Noonewantedme.Thatday—attheBerkeley—Ithought—butitwasthesamestory.Youcouldn’tcareeither,Midge.EvenforAinswickyoucouldn’tputupwithme.SoIthoughtbettergetoutaltogether.”
Herwordscamewitharush.“Darling,darling,youdon’tunderstand.ItwasbecauseofHenrietta—becauseIthoughtyoustilllovedHenriettasomuch.”
“Henrietta?”Hemurmureditvaguely,asthoughspeakingofsomeoneinfinitelyremote.“Yes,Ilovedherverymuch.”
Andfromevenfartherawaysheheardhimmurmur:
“It’ssocold.”
“Edward—mydarling.”
Herarmsclosedroundhimfirmly.Hesmiledather,murmuring:
“You’resowarm,Midge—you’resowarm.”
Yes,shethought,thatwaswhatdespairwas.Acoldthing—athingofinfinitecoldnessandloneliness.She’dneverunderstooduntilnowthatdespairwasacoldthing.Shehadthoughtofitassomethinghotandpassionate,somethingviolent,ahot-bloodeddesperation.Butthatwasnotso.Thiswasdespair—thisutterouterdarknessofcoldnessandloneliness.Andthesinofdespair,thatprieststalkedof,wasacoldsin,thesinofcuttingoneselfofffromallwarmandlivinghumancontacts.
Edwardsaidagain:“You’resowarm,Midge.”Andsuddenlywithaglad,proudconfidenceshethought:“Butthat’swhathewants—that’swhatIcangivehim!”Theywereallcold,theAngkatells.EvenHenriettahadsomethinginherofthewill-o’-the-wisp,oftheelusivefairycoldnessintheAngkatellblood.LetEdwardloveHenriettaasanintangibleandunpossessabledream.Itwaswarmth,permanence,stabilitythatwashisrealneed.ItwasdailycompanionshipandloveandlaughteratAinswick.
Shethought:“WhatEdwardneedsissomeonetolightafireonhisheart—andIamthepersontodothat.”
Edwardlookedup.HesawMidge’sfacebendingoverhim,thewarmcolouringoftheskin,thegenerousmouth,thesteadyeyesandthedarkhairthatlaybackfromherforeheadliketwowings.
HesawHenriettaalwaysasaprojectionfromthepast.Inthegrownwomanhesoughtandwantedonlytoseetheseventeen-year-oldgirlhehadfirstloved.Butnow,lookingupatMidge,hehadaqueersenseofseeingacontinuousMidge.Hesawtheschool-girlwithherwingedhairspringingbackintotwopigtails,hesawitsdarkwavesframingherfacenow,andhesawexactlyhowthosewingswouldlookwhenthehairwasnotdarkanylongerbutgrey.
“Midge,”hethought,“isreal.TheonlyrealthingIhaveeverknown…”Hefeltthewarmthofher,andthestrength—dark,positive,alive,real!“Midge,”hethought,“istherockonwhichIcanbuildmylife.”
Hesaid:“DarlingMidge,Iloveyouso,neverleavemeagain.”
Shebentdowntohimandhefeltthewarmthofherlipsonhis,feltherloveenvelopinghim,shieldinghim,andhappinessfloweredinthatcolddesertwherehehadlivedalonesolong.
SuddenlyMidgesaidwithashakylaugh:
“Look,Edward,ablackbeetlehascomeouttolookatus.Isn’theaniceblackbeetle?IneverthoughtIcouldlikeablackbeetlesomuch!”
Sheaddeddreamily:“Howoddlifeis.Herewearesittingonthefloorinakitchenthatstillsmellsofgasallamongsttheblack-beetles,andfeelingthatit’sheaven.”
Hemurmureddreamily:“Icouldstayhereforever.”
“We’dbettergoandgetsomesleep.It’sfouro’clock.HowoneartharewetoexplainthatbrokenwindowtoLucy?”Fortunately,Midgereflected,Lucywasanextraordinarilyeasypersontoexplainthingsto!
TakingaleafoutofLucy’sownbook,Midgewentintoherroomatsixo’clock.Shemadeabaldstatementoffact.
“Edwardwentdownandputhisheadinthegasoveninthenight,”shesaid.“FortunatelyIheardhim,andwentdownafterhim.IbrokethewindowbecauseIcouldn’tgetitopenquickly.”
Lucy,Midgehadtoadmit,waswonderful
Shesmiledsweetlywithnosignofsurprise.
“DearMidge,”shesaid,“youarealwayssopractical.I’msureyouwillalwaysbethegreatestcomforttoEdward.”
AfterMidgehadgone,LadyAngkatelllaythinking.Thenshegotupandwentintoherhusband’sroom,whichforoncewasunlocked.
“Henry.”
“MydearLucy!It’snotcockcrowyet.”
“No,butlisten,Henry,thisisreallyimportant.Wemusthaveelectricityinstalledtocookbyandgetridofthatgasstove.”
“Why,it’squitesatisfactory,isn’tit?”
“Oh,yes,dear.Butit’sthesortofthingthatgivespeopleideas,andeverybodymightn’tbeaspracticalasdearMidge.”
Sheflittedelusivelyaway.SirHenryturnedoverwithagrunt.Presentlyheawokewithastartjustashewasdozingoff.“DidIdreamit,”hemurmured,“ordidLucycomeinandstarttalkingaboutgasstoves?”
Outsideinthepassage,LadyAngkatellwentintothebathroomandputakettleonthegasring.Sometimes,sheknew,peoplelikedanearlycupoftea.Firedwithself-approval,shereturnedtobedandlaybackonherpillows,pleasedwithlifeandwithherself.
EdwardandMidgeatAinswick—theinquestover.ShewouldgoandtalktoM.Poirotagain.Anicelittleman….
Suddenlyanotherideaflashedintoherhead.Shesatuprightinbed.“Iwondernow,”shespeculated,“ifshehasthoughtofthat.”
ShegotoutofbedanddriftedalongthepassagetoHenrietta’sroom,beginningherremarksasusuallongbeforeshewaswithinearshot.
“—anditsuddenlycametome,dear,thatyoumighthaveoverlookedthat.”
Henriettamurmuredsleepily:“Forheaven’ssake,Lucy,thebirdsaren’tupyet!”
“Oh,Iknow,dear,itisratherearly,butitseemstohavebeenaverydisturbednight—EdwardandthegasstoveandMidgeandthekitchenwindow—andthinkingofwhattosaytoM.Poirotandeverything—”
“I’msorry,Lucy,buteverythingyousaysoundslikecompletegibberish.Can’titwait?”
“Itwasonlytheholster,dear.Ithought,youknow,thatyoumightnothavethoughtabouttheholster.”
“Holster?”Henriettasatupinbed.Shewassuddenlywideawake.“What’sthisaboutaholster?”
“ThatrevolverofHenry’swasinaholster,youknow.Andtheholsterhasn’tbeenfound.Andofcoursenobodymaythinkofit—butontheotherhandsomebodymight—”
Henriettaswungherselfoutofbed.Shesaid:
“Onealwaysforgetssomething—that’swhattheysay!Andit’strue!”
LadyAngkatellwentbacktoherroom.
Shegotintobedandquicklywentfastasleep.
Thekettleonthegasringboiledandwentonboiling.
Twenty-nine
Gerdarolledovertothesideofthebedandsatup.
Herheadfeltalittlebetternowbutshewasstillgladthatshehadn’tgonewiththeothersonthepicnic.Itwaspeacefulandalmostcomfortingtobealoneinthehouseforabit.
Elsie,ofcourse,hadbeenverykind—verykind—especiallyatfirst.Tobeginwith,Gerdahadbeenurgedtostayinbedforbreakfast,trayshadbeenbroughtuptoher.Everybodyurgedhertositinthemostcomfortablearmchair,toputherfeetup,nottodoanythingatallstrenuous.
TheywereallsosorryforheraboutJohn.Shehadstayedcoweringgratefullyinthatprotectivedimhaze.Shehadn’twantedtothink,ortofeel,ortoremember.
Butnow,everyday,shefeltitcomingnearer—she’dhavetostartlivingagain,todecidewhattodo,wheretolive.AlreadyElsiewasshowingashadeofimpatienceinhermanner.“Oh,Gerda,don’tbesoslow!”
Itwasallthesameasithadbeen—longago,beforeJohncameandtookheraway.Theyallthoughtherslowandstupid.Therewasnobodytosay,asJohnhadsaid:“I’lllookafteryou.”
HerheadachedandGerdathought:“I’llmakemyselfsometea.”
Shewentdowntothekitchenandputthekettleon.Itwasnearlyboilingwhensheheardaringatthefrontdoor.
Themaidshadbeengiventhedayout.Gerdawenttothedoorandopenedit.ShewasastonishedtoseeHenrietta’srakish-lookingcardrawnuptothekerbandHenriettaherselfstandingonthedoorstep.
“Why,Henrietta!”sheexclaimed.Shefellbackasteportwo.“Comein.I’mafraidmysisterandthechildrenareoutbut—”
Henriettacuthershort.“Good,I’mglad.Iwantedtogetyoualone.Listen,Gerda,whatdidyoudowiththeholster?”
Gerdastopped.Hereyeslookedsuddenlyvacantanduncomprehending.Shesaid:“Holster?”
Thensheopenedadoorontherightofthehall.
“You’dbettercomeinhere.I’mafraidit’sratherdusty.Yousee,wehaven’thadmuchtimethismorning.”
Henriettainterruptedagainurgently.
Shesaid:“Listen,Gerda,you’vegottotellme.Apartfromtheholstereverything’sallright—absolutelywatertight.There’snothingtoconnectyouwiththebusiness.Ifoundtherevolverwhereyou’dshoveditintothatthicketbythepool.Ihiditinaplacewhereyoucouldn’tpossiblyhaveputit—andtherearefingerprintsonitwhichthey’llneveridentify.Sothere’sonlytheholster.Imustknowwhatyoudidwiththat?”
Shepaused,prayingdesperatelythatGerdawouldreactquickly.
Shehadnoideawhyshehadthisvitalsenseofurgency,butitwasthere.Hercarhadnotbeenfollowed—shehadmadesureofthat.ShehadstartedontheLondonroad,hadfilledupatagarageandhadmentionedthatshewasonherwaytoLondon.Then,alittlefartheron,shehadswungacrosscountryuntilshehadreachedamainroadleadingsouthtothecoast.
Gerdawasstillstaringather.ThetroublewithGerda,thoughtHenrietta,wasthatshewassoslow.
“Ifyou’vestillgotit,Gerda,youmustgiveittome.I’llgetridofitsomehow.It’stheonlypossiblething,yousee,thatcanconnectyounowwithJohn’sdeath.Haveyougotit?”
TherewasapauseandthenGerdaslowlynoddedherhead.
“Didn’tyouknowitwasmadnesstokeepit?”Henriettacouldhardlyconcealherimpatience.
“Iforgotaboutit.Itwasupinmyroom.”
Sheadded:“WhenthepolicecameuptoHarleyStreetIcutitinpiecesandputitinthebagwithmyleatherwork.”
Henriettasaid:“Thatwascleverofyou.”
Gerdasaid:“I’mnotquitesostupidaseverybodythinks.”Sheputherhanduptoherthroat.Shesaid:“John—John!”Hervoicebroke.
Henriettasaid:“Iknow,mydear,Iknow.”
Gerdasaid:“Butyoucan’tknow…Johnwasn’t—hewasn’t—”Shestoodthere,dumbandstrangelypathetic.SheraisedhereyessuddenlytoHenrietta’sface.“Itwasallalie—everything!AllthethingsIthoughthewas.Isawhisfacewhenhefollowedthatwomanoutthatevening.VeronicaCray.Iknewhe’dcaredforher,ofcourse,yearsagobeforehemarriedme,butIthoughtitwasallover.”
Henriettasaidgently:
“Butitwasallover.”
Gerdashookherhead.
“No.Shecamethereandpretendedthatshehadn’tseenJohnforyears—butIsawJohn’sface.Hewentoutwithher.Iwentuptobed.Ilaytheretryingtoread—ItriedtoreadthatdetectivestorythatJohnwasreading.AndJohndidn’tcome.AndatlastIwentout….”
Hereyesseemedtobeturninginwards,seeingthescene.
“Itwasmoonlight.Iwentalongthepathtotheswimmingpool.Therewasalightinthepavilion.Theywerethere—Johnandthatwoman.”
Henriettamadeafaintsound.
Gerda’sfacehadchanged.Ithadnoneofitsusualslightlyvacantamiability.Itwasremorseless,implacable.
“I’dtrustedJohn.I’dbelievedinhim—asthoughhewereGod.Ithoughthewasthenoblestmanintheworld.Ithoughthewaseverythingthatwasfineandnoble.Anditwasallalie!Iwasleftwithnothingatall.I—I’dworshippedJohn!”
Henriettawasgazingatherfascinated.Forhere,beforehereyes,waswhatshehadguessedatandbroughttolife,carvingitoutofwood.HerewasTheWorshipper.Blinddevotionthrownbackonitself,disillusioned,dangerous.
Gerdasaid:“Icouldn’tbearit!Ihadtokillhim!Ihadto—youdoseethat,Henrietta?”
Shesaiditquiteconversationally,inanalmostfriendlytone.
“AndIknewImustbecarefulbecausethepoliceareveryclever.ButthenI’mnotreallyasstupidaspeoplethink!Ifyou’reveryslowandjuststare,peoplethinkyoudon’ttakethingsin—andsometimes,underneath,you’relaughingatthem!IknewIcouldkillJohnandnobodywouldknowbecauseI’dreadinthatdetectivestoryaboutthepolicebeingabletotellwhichgunabullethasbeenfiredfrom.SirHenryhadshownmehowtoloadandfirearevolverthatafternoon.I’dtaketworevolvers.I’dshootJohnwithoneandthenhideit,andletpeoplefindmeholdingtheother,andfirstthey’dthinkI’dshothimandthenthey’dfindhecouldn’thavebeenkilledwiththatrevolverandsothey’dsayIhadn’tdoneitafterall!”
Shenoddedherheadtriumphantly.
“ButIforgotabouttheleatherthing.Itwasinthedrawerinmybedroom.Whatdoyoucallit,aholster?Surelythepolicewon’tbotheraboutthatnow!”
“Theymight,”saidHenrietta.“You’dbettergiveittome,andI’lltakeitawaywithme.Onceit’soutofyourhands,you’requitesafe.”
Shesatdown.Shefeltsuddenlyunutterablyweary.
Gerdasaid:“Youdon’tlookwell.Iwasjustmakingtea.”
Shewentoutoftheroom.Presentlyshecamebackwithatray.Onitwasateapot,milkjugandtwocups.Themilkjughadsloppedoverbecauseitwasover-full.GerdaputthetraydownandpouredoutacupofteaandhandedittoHenrietta.
“Oh,dear,”shesaid,dismayed,“Idon’tbelievethekettlecanhavebeenboiling.”
“It’squiteallright,”saidHenrietta.“Goandgetthatholster,Gerda.”
Gerdahesitatedandthenwentoutoftheroom.Henriettaleantforwardandputherarmsonthetableandherheaddownonthem.Shewassotired,sodreadfullytired.Butnowitwasnearlydone.Gerdawouldbesafe,asJohnhadwantedhertobesafe.
Shesatup,pushedthehairoffherforeheadanddrewtheteacuptowardsher.Thenatasoundinthedoorwayshelookedup.Gerdahadbeenquitequickforonce.
ButitwasHerculePoirotwhostoodinthedoorway.
“Thefrontdoorwasopen,”heremarkedasheadvancedtothetable,“soItookthelibertyofwalkingin.”
“You!”saidHenrietta.“Howdidyougethere?”
“WhenyouleftTheHollowsosuddenly,naturallyIknewwhereyouwouldgo.Ihiredaveryfastcarandcamestraighthere.”
“Isee.”Henriettasighed.“Youwould.”
“Youshouldnotdrinkthattea,”saidPoirot,takingthecupfromherandreplacingitonthetray.“Teathathasnotbeenmadewithboilingwaterisnotgoodtodrink.”
“Doesalittlethinglikeboilingwaterreallymatter?”
Poirotsaidgently:“Everythingmatters.”
TherewasasoundbehindhimandGerdacameintotheroom.Shehadaworkbaginherhands.HereyeswentfromPoirot’sfacetoHenrietta’s.
Henriettasaidquickly:
“I’mafraid,Gerda,I’mratherasuspiciouscharacter.M.Poirotseemstohavebeenshadowingme.HethinksthatIkilledJohn—buthecan’tproveit.”
Shespokeslowlyanddeliberately.SolongasGerdadidnotgiveherselfaway.
Gerdasaidvaguely:“I’msosorry.Willyouhavesometea,M.Poirot?”
“No,thankyou,Madame.”
Gerdasatdownbehindthetray.Shebegantotalkinherapologetic,conversationalway.
“I’msosorrythateverybodyisout.Mysisterandthechildrenhaveallgoneforapicnic.Ididn’tfeelverywell,sotheyleftmebehind.”
“Iamsorry,Madame.”
Gerdaliftedateacupanddrank.
“Itisallsoveryworrying.Everythingissoworrying.Yousee,JohnalwaysarrangedeverythingandnowJohnisgone…”Hervoicetailedoff.“NowJohnisgone.”
Hergaze,piteous,bewildered,wentfromonetotheother.
“Idon’tknowwhattodowithoutJohn.Johnlookedafterme.Hetookcareofme.Nowheisgone,everythingisgone.Andthechildren—theyaskmequestionsandIcan’tanswerthemproperly.Idon’tknowwhattosaytoTerry.Hekeepssaying:‘WhywasFatherkilled?’Someday,ofcourse,hewillfindoutwhy.Terryalwayshastoknow.Whatpuzzlesmeisthathealwaysaskswhy,notwho!”
Gerdaleanedbackinherchair.Herlipswereveryblue.
Shesaidstiffly:
“Ifeel—notverywell—ifJohn—John—”
Poirotcameroundthetabletoherandeasedhersidewaysdowninthechair.Herheaddroppedforward.Hebentandliftedhereyelid.Thenhestraightenedup.
“Aneasyandcomparativelypainlessdeath.”
Henriettastaredathim.
“Heart?No.”Hermindleapedforward.“Somethinginthetea.Somethingsheputthereherself.Shechosethatwayout?”
Poirotshookhisheadgently.
“Oh,no,itwasmeantforyou.Itwasinyourteacup.”
“Forme?”Henrietta’svoicewasincredulous.“ButIwastryingtohelpher.”
“Thatdidnotmatter.Haveyounotseenadogcaughtinatrap—itsetsitsteethintoanyonewhotouchesit.Shesawonlythatyouknewhersecretandsoyou,too,mustdie.”
Henriettasaidslowly:
“Andyoumademeputthecupbackonthetray—youmeant—youmeanther—”
Poirotinterruptedherquietly:
“No,no,Mademoiselle.Ididnotknowthattherewasanythinginyourteacup.Ionlyknewthattheremightbe.Andwhenthecupwasonthetrayitwasanevenchanceifshedrankfromthatortheother—ifyoucallitchance.Isaymyselfthatanendsuchasthisismerciful.Forher—andfortwoinnocentchildren.”
HesaidgentlytoHenrietta:“Youareverytired,areyounot?”
Shenodded.Sheaskedhim:“Whendidyouguess?”
“Idonotknowexactly.Thescenewasset;Ifeltthatfromthefirst.ButIdidnotrealizeforalongtimethatitwassetbyGerdaChristow—thatherattitudewasstageybecauseshewas,actually,actingapart.Iwaspuzzledbythesimplicityandatthesametimethecomplexity.IrecognizedfairlysoonthatitwasyouringenuitythatIwasfightingagainst,andthatyouwerebeingaidedandabettedbyyourrelationsassoonastheyunderstoodwhatyouwanteddone!”Hepausedandadded:“Whydidyouwantitdone?”
“BecauseJohnaskedmeto!That’swhathemeantwhenhesaid‘Henrietta.’Itwasallthereinthatoneword.HewasaskingmetoprotectGerda.Yousee,helovedGerda.IthinkhelovedGerdamuchbetterthanheeverknewhedid.BetterthanVeronicaCray.Betterthanme.Gerdabelongedtohim,andJohnlikedthingsthatbelongedtohim.HeknewthatifanyonecouldprotectGerdafromtheconsequencesofwhatshe’ddone,Icould.AndheknewthatIwoulddoanythinghewanted,becauseIlovedhim.”
“Andyoustartedatonce,”saidPoirotgrimly.
“Yes,thefirstthingIcouldthinkofwastogettherevolverawayfromheranddropitinthepool.Thatwouldobscurethefingerprintbusiness.WhenIdiscoveredlaterthathehadbeenshotwithadifferentgun,Iwentouttolookforit,andnaturallyfounditatoncebecauseIknewjustthesortofplaceGerdawouldhaveputit.IwasonlyaminuteortwoaheadofInspectorGrange’smen.”
Shepausedandthenwenton:“IkeptitwithmeinthatsatchelbagofmineuntilIcouldtakeituptoLondon.ThenIhiditinthestudiountilIcouldbringitback,andputitwherethepolicewouldnotfindit.”
“Theclayhorse,”murmuredPoirot.
“Howdidyouknow?Yes,Iputitinaspongebagandwiredthearmatureroundit,andthenslappeduptheclaymodelroundit.Afterall,thepolicecouldn’tverywelldestroyanartist’smasterpiece,couldthey?Whatmadeyouknowwhereitwas?”
“Thefactthatyouchosetomodelahorse.ThehorseofTroywastheunconsciousassociationinyourmind.Butthefingerprints—howdidyoumanagethefingerprints?”
“Anoldblindmanwhosellsmatchesinthestreet.Hedidn’tknowwhatitwasIaskedhimtoholdforamomentwhileIgotsomemoneyout!”
Poirotlookedatherforamoment.
“C’estformidable!”hemurmured.“Youareoneofthebestantagonists,Mademoiselle,thatIhaveeverhad.”
“It’sbeendreadfullytiringalwaystryingtokeeponemoveaheadofyou!”
“Iknow.IbegantorealizethetruthassoonasIsawthatthepatternwasalwaysdesignednottoimplicateanyonepersonbuttoimplicateeveryone—otherthanGerdaChristow.Everyindicationalwayspointedawayfromher.YoudeliberatelyplantedYgdrasiltocatchmyattentionandbringyourselfundersuspicion.LadyAngkatell,whoknewperfectlywhatyouweredoing,amusedherselfbyleadingpoorInspectorGrangeinonedirectionafteranother.David,Edward,herself.
“Yes,thereisonlyonethingtodoifyouwanttoclearapersonfromsuspicionwhoisactuallyguilty.Youmustsuggestguiltelsewherebutneverlocalizeit.Thatiswhyeverycluelookedpromisingandthenpeteredoutandendedinnothing.”
Henriettalookedatthefigurehuddledpatheticallyinthechair.Shesaid:“PoorGerda.”
“Isthatwhatyouhavefeltallalong?”
“Ithinkso.GerdalovedJohnterribly,butshedidn’twanttolovehimforwhathewas.Shebuiltupapedestalforhimandattributedeverysplendidandnobleandunselfishcharacteristictohim.Andifyoucastdownanidol,there’snothingleft.”Shepausedandthenwenton:“ButJohnwassomethingmuchfinerthananidolonapedestal.Hewasareal,living,vitalhumanbeing.Hewasgenerousandwarmandalive,andhewasagreatdoctor—yes,agreatdoctor.Andhe’sdead,andtheworldhaslostaverygreatman.AndIhavelosttheonlymanIshalleverlove.”
Poirotputhishandgentlyonhershoulder.Hesaid:
“Butyouareoneofthosewhocanlivewithaswordintheirhearts—whocangoonandsmile—”
Henriettalookedupathim.Herlipstwistedintoabittersmile.
“That’salittlemelodramatic,isn’tit?”
“ItisbecauseIamaforeignerandIliketousefinewords.”
Henriettasaidsuddenly:
“Youhavebeenverykindtome.”
“ThatisbecauseIhaveadmiredyoualwaysverymuch.”
“M.Poirot,whatarewegoingtodo?AboutGerda,Imean.”
Poirotdrewtheraffiaworkbagtowardshim.Heturnedoutitscontents,scrapsofbrownsuèdeandothercolouredleathers.Thereweresomepiecesofthickshinybrownleather.Poirotfittedthemtogether.
“Theholster.Itakethis.AndpoorMadameChristow,shewasoverwrought,herhusband’sdeathwastoomuchforher.Itwillbebroughtinthatshetookherlifewhilstofunsoundmind—”
Henriettasaidslowly:
“Andnoonewilleverknowwhatreallyhappened?”
“Ithinkonepersonwillknow.Dr.Christow’sson.Ithinkthatonedayhewillcometomeandaskmeforthetruth.”
“Butyouwon’ttellhim,”criedHenrietta.
“Yes.Ishalltellhim.”
“Oh,no!”
“Youdonotunderstand.Toyouitisunbearablethatanyoneshouldbehurt.Buttosomemindsthereissomethingmoreunbearablestill—nottoknow.Youheardthepoorwomanjustalittlewhileagosay:‘Terryalwayshastoknow.’Tothescientificmind,truthcomesfirst.Truth,howeverbitter,canbeaccepted,andwovenintoadesignforliving.”
Henriettagotup.
“Doyouwantmehere,orhadIbettergo?”
“Itwouldbebetterifyouwent,Ithink.”
Shenodded.Thenshesaid,moretoherselfthantohim:
“WhereshallIgo?WhatshallIdo—withoutJohn?”
“YouarespeakinglikeGerdaChristow.Youwillknowwheretogoandwhattodo.”
“ShallI?I’msotired,M.Poirot,sotired.”
Hesaidgently:
“Go,mychild.Yourplaceiswiththeliving.Iwillstayherewiththedead.”
Thirty
AsshedrovetowardsLondon,thetwophrasesechoedthroughHenrietta’smind.“WhatshallIdo?WhereshallIgo?”
Forthelastfewweeksshehadbeenstrungup,excited,neverrelaxingforamoment.Shehadhadatasktoperform—atasklaidonherbyJohn.Butnowthatwasover—shehadfailed—orsucceeded?Onecouldlookatiteitherway.Buthoweveronelookedatit,thetaskwasover.Andsheexperiencedtheterriblewearinessofthereaction.
HermindwentbacktothewordsshehadspokentoEdwardthatnightontheterrace—thenightofJohn’sdeath—thenightwhenshehadgonealongtothepoolandintothepavilionandhaddeliberately,bythelightofamatch,drawnYgdrasilupontheirontable.Purposeful,planning—notyetabletositdownandmourn—mournforherdead.“Ishouldlike,”shehadsaidtoEdward,“togrieveforJohn.”
Butshehadnotdaredtorelaxthen—notdaredtoletsorrowtakecommandoverher.
Butnowshecouldgrieve.Nowshehadallthetimetherewas.
Shesaidunderherbreath:“John…John.”
Bitternessandblackrebellionbrokeoverher.
Shethought:“IwishI’ddrunkthatcupoftea.”
Drivingthecarsoothedher,gaveherstrengthforthemoment.ButsoonshewouldbeinLondon.Soonshewouldputthecarinthegarageandgoalongtotheemptystudio.EmptysinceJohnwouldneversitthereagainbullyingher,beingangrywithher,lovinghermorethanhewantedtoloveher,tellinghereagerlyaboutRidgeway’sDisease—abouthistriumphsanddespairs,aboutMrs.CrabtreeandSt.Christopher’s.
Andsuddenly,withaliftingofthedarkpallthatlayoverhermind,shethought:
“Ofcourse.That’swhereIwillgo.ToSt.Christopher’s.”
Lyinginhernarrowhospitalbed,oldMrs.Crabtreepeeredupathervisitoroutofrheumy,twinklingeyes.
ShewasexactlyasJohnhaddescribedher,andHenriettafeltasuddenwarmth,aliftingofthespirit.Thiswasreal—thiswouldlast!Here,foralittlespace,shehadfoundJohnagain.
“Theporedoctor.Orful,ain’tit?”Mrs.Crabtreewassaying.Therewasrelishinhervoiceaswellasregret,forMrs.Crabtreelovedlife;andsuddendeaths,particularlymurdersordeathsinchildbed,weretherichestpartsofthetapestryoflife.“Getting’imselfbumpedofflikethat!Turnedmystomachrightover,itdid,whenI’eard.Ireadallaboutitinthepapers.Sisterletme’aveallshecouldget’oldof.Reelyniceaboutit,shewas.Therewaspicturesandeverythink.Thatswimmingpoolandall.’Iswifeleavingtheinquest,porething,andthatLadyAngkatellwhattheswimmingpoolbelongedto.Lotsofpictures.Realmysterythe’olething,weren’tit?”
Henriettawasnotrepelledbyherghoulishenjoyment.ShelikeditbecausesheknewthatJohnhimselfwouldhavelikedit.IfhehadtodiehewouldmuchpreferoldMrs.Crabtreetogetakickoutofit,thantosniffandshedtears.
“AllI’opeisthattheycatch’ooeverdoneitand’ang’im,”continuedMrs.Crabtreevindictively.“Theydon’t’ave’angingsinpublicliketheyusedtoonce—more’sthepity.I’vealwaysthoughtI’dliketogotoan’anging.AndI’dgodoublequick,ifyouunderstandme,tosee’ooeverkilledthedoctor’anged!Realwicked,’emust’avebeen.Why,thedoctorwasoneinathousand.Eversoclever,’ewas!Andanicewaywith’im!Gotyoulaughingwhetheryouwantedtoornot.Thethings’eusedtosaysometimes!I’d’avedoneanythinkforthedoctor,Iwould!”
“Yes,”saidHenrietta,“hewasaverycleverman.Hewasagreatman.”
“Thinktheworldof’iminthe’orspital,theydo!Allthemnurses.And’ispatients!Alwaysfeltyouweregoingtogetwellwhen’e’dbeenalong.”
“Soyouaregoingtogetwell,”saidHenrietta.
Thelittleshrewdeyescloudedforamoment.
“I’mnotsosureaboutthat,ducks.I’vegotthatmealy-mouthedyoungfellowwiththespectaclesnow.QuitedifferenttoDr.Christow.Neveralaugh!’Ewasaone,Dr.Christowwas—alwaysuptohisjokes!Givenmesomenorfultimes,’e’as,withthistreatmentof’is.‘Icarn’tstandanymoreofin,Doctor,’I’dsaytohim,and‘Yes,youcan,Mrs.Crabtree,’’e’dsaytome.‘You’retough,youare.Youcantakeit.Goingtomakemedical’istory,youandIare.’Andhe’djollyyoualonglike.Doanythingforthedoctor,Iwould’ave!Expectedalotofyou,’edid,butyoufeltyoucouldn’tlethimdown,ifyouknowwhatImean.”
“Iknow,”saidHenrietta.
Thelittlesharpeyespeeredather.
“Excuseme,dearie,you’renotthedoctor’swifebyanychance?”
“No,”saidHenrietta,“I’mjustafriend.”
“Isee,”saidMrs.Crabtree.
Henriettathoughtthatshedidsee.
“Whatmadeyoucomealongifyoudon’tmindmeasking?”
“Thedoctorusedtotalktomealotaboutyou—andabouthisnewtreatment.Iwantedtoseehowyouwere.”
“I’mslippingback—that’swhatI’mdoing.”
Henriettacried:
“Butyoumustn’tslipback!You’vegottogetwell.”
Mrs.Crabtreegrinned.
“Idon’twanttopegout,don’tyouthinkit!”
“Well,fightthen!Dr.Christowsaidyouwereafighter.”
“Did’enow?”Mrs.Crabtreelaystillaminute,thenshesaidslowly:
“Ooevershot’imit’sawickedshame!Therearen’tmanyof’issort.”
Weshallnotseehislikeagain.ThewordspassedthroughHenrietta’smind.Mrs.Crabtreewasregardingherkeenly.
“Keepyourpeckerup,dearie,”shesaid.Sheadded:“’E’adanicefuneral,I’ope.”
“Hehadalovelyfuneral,”saidHenriettaobligingly.
“Ar!IwishIcouldofgorntoit!”
Mrs.Crabtreesighed.
“Begoingtomeownfuneralnext,Iexpect.”
“No,”criedHenrietta.“Youmustn’tletgo.YousaidjustnowthatDr.Christowtoldyouthatyouandheweregoingtomakemedicalhistory.Well,you’vegottocarryonbyyourself.Thetreatment’sjustthesame.You’vegottohavethegutsfortwo—you’vegottomakemedicalhistorybyyourself—forhim.”
Mrs.Crabtreelookedatherforamomentortwo.
“Soundsabitgrand!I’lldomybest,ducks.Carn’tsaymorethanthat.”
Henriettagotupandtookherhand.
“Good-bye.I’llcomeandseeyouagainifImay.”
“Yes,do.It’lldomegoodtotalkaboutthedoctorabit.”Thebawdytwinklecameintohereyeagain.“Propermanineverykindofway,Dr.Christow.”
“Yes,”saidHenrietta.“Hewas.”
Theoldwomansaid:
“Don’tfret,ducks—what’sgorn’sgorn.Youcan’t’aveitback.”
Mrs.CrabtreeandHerculePoirot,Henriettathought,expressedthesameideaindifferentlanguage.
ShedrovebacktoChelsea,putawaythecarinthegarageandwalkedslowlytothestudio.
“Now,”shethought,“ithascome.ThemomentIhavebeendreading—themomentwhenIamalone.
“NowIcanputitoffnolonger.Nowgriefisherewithme.”
WhathadshesaidtoEdward?“IshouldliketogrieveforJohn.”
Shedroppeddownonachairandpushedbackthehairfromherface.
Alone—empty—destitute.Thisawfulemptiness.
Thetearsprickedathereyes,flowedslowlydownhercheeks.
Grief,shethought,griefforJohn.Oh,John—John.
Remembering,remembering—hisvoice,sharpwithpain:
“IfIweredead,thefirstthingyou’ddo,withthetearsstreamingdownyourface,wouldbetostartmodellingsomedamn’mourningwomanorsomefigureofgrief.”
Shestirreduneasily.Whyhadthatthoughtcomeintoherhead?
Grief—Grief…Aveiledfigure—itsoutlinebarelyperceptible—itsheadcowled
Alabaster.
Shecouldseethelinesofit—tall,elongated,itssorrowhidden,revealedonlybythelong,mournfullinesofthedrapery.
Sorrow,emergingfromclear,transparentalabaster.
“IfIweredead….”
Andsuddenlybitternesscameoverherfulltide!
Shethought:“That’swhatIam!Johnwasright.Icannotlove—Icannotmourn—notwiththewholeofme.
“It’sMidge,it’speoplelikeMidgewhoarethesaltoftheearth.”
MidgeandEdwardatAinswick.
Thatwasreality—strength—warmth.
“ButI,”shethought,“amnotawholeperson.Ibelongnottomyself,buttosomethingoutsideme.Icannotgrieveformydead.InsteadImusttakemygriefandmakeitintoafigureofalabaster….”
ExhibitNo.58.“Grief.”Alabaster.MissHenriettaSavernake….
Shesaidunderherbreath:
“John,forgiveme,forgiveme,forwhatIcan’thelpdoing.”
TheAgathaChristieCollection
THEHERCULEPOIROTMYSTERIES
MatchyourwitswiththefamousBelgiandetective.
TheMysteriousAffairatStylesTheMurderontheLinksPoirotInvestigatesTheMurderofRogerAckroydTheBigFourTheMysteryoftheBlueTrainPerilatEndHouseLordEdgwareDiesMurderontheOrientExpressThreeActTragedyDeathintheCloudsTheA.B.C.MurdersMurderinMesopotamiaCardsontheTableMurderintheMewsDumbWitnessDeathontheNileAppointmentwithDeathHerculePoirot’sChristmasSadCypressOne,Two,BuckleMyShoeEvilUndertheSunFiveLittlePigsTheHollowTheLaborsofHerculesTakenattheFloodTheUnderdogandOtherStoriesMrs.McGinty’sDeadAftertheFuneralHickoryDickoryDockDeadMan’sFollyCatAmongthePigeonsTheClocksThirdGirlHallowe’enPartyElephantsCanRememberCurtain:Poirot’sLastCase
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
TheAgathaChristieCollection
THEMISSMARPLEMYSTERIES
JointhelegendaryspinstersleuthfromSt.MaryMeadinsolvingmurdersfarandwide.
TheMurderattheVicaragTheBodyintheLibraryTheMovingFingerAMurderIsAnnouncedTheyDoItwithMirrorsAPocketFullofRye4:50FromPaddingtonTheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSideACaribbeanMysteryAtBertram’sHotelNemesisSleepingMurderMissMarple:TheCompleteShortStories
THETOMMYANDTUPPENCEMYSTERIES
Jumponboardwiththeentertainingcrime-solvingcouplefromYoungAdventurersLtd.
TheSecretAdversaryPartnersinCrimeNorM?BythePrickingofMyThumbsPosternofFate
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
TheAgathaChristieCollection
Don’tmissasingleoneofAgathaChristie’sstand-alonenovelsandshort-storycollections.
TheManintheBrownSuitTheSecretofChimneysTheSevenDialsMysteryTheMysteriousMr.QuinTheSittafordMysteryParkerPyneInvestigatesWhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?MurderIsEasyTheRegattaMysteryandOtherStoriesAndThenThereWereNoneTowardsZeroDeathComesastheEndSparklingCyanideTheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStoriesCrookedHouseThreeBlindMiceandOtherStoriesTheyCametoBaghdadDestinationUnknownOrdealbyInnocenceDoubleSinandOtherStoriesThePaleHorseStaroverBethlehem:PoemsandHolidayStoriesEndlessNightPassengertoFrankfurtTheGoldenBallandOtherStoriesTheMousetrapandOtherPlaysTheHarlequinTeaSet
Exploremoreatwww.AgathaChristie.com
AbouttheAuthor
AgathaChristieisthemostwidelypublishedauthorofalltimeandinanylanguage,outsoldonlybytheBibleandShakespeare.HerbookshavesoldmorethanabillioncopiesinEnglishandanotherbillioninahundredforeignlanguages.Sheistheauthorofeightycrimenovelsandshort-storycollections,nineteenplays,twomemoirs,andsixnovelswrittenunderthenameMaryWestmacott.
ShefirsttriedherhandatdetectivefictionwhileworkinginahospitaldispensaryduringWorldWarI,creatingthenowlegendaryHerculePoirotwithherdebutnovelTheMysteriousAffairatStyles.WithTheMurderintheVicarage,publishedin1930,sheintroducedanotherbelovedsleuth,MissJaneMarple.Additionalseriescharactersincludethehusband-and-wifecrime-fightingteamofTommyandTuppenceBeresford,privateinvestigatorParkerPyne,andScotlandYarddetectivesSuperintendentBattleandInspectorJapp.
ManyofChristie’snovelsandshortstorieswereadaptedintoplays,films,andtelevisionseries.TheMousetrap,hermostfamousplayofall,openedin1952andisthelongest-runningplayinhistory.Amongherbest-knownfilmadaptationsareMurderontheOrientExpress(1974)andDeathontheNile(1978),withAlbertFinneyandPeterUstinovplayingHerculePoirot,respectively.OnthesmallscreenPoirothasbeenmostmemorablyportrayedbyDavidSuchet,andMissMarplebyJoanHicksonandsubsequentlyGeraldineMcEwanandJuliaMcKenzie.
ChristiewasfirstmarriedtoArchibaldChristieandthentoarchaeologistSirMaxMallowan,whomsheaccompaniedonexpeditionstocountriesthatwouldalsoserveasthesettingsformanyofhernovels.In1971sheachievedoneofBritain’shighesthonorswhenshewasmadeaDameoftheBritishEmpire.Shediedin1976attheageofeighty-five.Heronehundredandtwentiethanniversarywascelebratedaroundtheworldin2010.
www.AgathaChristie.com
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THEAGATHACHRISTIECOLLECTION
TheManintheBrownSuit
TheSecretofChimneys
TheSevenDialsMystery
TheMysteriousMr.Quin
TheSittafordMystery
ParkerPyneInvestigates
WhyDidn’tTheyAskEvans?
MurderIsEasy
TheRegattaMysteryandOtherStories
AndThenThereWereNone
TowardsZero
DeathComesastheEnd
SparklingCyanide
TheWitnessfortheProsecutionandOtherStories
CrookedHouse
ThreeBlindMiceandOtherStories
TheyCametoBaghdad
DestinationUnknown
OrdealbyInnocence
DoubleSinandOtherStories
ThePaleHorse
StaroverBethlehem:PoemsandHolidayStories
EndlessNight
PassengertoFrankfurt
TheGoldenBallandOtherStories
TheMousetrapandOtherPlays
TheHarlequinTeaSet
TheHerculePoirotMysteries
TheMysteriousAffairatStyles
TheMurderontheLinks
PoirotInvestigates
TheMurderofRogerAckroyd
TheBigFour
TheMysteryoftheBlueTrain
PerilatEndHouse
LordEdgwareDies
MurderontheOrientExpress
ThreeActTragedy
DeathintheClouds
TheA.B.C.Murders
MurderinMesopotamia
CardsontheTable
MurderintheMews
DumbWitness
DeathontheNile
AppointmentwithDeath
HerculePoirot’sChristmas
SadCypress
One,Two,BuckleMyShoe
EvilUndertheSun
FiveLittlePigs
TheHollow
TheLaborsofHercules
TakenattheFlood
TheUnderdogandOtherStories
Mrs.McGinty’sDead
AftertheFuneral
HickoryDickoryDock
DeadMan’sFolly
CatAmongthePigeons
TheClocks
ThirdGirl
Hallowe’enParty
ElephantsCanRemember
Curtain:Poirot’sLastCase
TheMissMarpleMysteries
TheMurderattheVicarage
TheBodyintheLibrary
TheMovingFinger
AMurderIsAnnounced
TheyDoItwithMirrors
APocketFullofRye
4:50fromPaddington
TheMirrorCrack’dfromSidetoSide
ACaribbeanMystery
AtBertram’sHotel
Nemesis
SleepingMurder
MissMarple:TheCompleteShortStories
TheTommyandTuppenceMysteries
TheSecretAdversary
PartnersinCrime
NorM?
BythePrickingofMyThumbs
PosternofFate
Memoirs
AnAutobiography
Come,TellMeHowYouLive
Credits
CoverillustrationanddesignbyFaithLaurel
Copyright
Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Thecharacters,incidents,anddialoguearedrawnfromtheauthor’simaginationandarenottobeconstruedasreal.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.
ThistitlewaspreviouslypublishedasMurderAfterHours.
AGATHACHRISTIE?POIROT?THEHOLLOW?.Copyright?1946AgathaChristieLimited(aChorioncompany).Allrightsreserved.
THEHOLLOW?1946.PublishedbypermissionofG.P.Putnam’sSons,amemberofPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthise-bookon-screen.Nopartofthistextmaybereproduced,transmitted,downloaded,decompiled,reverse-engineered,orstoredinorintroducedintoanyinformationstorageandretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknownorhereinafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollins
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