After The Funeral Part 44

Who would not be ? A brutal crime--a sensitive artist attacked in a lonely cottage. Terrible for her family. But terrible, also, I imagine, for you. Since Mrs. Timothy Abernethie gives me to understand that you were there at the time ?"

"Yes, I was. And if you'll excuse me, M. Pontarlier, I don't want to talk about it."

"I understand---oh yes, I completely understand."

Itaving said this, Poirot waited. And, as he had thought, Miss Gilchrist immediately did begin to talk about it.

He heard nothing from her that he had not heard before, but he played his part with perfect sympathy, uttering little cries of comprehension and listening with an absorbed interest which Miss Gilchrist could not but help enjoy.

Not until she had exhausted the subject of what she herself had felt, and what the doctor had said, and how kind Mr. Entwhistle had been, did Poirot proceed cautiously to the next point.

"You were wise, I think, not to remain alone down in that cottage."

"I couldn't have done it, M. Pontarlier. I really couldn't have done it."

"No.

I understand even that you were afraid to remain alone in the house of Mr. Timothy Abernethie whilst they came here ?"

Miss Gilchrist looked guilty.

I'm terribly ashamed about that. So foolish really. It was just a kind of panic I had--I really don't know "But of course one knows why. You had just recovered from a dastardly attempt to poison you "

x4x

Miss Gilchrist here sighed and said she simply couldn't understand it. Why should anyone try to poison her ?

"But obviously, my dear lady, because this criminal, this a.s.sa.s.sin, thought that you knew something that might lead to his apprehension by the police."

"But what could I know ? Some dreadful tramp, or semi-crazed creature."

"If it was a tramp. It seems to me unlikely"

"Oh, please, M. Pontarlier--" Miss Gilchrist became suddenly very upset.

"Don't suggest such things. I don't want to believe it."

"You do not want to believe what ?"

"I don't want to believe that it wasn't--I mean--that it was.- She paused, confused.

"And yet," said Poirot shrewdly, "you do believe."

"Oh, I don't. I don't I" "But I think you do. That is why you are frightened...

You are still frightened, are you not ?"

"Oh, no, not since I came here. So many people. And such a nice family atmosphere. Oh, no, everything seems quite all right here."

"It seems to me--you must excuse my interest--I am an old man, somewhat infirm and a great part of my time is given to idle speculation on matters which interest me---it seems to me that there must have been some definite occurrence at Stansfield Grange which, so to speak, brought your fears to a head. Doctors recognise nowadays how much takes place in our subconscious."

"Yes, yes--I know they say so."

"And I think your subconscious fears might have been brought to a point by some small concrete happening, something, perhaps, quite extraneous, serving, shall we say, as a focal point."

Miss Gilchrist seemed to lap this up eagerly.

"I'm sure you are right," she said.

"Now what, should you think, was this--er---extraneous circ.u.mstance ?"

Miss Gilchrist pondered a moment, and then said, unexpectedly: "I think, you know, M. Pontarlier, it was the nun."

Before Poirot could take this up, Susan and her husband came in, closely followed by Helen.

"A nun," thought Poirot... "Now where, in all this, have I heard something about a nun ?"

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lie resolved to lead the conversation on to nuns sometime in the course of the evening.

CHAPTER XIX

THE FAm- had all been polite to M. Pontarlier, the representative of U.N.A.R.C.O. And how right he had been to have chosen to designate himself by initials. Everyone had accepted U.N.A.R.C.O. as a matter of course--had even pretended to know all about it I How averse human beings were ever to admit ignorance! An exception had been Rosamund, who had asked him wonderingly: "But what is it ? I never heard of it ?" Fortunately no one else had been there at the time. Poirot had explained the organisation in such a way that anyone but Rosamund would have felt abashed at having displayed ignorance of such a well-known, world-wide inst.i.tution. Rosamund, however, had only said vaguely, "Oh! refugees all over again. I'm so tired of refugees." Thus voicing the unspoken reaction of many, who were usually too conventional to express themselves so frankly.

M. Pontarlier was, therefore, now accepted--as a nuisance but also as a nonent.i.ty. He had become, as it were, a piece of foreign ddcor. The general opinion was that Helen should have avoided having him here this particular week-end, but as he was here they must make the best of it. Fortunately this queer little foreigner did not seem to know much English.

Quite often he did not understand what you said to him, and when everyone was speaking more or less at once he seemed completely at sea. He appeared to be interested only in refugees and post-war conditions, and his vocabulary only included those subjects. Ordinary chit-chat appeared to bewilder him. More or less forgotten by all, Hercule Poirot leant back in his chair, sipped his coffee and observed, as a cat may observe, the twitterings, and comings and goings of a flock of birds. The cat is not ready yet to make its spring.

After twenty-four hours of prowling round the house and examining its contents, the heirs of Richard Abernethie were ready to state their preferences, and, if need be, to fight for them.

The subject of conversation was, first, a certain Spode dinner dessert service off which they had just been eating dessert.

"I don't suppose I have long to live," said Timothy in a 43

faint melancholy voice. "And Maude and I have no children.

It is hardly worth while our burdening ourselves with useless possessions. But for sentiment's sake I should like to have the old dessert service. I remember it in the dear old days.

It's out of fashion, of course, and I understand dessert services have very little value nowadays--but there it is. I shall be quite content with that--and perhaps the Boule Cabinet in the White Boudoir."

"You're too late, Uncle," George spoke with debonair insouciance. "I asked Helen to mark off the Spode service to me this morning."

Timothy became purple in the face.

"Mark it off mark it off ? What do you mean ? Nothing's been settled yet. And what do you want with a dessert service.

You're not married."

"As a matter of fact I collect Spode. And this is really a splendid specimen. But it's quite all right about the Boule

Cabinet, Uncle. I wouldn't have that as a gift."

Timothy waved aside the Boule Cabinet.

"Now look here, young George. You can't go b.u.t.ting in, in this way. I'm an older man than you are--and I'm Richard's only surviving brother. That dessert service is

"Why not take the Dresden service, Uncle ? A very fine example and I'm sure just as full of sentimental memories.

Anyway, the Spode's mine. First come, first served."

"Nonsense--nothing of the kind I" Timothy spluttered.

Mande said sharply:

"Please don't upset your uncle, George. It's very bad for him. Naturally he will take the Spode if he wants to I The first choice is his, and you young people must come afterwards.

He was Richard's brother, as he says, and you are only a nephew."

"And I can tell you this, young man." Timothy was seething with fury. "If Richard had made a proper will, the disposal of the contents of this place would have been entirely in my hands. That's the way the property should have been left, and if it wasn't, I can only suspect undue influence. Yes

--and I repeat it---ndue influence."

Timothy glared at his nephew.

"A preposterous will," he said. "Preposterous I"

He leant back, placed a hand to his heart, and groaned: "This is very bad for me. If I could have--a little brandy."

Miss Gflchrist hurried to get it and returned with the restorative in a small gla.s.s.

x44

"Here you are, Mr. Abernetkie. Please--please don't ex,cite yo, urself. Are you sure you oughtn't to go up to be,d, ?"

Don t be a fool." Timothy swallowed the brandy. Go to bed ? I intend to protect my interests."

"Really, George, I'm surprised at you," said Maude. "What your uncle says is perfectly true. His wishes come first. If he wants the Spode dessert service he shall have it I"

"It s qmte hdeous anyway, sad Susan.

"Hold your tongue, Susan," said Timothy.