That was quite recently?
Beginning of Mayor it may have been the end of April.
Had she been ill some time?
On and off[162]on and off. She was on the sickly side[163]. Nearly went off[164] a year ago with that there jaundice. Yellow as an orange she was for some time after. Yes, shed had poor health for the last five years of her life.
I suppose you have some good doctors down here?
Well, theres Dr Grainger. Been here close on forty years, he has, and folks mostly go to him. Hes a bit crotchety and he has his fancies but hes a good doctor, none better. Hes got a young partner, Dr Donaldson. Hes more the new-fangled kind. Some folk prefer him. Then, of course, theres Dr Harding, but he doesnt do much.
Dr Grainger was Miss Arundells doctor, I suppose?
Oh, yes. Hes pulled her through[165] many a bad turn. Hes the kind that fair bullies you into[166] living whether you want to or not.
Poirot nodded.
One should learn a little about a place before one comes to settle in it, he remarked. A good doctor is one of the most important people.
Thats very true, sir.
Poirot then asked for his bill to which he added a substantial tip.
Thank you, sir. Thank you very much, sir. Im sure I hope youll settle here, sir.
I hope so, too, said Poirot mendaciously.
We set forth from the George.
Satisfied yet, Poirot? I asked as we emerged into the street.
Not in the least, my friend.
He turned in an unexpected direction.
Where are you off to now[167], Poirot?
The church, my friend. It may be interesting. Some brassesan old monument.
I shook my head doubtfully.
Poirots scrutiny of the interior of the church was brief. Though an attractive specimen of what the guidebook calls Early Perp.[168], it had been so conscientiously restored in Victorian vandal days that little of interest remained.
Poirot next wandered seemingly aimlessly about the churchyard reading some of the epitaphs, commenting on the number of deaths in certain families, occasionally exclaiming over the quaintness of a name.
I was not surprised, however, when he finally halted before what I was pretty sure had been his objective from the beginning.
An imposing marble slab bore a partly-effaced[169] inscription:
SACRED
TO THE MEMORY OF
JOHN LAVERTON ARUNDELL
GENERAL 24TH SIKHS
WHO FELL ASLEEP IN CHRIST MAY 19TH 1888
AGED 69
FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT[170]
WITH ALL THY[171] MIGHT
ALSO OF
MATILDA ANN ARUNDELL
DIED MARCH 10TH 1912
I WILL ARISE AND GO TO MY FATHER
ALSO OF
AGNES GEORGINA MARY ARUNDELL
DIED NOVEMBER 20TH 1921
ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE[172]
Then came a brand new piece of lettering, evidently just done:
ALSO OF
EMILY HARRIET LAVERTON ARUNDELL
DIED MAY 1ST 1936
THY WILL BE DONE
Poirot stood looking for some time.
He murmured softly:
May 1st May 1st And today, June 28th, I receive her letter. You see, do you not, Hastings, that that fact has got to be explained?
I saw that it had.
That is to say, I saw that Poirot was determined that it should be explained.
CHAPTER 8. Interior of Littlegreen House
On leaving the churchyard, Poirot led the way briskly in the direction of Littlegreen House. I gathered that his role was still that of the prospective purchaser. Carefully holding the various orders to view in his hand, with the Littlegreen House one uppermost, he pushed open the gate and walked up the path to the front door.
On this occasion our friend the terrier was not to be seen, but the sound of barking could be heard inside the house, though at some distanceI guessed in the kitchen quarters.
Presently we heard footsteps crossing the hall and the door was opened by a pleasant-faced woman of between fifty and sixty, clearly the old-fashioned type of servant seldom seen nowadays.
Poirot presented his credentials.
Yes, sir, the house-agent telephoned. Will you step this way, sir?
The shutters which I had noticed were closed on our first visit to spy out the land, were now all thrown open in preparation for our visit. Everything, I observed, was spotlessly clean and well kept. Clearly our guide was a thoroughly conscientious woman.
This is the morning-room[173], sir.
I glanced round approvingly. A pleasant room with its long windows giving on the street. It was furnished with good, solid, old-fashioned furniture, mostly Victorian, but there was a Chippendale[174] bookcase and a set of attractive Hepplewhite[175] chairs.
Poirot and I behaved in the customary fashion of people being shown over houses. We stood stock still[176], looking a little ill at ease[177], murmuring remarks such as very nice. A very pleasant room. The morning-room, you say?
The maid conducted us across the hall and into the corresponding room on the other side. This was much larger.
The dining-room, sir.
This room was definitely Victorian. A heavy mahogany dining-table, a massive sideboard of almost purplish mahogany with great clusters of carved fruit, solid leather-covered diningroom chairs. On the wall hung what were obviously family portraits.
The terrier had continued to bark in some sequestered spot. Now the sound suddenly increased in volume. With a crescendo of barking he could be heard galloping across the hall.
Whos come into the house? Ill tear him limb from limb[178], was clearly the burden of his song.
He arrived in the doorway, sniffing violently.
Oh, Bob, you naughty dog, exclaimed our conductress. Dont mind him, sir. He wont do you no harm.
Bob, indeed, having discovered the intruders, completely changed his manner. He fussed in and introduced himself to us in an agreeable manner.
Pleased to meet you, Im sure, he observed as he sniffed round our ankles. Excuse the noise, wont you, but I have my job to do. Got to be careful who we let in, you know. But its a dull life and Im really quite pleased to see a visitor. Dogs of your own, I fancy?
This last was addressed to me as I stooped and patted him.
Nice little fellow, I said to the woman. Needs plucking a bit, though.
Yes, sir, hes usually plucked three times a year.
Is he an old dog?
Oh, no, sir. Bobs not more than six. And sometimes he behaves just like a puppy. Gets hold of cooks slippers and prances about with them. And hes very gentle though you wouldnt believe it to hear the noise he makes sometimes. The only person he goes for[179] is the postman. Downright scared of him the postman is.
Bob was now investigating the legs of Poirots trousers. Having learned all he could he gave vent to a prolonged sniff (Hm, not too bad, but not really a doggy person) and returned to me cocking his head on one side and looking at me expectantly.
I dont know why dogs always go for postmen, Im sure, continued our guide.
Its a matter of reasoning, said Poirot. The dog, he argues from reason. He is intelligent, he makes his deductions according to his point of view. There are people who may enter a house and there are people who may notthat a dog soon learns. Eh bien, who is the person who most persistently tries to gain admission, rattling on the door twice or three times a dayand who is never by any chance admitted? The postman. Clearly, then, an undesirable guest from the point of view of the master of the house. He is always sent about his business[180], but he persistently returns and tries again. Then a dogs duty is clear, to aid in driving this undesirable man away[181], and to bite him if possible. A most reasonable proceeding.
He beamed on Bob.
And a most intelligent person, I fancy.
Oh, he is, sir. Hes almost human, Bob is.
She flung open another door.
The drawing-room, sir.
The drawing-room conjured up memories of the past. A faint fragrance of potpourri[182] hung about it. The chintzes were worn, their pattern faded garlands of roses. On the walls were prints and water-colour drawings. There was a good deal of chinafragile shepherds and shepherdesses. There were cushions worked in crewel stitch[183]. There were faded photographs in handsome silver frames. There were many inlaid work-boxes and tea caddies[184]. Most fascinating of all to me were two exquisitely cut tissue-paper ladies under glass stands. One with a spinning-wheel, one with a cat on her knee.
The atmosphere of a bygone day, a day of leisure, of refinement, of ladies and gentlemen closed round me. This was indeed a withdrawing-room. Here ladies sat and did their fancy-work, and if a cigarette was ever smoked by a favoured member of the male sex, what a shaking out of curtains and general airing of the room there would be afterwards!
My attention was drawn[185] by Bob. He was sitting in an attitude of rapt attention close beside an elegant little table with two drawers in it.
As he saw that I was noticing him, he gave a short, plaintive yelp, looking from me to the table.
What does he want? I asked.
Our interest in Bob was clearly pleasing to the maid, who obviously was very fond of him.
Its his ball, sir. It was always kept in that drawer. Thats why he sits there and asks.
Her voice changed. She addressed Bob in a high falsetto.
It isnt there any longer, beautiful. Bobs ball is in the kitchen. In the kitchen, Bobsie.
Bob shifted his gaze impatiently to Poirot.
This womans a fool, he seemed to be saying. You look a brainy sort of chap. Balls are kept in certain placesthis drawer is one of those places. There always has been a ball here. Therefore there should be a ball there now. Thats obvious dog-logic, isnt it?
Its not there now, boy, I said.
He looked at me doubtfully. then, as we went out of the room he followed slowly in an unconvinced manner.
We were shown various cupboards, a downstairs cloakroom, and a small pantry place, where the mistress used to do the flowers, sir.
You were with your mistress a long time? asked Poirot.
Twenty-two years, sir.
You are alone here caretaking?
Me and cook, sir.
She was also a long time with Miss Arundell?
Four years, sir. The old cook died.
Supposing I were to buy the house, would you be prepared to stay on?
She blushed a little.
Its very kind of you, sir, Im sure, but Im going to retire from service. The mistress left me a nice little sum, you see, and Im going to my brother. Im only remaining here as a convenience to Miss Lawson until the place is soldto look after everything.