Dumb Witness (12 page)

“I saw him yesterday—at Market Basing.”

“Why? What did you say to him?”

“I said nothing. I only asked him for your brother's address.”

“Charles?” Her voice was sharp again. “What did you want with Charles?”

“Charles? Who wants Charles?”

It was a new voice—a delightful, man's voice.

A bronze-faced young man with an agreeable grin strolled into the room.

“Who is talking about me?” he asked. “I heard my name in the hall, but I didn't eavesdrop. They were very particular about eavesdropping at Borstal. Now then, Theresa my girl, what's all this? Spill the beans.”

I
must confess that from the moment I set eyes on him I entertained a sneaking liking for Charles Arundell. There was something so debonair and carefree about him. His eyes had an agreeable and humorous twinkle and his grin was one of the most disarming I have ever encountered.

He came across the room and sat down on the arm of one of the massive, upholstered chairs.

“What's it all about, old girl?” he asked.

“This is M. Hercule Poirot, Charles. He is prepared to—er—do some dirty work for us in return for a small consideration.”

“I protest,” cried Poirot. “
Not
dirty work—shall we say a little harmless deception of some kind—so that the original intention of the testator is carried out? Let us put it that way.”

“Put it anyway you like,” said Charles agreeably. “What made Theresa think of you, I wonder?”

“She did not,” said Poirot quickly. “I came here of my own accord.”

“Offering your services?”

“Not quite that. I was asking for you. Your sister told me you had gone abroad.”

“Theresa,” said Charles, “is a very careful sister. She hardly ever makes a mistake. In fact, she's suspicious as the devil.”

He smiled at her affectionately but she did not smile back. She looked worried and thoughtful.

“Surely,” said Charles. “We've got things the wrong way round? Isn't M. Poirot famous for tracking down criminals? Surely not for aiding and abetting them?”

“We're not criminals,” said Theresa sharply.

“But we're willing to be,” said Charles affably. “I'd thought of a spot of forgery myself—that's rather my line. I got sent down from Oxford because of a little misunderstanding about a cheque. That was childishly simple, though—merely a question of adding a nought. Then there was another little
fracas
with Aunt Emily and the local bank. Foolish on my part, of course. I ought to have realized the old lady was sharp as needles. However, all these incidents have been very small fry—fivers and tenners—that class. A deathbed will would be admittedly risky. One would have to get hold of the stiff and starched Ellen and—is suborn the word?—anyway, induce her to say she had witnessed it. It would take some doing, I fear. I might even marry her and then she wouldn't be able to give evidence against me afterwards.”

He grinned amiably at Poirot.

“I feel sure you've installed a secret dictaphone and Scotland Yard is listening in,” he said.

“Your problem interests me,” said Poirot with a touch of reproof in his manner. “Naturally I could not connive at anything
against the law. But there are more ways than one—” he stopped significantly.

Charles Arundell shrugged his graceful shoulders.

“I've no doubt there's an equal choice of devious ways inside the law,” he said agreeably. “You should know.”

“By whom was the will witnessed? I mean the one made on April 21st?”

“Purvis brought down his clerk and the second witness was the gardener.”

“It was signed then in Mr. Purvis's presence?”

“It was.”

“And Mr. Purvis, I fancy, is a man of the highest respectability?”

“Purvis, Purvis, Charlesworth and once more Purvis are just about as respectable and impeccable as the Bank of England,” said Charles.

“He didn't like making the will,” said Theresa. “In an ultracorrect fashion I believe he even tried to dissuade Aunt Emily from making it.”

Charles said sharply:

“Did he tell you that, Theresa?”

“Yes. I went to see him again yesterday.”

“It's no good, my sweet—you ought to realize that. Only piles up the six and eightpences.”

Theresa shrugged her shoulders.

Poirot said:

“I will ask you to give me as much information as you can about the last weeks of Miss Arundell's life. Now, to begin with, I understand that you and your brother and also Dr. Tanios and his wife stayed there for Easter?”

“Yes, we did.”

“Did anything happen of significance during that weekend?”

“I don't think so.”

“Nothing? But I thought—”

Charles broke in.

“What a self-centred creature you are, Theresa. Nothing of significance happened to
you!
Wrapped in love's young dream! Let me tell you, M. Poirot, that Theresa has a blue-eyed boy in Market Basing. One of the local sawbones. She's got rather a faulty sense of proportion in consequence. As a matter of fact, my revered aunt took a header down the stairs and nearly passed out. Wish she had. It would have saved all this fuss.”

“She fell down the stairs?”

“Yes, tripped over the dog's ball. Intelligent little brute left it at the top of the stairs and she took a header over it in the night.”

“This was—when?”

“Let me see—Tuesday—the evening before we left.”

“Your aunt was seriously injured?”

“Unfortunately she didn't fall on her head. If she had we might have pleaded softening of the brain—or whatever it's called scientifically. No, she was hardly hurt at all.”

Poirot said drily:

“Very disappointing for you!”

“Eh? Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, as you say, very disappointing. Tough nuts, these old ladies.”

“And you all left on the Wednesday morning?”

“That's right.”

“That was Wednesday, the fifteenth. When did you next see your aunt?”

“Well, it wasn't the next weekend. It was the weekend after that.”

That would be—let me see—the twenty-fifth, would it not?”

“Yes, I think that was the date.”

“And your aunt died—when?”

“The following Friday.”

“Having been taken ill on the Monday night?”

“Yes.”

“That was the Monday that you left?”

“Yes.”

“You did not return during her illness?”

“Not until the Friday. We didn't realize she was really bad.”

“You got there in time to see her alive?”

“No, she died before we arrived.”

Poirot shifted his glance to Theresa Arundell.

“You accompanied your brother on both these occasions?”

“Yes.”

“And nothing was said during the second weekend about a new will having been made?”

“Nothing,” said Theresa.

Charles, however, had answered at the same moment.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “It was.”

He spoke airily as ever, but there was something a little constrained as though the airiness were more artificial than usual.

“It
was?
” said Poirot.

“Charles!” cried Theresa.

Charles seemed anxious not to meet his sister's eye.

He spoke to her without looking at her.

“Surely you remember, old girl? I told you. Aunt Emily made a
kind of ultimatum of it. Sat there like a judge in court. Made a kind of speech. Said she thoroughly disapproved of all her relations—that is to say, of me and Theresa. Bella, she allowed, she had nothing against, but on the other hand she disliked and distrusted her husband. Buy British was ever Aunt Emily's motto. If Bella were to inherit any considerable sum of money she said she was convinced that Tanios would somehow or other get possession of it. Trust a Greek to do that! ‘She's safer as she is,' she went on to say. Then she said that neither I nor Theresa were fit people to be trusted with money. We would only gamble and squander it away. Therefore, she finished up, she had made a new will and had left the entire estate to Miss Lawson. ‘She is a fool,' said Aunt Emily, ‘but she is a faithful soul. And I really believe she is devoted to me. She cannot help her lack of brains. I have thought it fairer to tell you this, Charles, as you may as well realize that it will not be possible for you to raise money on your expectations from me.' Rather a nasty one, that. Just what I'd been trying to do.”

“Why didn't you tell me, Charles?” demanded Theresa fiercely.

Poirot asked:

“And what did you say, Mr. Arundell?”

“I?” said Charles airily. “Oh, I just laughed. No good cutting up rough. That's not the way. ‘Just as you please, Aunt Emily,' I said. ‘Bit of a blow, perhaps, but after all, it's your own money and you can do what you like with it.'”

“And your aunt's reaction to that?”

“Oh, it went down well—very well indeed. She said, ‘Well, I will say you're a sportsman, Charles.' And I said, ‘Got to take the rough with the smooth. As a matter of fact, if I've no expectations
what about giving me a tenner now?' And she said I was an impudent boy and actually parted with a fiver.”

“You concealed your feelings very cleverly.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I didn't take it very seriously.”

“You didn't?”

“No. I thought it was what you might call a gesture on the old bean's part. She wanted to frighten us all. I'd a pretty shrewd suspicion that after a few weeks or perhaps months she'd tear that will up. She was pretty hot on family, Aunt Emily. And, as a matter of fact, I believe that's what she
would
have done if she hadn't died so confoundedly suddenly.”

“Ah!” said Poirot. “It is an interesting idea that.”

He remained silent for a minute or two then went on:

“Could anyone, Miss Lawson, for instance, have overheard your conversation?”

“Rather. We weren't speaking any too low. As a matter of fact, the Lawson bird was hovering about outside the door when I went out. Been doing a bit of snooping in my opinion.”

Poirot turned a thoughtful glance on Theresa.

“And you knew nothing of this?”

Before she could answer, Charles broke in.

“Theresa, old girl, I'm sure I told you—or hinted to you?”

There was a queer sort of pause. Charles was looking fixedly at Theresa, and there was an anxiety, a fixity, about his gaze that seemed out of all proportion to the subject matter.

Theresa said slowly:

“If you had told me—I don't think—I could have forgotten, do you, M. Poirot?”

Her long dark eyes turned to him.

Poirot said slowly:

“No, I don't think you could have forgotten, Miss Arundell.”

Then he turned sharply to Charles.

“Let me be quite clear on one point. Did Miss Arundell tell you she was about to alter her will, or did she tell you specifically that she
had
altered it?”

Charles said quickly:

“Oh, she was quite definite. As a matter of fact she showed me the will.”

Poirot leaned forward. His eyes opened wide.

“This is very important. You say that Miss Arundell actually showed you the will?”

Charles gave a sudden schoolboy wriggle—a rather disarming action. Poirot's gravity made him quite uncomfortable.

“Yes,” he said. “She showed it to me.”

“You can swear definitely to that?”

“Of course I can.” Charles looked nervously at Poirot. “I don't see what is so significant about that.”

There was a sudden brusque movement from Theresa. She had risen and was standing by the mantelpiece. She quickly lit another cigarette.

“And you, mademoiselle?” Poirot whirled suddenly round on her. “Did your aunt say nothing of importance to you during that weekend?”

“I don't think so. She was—quite amiable. That is, as amiable as she usually was. Lectured me a bit about my way of life and all that. But then, she always did. She seemed perhaps a bit more jumpy than usual.”

Poirot said, smiling:

“I suppose, mademoiselle, that you were more taken up with your fiancé?”

Theresa said sharply:

“He wasn't there. He was away, he'd gone to some medical congress.”

“You had not seen him then since the Easter weekend? Was that the last time you had seen him?”

“Yes—on the evening before we left he came to dinner.”

“You had not—excuse me—had any quarrel with him then?”

“Certainly not.”

“I only thought seeing that he was away on your second visit—”

Charles broke in:

“Ah, but you see, that second weekend was rather unpremeditated. We went down on the spur of the moment.”

“Really?”

“Oh, let's have the truth,” said Theresa wearily. “You see, Bella and her husband were down the weekend before—fussing over Aunt Emily because of her accident. We thought they might steal a march on us—”

“We thought,” said Charles with a grin, “that we'd better show a little concern for Aunt Emily's health too. Really, though, the old lady was much too sharp to be taken in by the dutiful attention stunt. She knew very well how much it was worth. No fool, Aunt Emily.”

Theresa laughed suddenly.

“It's a pretty story, isn't it? All of us with our tongues hanging out for money.”

“Was that the case with your cousin and her husband?”

“Oh, yes, Bella's always hard up. Rather pathetic the way she tries to copy all my clothes at about an eighth of the price. Tanios speculated with her money, I believe. They're hard put to it to make both ends meet. They've got two children and want to educate them in England.”

“Can you perhaps give me their address?” said Poirot.

“They're staying at the Durham Hotel in Bloomsbury.”

“What is she like, your cousin?”

“Bella? Well, she's a dreary woman. Eh, Charles?”

“Oh, definitely a dreary woman. Rather like an earwig. She's a devoted mother. So are earwigs, I believe.”

“And her husband.”

“Tanios? Well, he looks a bit odd, but he's really a thoroughly nice fellow. Clever, amusing and a thorough good sport.”

“You agree, mademoiselle?”

“Well, I must admit I prefer him to Bella. He's a damned clever doctor, I believe. All the same, I wouldn't trust him very far.”