Hercule Poirot's Casebook

the flicker of a cambric handkerchief swiftly whisked out of

sight.

Mrs Gold's eyes were dry, but they were suspiciously bright.

Her manner, too, struck him as being a shade too cheerful. The

brightness of it was a shade overdone.

She said:

'Good morning, M. Poirot,' with such enthusiasm as to

arouse his doubts.

He felt that she could not possibly be quite as pleased to see

him as she appeared to be. For she did not, after all, know him

very well. And though Hercule Poirot was a conceited little

man where his profession was concerned, he was quite modest

in his estimate of his personal attractions.

'Good morning, madame,' he responded. 'Another beautiful

day.'

'Yes, isn't it fortunate? But Douglas and I are always lucky

in our weather.'

'Indeed?'

'Yes. We're really very lucky altogether. You know, M.

Poirot, when one sees so much trouble and unhappiness, and so

many couples divorcing each other and all that sort of thing,

well, one does feel very grateful for one's own happiness.'

'It is pleasant to hear you say so, madame.'

'Yes. Douglas and I are so wonderfully happy together.

We've been married five years, you know, and after all, five

years is quite a long time nowadays '

'I have no doubt that in some cases it can seem an eternity,

madame,' said Poirot dryly.

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'- but I really believe that we're happier now than when we

were first married. You see, we're so absolutely suited to each

other.'

'That, of course, is everything.'

'That's why I feel so sorry for people who aren't happy.'

'You mean '

'Oh! I was speaking generally, M. Poirot.'

'I see. I see.'

Mrs Gold picked up a strand of silk, held it to the light,

approved of it, and were on:

'Mrs Chantry, for instance '

'Yes, Mrs Chantry?'

'I don't think she's at all a nice woman.'

'No. No, perhaps not.'

'In fact, I'm quite sure she's not a nice woman. But in a way

one feels sorry for her. Because in spite of her money and her

good looks and all that' - Mrs Gold's fingers were trembling

and she was quite unable to thread her needle - 'she's not the

sort of woman men really stick to. She's the sort of woman, I

think, that men would get tired of very easily. Don't you think

so?'

'I myself should certainlyget tired of her conversation

before any great space of time had passed,' said Poirot

cautiously.

'Yes, that's what I mean. She has, of course, a kind of appeal

...' Mrs Gold hesitated, her lips trembled, she stabbed

uncertainly at her work. A less acute observer than Hercule

Poirot could not have failed to notice her distress. She went on

inconsequently:

Then are just like children! They believe anything...'

She bent over her work. The tiny wisp of cambric came out

again unobtrusively.

Perhaps Hercule Poirot thought it well to change the

subject.

He said:

'You do not bathe this morning? And monsieur your

husband, is he down on the beach?'

128

Mrs Gold looked up, blinked, resumed her almost defiantly

bright manner and replied:

'No, not this morning. We arranged to go round the walls of

the old city. But somehow or other we - we missed each other.

They started without me.'

The pronoun was revealing, but before Poirot could say

anything, General Barnes came up from the beach below and

dropped into a chair beside them.

'Good morning, Mrs Gold. Good morning, Poirot. Both

deserters this morning? A lot of absentees. You two, and your

husband, Mrs Gold - and Mrs Chantry.'

'And Commander Chantry?' inquired Poirot casually.

'Oh, no, he's down there. Miss Pamela's got him in hand.'

The General chuckled. 'She's finding him a little bit difficult!

One of the strong, silent men you hear about in books.'

Marjorie Gold said with a little shiver:

'He frightens me a little, that man. He - he looks so black

sometimes. As though he might do - anything!'

She shivered.

'Just indigestion, I expect,' said the General cheerfully.

'Dyspepsia is responsible for many a reputation for romantic

melancholy or ungovernable rages.'

Marjorie Gold smiled a polite little smile.

'And where's your good man?' inquired the General.

Her reply came without hesitation - in a natural, cheerful

voice.

'Douglas? Oh, he and Mrs Chantry have gone into the town.

I believe they've gone to have a look at the walls of the old city.'

'Ha, yes - very interesting. Time of the lmights and all that.

You ought to have gone too, little lady.'

Mrs Gold said:

'I'm afraid I came down rather late.'

She got up suddenly with a murmured excuse and went into

the hotel. '

General Barnes looked after her with a concerned expression,

shaking his head gently.

'Nice little woman, that. Worth a dozen painted trollops like

129

someone whose name we won't mention! Ha! Husband's a

fool! Doesn't know when he's well off.'

He shook his head again. Then, rising, he went indoors.

Sarah Blake had just come up from the beach and had heard

the General's last speech.

Making a face at the departing warrior's back, she remarked

as she flung herself into a chair:

'Nice little woman - nice little woman! Men always approve

of dowdy women - but when it comes to brass tacks the dress-up

trollops win hands down! Sad, but there it is.'