Hercule Poirot's Casebook

rich a gentleman as might be! But Mrs Hill had served him

faithfully, and Pit up with his ways, and naturally she'd

expected at any rate a remembrance. But no- nothing at all! Just

an old will that left all his money to his wife and if she

predeceased him then everything to his brother, Henry. A will

made years ago. It didn't seem fair!

Gradually Herctile Poirot detached her from her main theme

of unsatisfied cupidity. It was indeed a heartless injusticet Mrs

Hill could not be Blamed for feeling hurt and surprised. It was

well known that Mr Gascoigne was tight-fisted about money. It

had even been said that the dead man had refused his only

brother assistance. Mrs Hill probably knew all about that.

'Was it that that Dr Lorrimer came to see him about?' asked

Mrs Hill. 'I knew it was something about his brother, but I

thought it was just that his brother wanted to be reconciled.

They'd quarrelled years ago.'

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'I understand,' said Poirot, 'that Mr Gascoigne refused

absolutely?'

'That's right enough,' said Mrs Hill with a nod. '"Henry?" he

says, rather weak like. "What's this about Henry? Hcrotn't seen

him for years and don't znt to. Quarrelsome fellow, Henry." Just that.'

The conversation then reverted to Mrs Hill's own spec

grievances, and the unfeeling attitude of the late Mr

Gascoigne's solicitor.

With some difficulty Hercule Poirot tool his leave without

breaking off the conversation too abruptly.

And so, just after the dinner hour, he came to IF. Itncrest,

Dorset Road, Wimbledon, the residence of Dr George

Lorrimer.

The doctor was in. Hercule Poirot was shown into the

surgery and there presently Dr George Lorrimer came to him,

obviously just risen from the dinner table.

'I'm not a patient, Doctor,' said Hercule Poirot. 'And my

coming here is, perhaps, somewhat of an impertinence - but

I'm an old man and I believe in plain and direct dealing. I do of

care for lawyers and their long-winded roundabout methods.'

He had certainly aroused Lorrimer's interest. The doctor

was a clean-shaven man of middle height. His hair was brow

but his eyelashs were almost white which gave his eyes a paic,

boiled appearance. His manner was brisk and not without

humour.

'Lawyers?' he said, raising his eyebrows. 'Hate the fellows!

You rouse my curiosity, my dear sir. Pray sit down.'

Poirot did so and then produced one of his professional cards

which he handed to the doctor.

George Lorrimer's white eyelashes blinked.

Poirot leaned forward confidentially. 'A good many of my

clients are women,' he said.

'Naturally,' said Dr George Lorrimer, with a slight twinkle.

'As you say, naturally,' agreed Poirot. 'Women distrust the

182

official police. They prefer private investigations. They do

not want to have theic troubles made public. An elderly

woman came to consult me a few days ago. She was unhappy

about a husband she'd quarrelled with many years before.

This husband of hers was your uncle, the late Mr Gascoigne.'

George Lorrimer's face went purple.

'My uncle? Nonsense! His wife died many years ago.'

'Not your uncle, Mr Anthony Gascoigne. Your uncle, Mr

Henry Gascoigne.'

'Uncle Henry? But he wasn't married!'

'Oh yes, he was,' said Hercule Poirot, lying unblushingly.

'Not a doubt of it. The lady even brought along her marriage

certificate.'

'It's a lie!' cried George Lorrimer. His face Was now as

purple as a plum. 'I don't believe it. You're an impudent

liar.'

'It is too bad, is it not?' said Poirot. 'You have committed

murder for nothing.'

'Murder?' Lorrimer's voice quavered. His pale eyes

bulged with terror.

'By the way,' said Poirot, 'I see you have been eating

blackberry tart again. An unwise habit. Blackberries are said

to be full of vitamins, but they may be deadly in other ways.

On this occasion I rather fancy they have helped to put a rope

round a man's neck- your neck, Dr Lorrimer.'

'You see, mon ami, where you went wrong was over your

fundamental assumption.' Hercule Poirot, beaming placidly

across the table at his friend, waved an expository hand. 'A

man under severe mental stress doesn't choose that time to do

something that he's never done before. His reflexes just

follow the track of least resistance. A man who is upset about

SOmething might conceivably come down to dinner dressed in

his pyjamas - but they will be his own pyjamas - not

somebody else's.

183

'A man who dislikes thick soup, suet pudding and

blackberries suddenly orders all three one evening. You say,

because he is thinking of something else. But I say that a man '

who has got something on his mind will order automatically the

dish he has ordered most often before.

'Eh bien, then, what other explanation could there be? I

simply could not think of a reasonable explanation. And I

was worried! The incident was all wrong. It did not fit! I have

an orderly mind and I like things to fit. Mr Gaacoigne's

dinner order worried me.

'Then you told me that the man had disappeared. He had

missed a Tuesday and a Thursday the first time for years. I

liked that even less. A queer hypothesis sprang up in my

mind. If I were right about it the man was dead. I made