Lord Edgware Dies

I also sprang to mine-completely uncomprehending but willing.

‘We will take a taxi. It is only nine o’clock. Not too late to make a visit.’

I hurried after him down the stairs.

‘Whom are we going to visit?’

‘We are going to Regent Gate.’

I judged it wisest to hold my peace. Poirot, I saw, was not in the mood for being questioned. That he was greatly excited I could see. As we sat side by side in the taxi his fingers drummed on his knees with a nervous impatience most unlike his usual calm.

I went over in my mind every word of Carlotta Adams’ letter to her sister. By this time I almost knew it by heart. I repeated again and again to myself Poirot’s words about the torn page.

But it was no good. As far as I was concerned, Poirot’s words simply did not make sense. Why had a page got to be torn. No, I could not see it.

A new butler opened the door to us at Regent Gate. Poirot asked for Miss Carroll, and as we followed the butler up the stairs I wondered for the fiftieth time where the former ‘Greek god’ could be. So far the police had failed utterly to run him to earth. A sudden shiver passed over me as I reflected that perhaps he, too, was dead…

The sight of Miss Carroll, brisk and neat and eminently sane, recalled me from these fantastic speculations. She was clearly very much surprised to see Poirot.

‘I am glad to find you still here, Mademoiselle,’ said Poirot as he bowed over her hand. ‘I was afraid you might be no longer in the house.’

‘Geraldine would not hear of my leaving,’ said Miss Carroll. ‘She begged me to stay on. And really, at a time like this, the poor child needs someone. If she needs nothing else, she needs a buffer. And I can assure you, when need be, I make a very efficient buffer, M. Poirot.’

Her mouth took on a grim line. I felt that she would have a short way with reporters or news hunters.

‘Mademoiselle, you have always seemed to me the pattern of efficiency. The efficiency, I admire it very much. It is rare. Mademoiselle Marsh no, she has not got the practical mind.’

‘She’s a dreamer,’ said Miss Carroll. ‘Completely impractical. Always has been. Lucky she hasn’t got her living to get.’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘But I don’t suppose you came here to talk about people being practical or impractical. What can I do for you, M. Poirot?’

I do not think Poirot quite liked to be recalled to the point in this fashion. He was somewhat addicted to the oblique approach. With Miss Carroll, however, such a thing was not practicable. She blinked at him suspiciously through her strong glasses.

‘There are a few points on which I should like definite information. I know I can trust your memory, Miss Carroll.’

‘I wouldn’t be much use as a secretary if you couldn’t,’ said Miss Carroll grimly.

‘Was Lord Edgware in Paris last November?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you tell me the date of his visit?’

‘I shall have to look it up.’

She rose, unlocked a drawer, took out a small bound book, turned the pages and finally announced:

‘Lord Edgware went to Paris on November 3rd and returned on the 7th. He also went over on November 20th and returned on December 4th. Anything more?’

‘Yes. For what purpose did he go?’

‘On the first occasion he went to see some statuettes which he thought of purchasing and which were to be auctioned later. On the second occasion he had no definite purpose in view so far as I know.’

‘Did Mademoiselle Marsh accompany her father on either occasion?’

‘She never accompanied her father on any occasion, M. Poirot. Lord Edgware would never have dreamed of such a thing. At that time she was at a convent in Paris, but I do not think her father went to see her or took her out-at least it would surprise me very much if he had.’

‘You yourself did not accompany him?’

‘No.’

She looked at him curiously and then said abruptly:

‘Why are you asking me these questions, M. Poirot? What is the point of them?’

Poirot did not reply to this question. Instead he said:

‘Miss Marsh is very fond of her cousin, is she not?’

‘Really, M. Poirot, I don’t see what that has got to do with you.’

‘She came to see me the other day! You knew that?’ 

‘No, I did not.’ She seemed startled. ‘What did she say?’

‘She told me-though not in actual words-that she was very fond of her cousin.’

‘Well, then, why ask me?’

‘Because I seek your opinion.’

This time Miss Carroll decided to answer.

‘Much too fond of him in my opinion. Always has been.’

‘You do not like the present Lord Edgware?’

‘I don’t say that. I’ve no use for him, that’s all. He’s not serious. I don’t deny he’s got a pleasant way with him. He can talk you round. But I’d rather see Geraldine getting interested in someone with a little more backbone.’

‘Such as the Duke of Merton?’

‘I don’t know the Duke. At any rate, he seems to take the duties of his position seriously. But he’s running after that woman-that precious Jane Wilkinson.’

‘His mother-’

‘Oh! I dare say his mother would prefer him to marry Geraldine. But what can mothers do? Sons never want to marry the girls their mothers want them to marry.’