The Hollow

The picture broke up, wavered, refocused itself. There were individual reactions now -trivial happenings. Poirot was conscious |pf himself as a kind of magnified eyes and pars-recording. Just that, recording. 1 He was aware of Lady AngkatelFs hand relaxing its grip on her basket and Gudgeon springing forward, quickly taking it from her.

"Allow me, m'lady…"

Mechanically, quite naturally. Lady Angkatell murmured:

"Thank you. Gudgeon."

And then, hesitantly, she said:

"Gerda-"

The woman holding the revolver stirred for the first time. She looked round at them all. When she spoke, her voice held what seemed to be pure bewilderment.

"John's dead," she said. "John's dead…" With a kind of swift authority the tall young woman with the leaf brown hair, came swiftly to her.

"Give that to me, Gerda," she said.

And dexterously, before Poirot could protest or intervene, she had taken the revolver out of Gerda Christow's hand.

Poirot took a quick step forwards.

"You should not do that. Mademoiselle-"

The young woman started nervously at the sound of his voice. The revolver slipped through her fingers. She was standing by the edge of the pool and the revolver fell with a splash into the water.

Her mouth opened and she uttered an "Oh" of consternation, turning her head to look at Poirot apologetically.

"What a fool I am," she said. "I'm sorry." Poirot did not speak for a moment. He was staring into a pair of clear hazel eyes.

They met his quite steadily and he wondered if his momentary suspicion had been unjust.

He said quietly:

"Things should be handled as little as possible.

Everything must be left exactly as it is for the police to see."

There was a little stir then-very faint, just a ripple of uneasiness.

Lady Angkatell murmured distastefully, "Of course. I suppose-yes, the police-"

In a quiet pleasant voice, tinged with fastidious repulsion, the man in the shooting coat said, "I'm afraid, Lucy, it's inevitable."

Into that moment of silence and realization, there came the sound of footsteps and voices, assured, brisk footsteps and cheerful, incongruous voices.

Along the path from the house came Sir Henry Angkatell and Midge Hardcastle, talking and laughing together.

At the sight of the group round the pool, Sir Henry stopped short, and exclaimed in astonishment:

"What's the matter? What's happened?"

His wife answered. "Gerda has-" she broke off sharply. "I mean-John is-"

Gerda said in her flat, bewildered voice:

"John has been shot… he's dead…"

They all looked ^way from her, embarrassed.

Then Lady Anglkatell said quickly:

"My dear, I thin«you'd better go and-- and lie down… perhaps we had better all go back to the hoxise? Henry, you and M.

Poirot can stay her^ and-and wait for the police."

"That will be th.e best plan, I think," said Sir Henry. He turned to Gudgeon. "Will you ring up the polic«e station. Gudgeon? Just state exactly what: has occurred. When the police arrive, bria^g them straight out here."

Gudgeon bent lii8 head a little and said,

"Yes, Sir Henry. 5? He was looking a little white about the ^ills, but he was still the perfect servant.

The tall young woman said, "Come,

Gerda," and putiting her hand through the other woman's arw? ^e led her unresistingly away and along tlh^ P^h towards the house.

Gerda walked as (hough in a dream. Gudgeon stood back ss. little to let them pass and then followed, carrying the basket of eggs.

Sir Henry turr-^d sharply to his wife.

"Now, Lucy, -what is all this? What happened exactly?"

Lady AngkaiteH stretched out vague hands;, a lovely helpless gesture. Hercule Poirot felt the charm of it and the appeal.

"My dear, I hardly know… I was down by the hens. I heard a shot that seemed very near, but I didn't really think anything about it. After all," she appealed to them all, "one doesn't! And then I came up the path to the pool and there was John lying there and Gerda standing over him with the revolver.

Henrietta and Edward arrived almost at the same moment-from over there."

She nodded towards the farther side of the pool, where two paths ran up into the woods.

Hercule Poirot cleared his throat.

"Who were they, this John and this Gerda? If I may know," he added apologetically.

"Oh, of course." Lady Angkatell turned to him in quick apology. "One forgets-but then one doesn't exactly introduce people-not when somebody has just been killed.

John is John Christow, Dr. Christow. Gerda Christow is his wife."

"And the lady who went with Mrs. Christow to the house?"

"My cousin, Henrietta Savernake."

There was a movement, a very faint movement from the man on Poirot5 s left.

Henrietta Savernake, thought Poirot, and he does not like that she should say it-but it is, after all, inevitable that I should know… ("Henrietta!" the dying man had said. He had said it in a very curious way. A way that reminded Poirot of something-of some incident … now, what was it? No matter, it would come to him.) Lady Angkatell was going on, determined now on fulfilling her social duties.