The Hollow

"The holster. I take this. And poor Madame Christow, she was overwrought, her husband's death was too much for her. It will be brought in that she took her life whilst of unsound mind-"

Henrietta said slowly:

"And no one will ever know what really happened?"

"I think one person will know. Dr. Christow's son. I think that one day he will come to me and ask me for the truth."

"But you won't tell him," cried Henrietta.

"Yes, I shall tell him."

"Oh, no!"

"You do not understand. To you it is unbearable that anyone should be hurt. But to some minds there is something more unbearable still-not to know. You heard that poor woman just a little while ago say, Terry always has to know…'To the scientific mind, truth comes first. Truth, however bitter, can be accepted, and woven into a design for living."

Henrietta got up.

"Do you want me here, or had I better go?"

"It would be better if you went, I think."

She nodded. Then she said, more to herself than to him:

"Where shall I go? What shall I do-without John?"

"You are speaking like Gerda Christow.

You will know where to go and what to do."

"Shall I? I'm so tired, M. Poirot, so tired…"

He said gently:

"Go, my child. Your place is with the living.

I will stay here with the dead…"

Chapter XXX

As she drove towards London, the two phrases echoed through Henrietta's mind-What shall I do? Where shall I go?

For the last few weeks she had been strung up, excited, never relaxing for a moment.

She had had a task to perform-a task laid on her by John. But now that was over-had she failed-or succeeded? One could look at it either way… But however one looked at it, the task was over. And she experienced the terrible weariness of the reaction.

Her mind went back to the words she had spoken to Edward that night on the terrace -the night of John's death-the night when she had gone along to the pool and into the pavilion and had deliberately, by the light of a match, drawn Ygdrasil upon the iron table. Purposeful, planning-not yet able to sit down and mourn-mourn for her dead.

"I should like," she had said to Edward, "to grieve for John…"

But she had not dared to relax then-not dared to let sorrow take command over her…

But now she could grieve… Now she had all the time there was…

She said under her breath, "John…

John…"

Bitterness and black rebellion broke over her…

She thought, I wish I'd drunk that cup of tea…

Driving the car soothed her, gave her strength for the moment… But soon she would be in London. Soon she would put the car in the garage and go along to the empty studio… Empty since John would never sit there again bullying her, being angry with her, loving her more than he wanted to love her, telling her eagerly about Ridgeway's Disease-about his triumphs and despairs, about Mrs. Crabtree and St. Christopher's …

And suddenly, with a lifting of the dark pall that lay over her mind, she said aloud:

"Of course. That's where I will go. To St.

Christopher's…"

Lying in her narrow hospital bed, old Mrs.

Crabtree peered up at her visitor out of rheumy twinkling eyes.

She was exactly as John had described her, and Henrietta felt a sudden warmth, a lifting of the spirit. This was real-this would last!

Here, for a little space, she had found John again…

"The pore doctor. Orful, ain't it?" Mrs.

Crabtree was saying. There was relish in her voice as well as regret, for Mrs. Crabtree loved life; and sudden deaths, particularly murders or deaths in childbed, were the richest parts of the tapestry of life. "Getting 'imself bumped off like that! Turned my stomach right over it did, when I "card. I read all about it in the papers-Sister let me 'ave all she could get 'old of-reely nice about it, she was. There was pictures and everythink … That swimming pool and all. Ts wife leaving the inquest, pore thing, and that Lady Angkatell what the swimming pool belonged to! Lots of pictures. Real mystery the "ole thing, weren't it?"

Henrietta was not repelled by her ghoulish enjoyment. She liked it because she knew that John himself would have liked it. If he had to die he would much prefer old Mrs.

Crabtree to get a kick out of it, than to sniff and shed tears.

"All I 'ope is that they catch 'ooever done it and 'ang 'im," continued Mrs. Crabtree vindictively. "They don't 'ave 'angings in public like they used to once-more's the pity. I've always thought I'd like to go to an 'anging… And I'd go double quick, if you understand me, to see 'ooever killed the doctor 'anged! Real wicked, 'e must 'ave been.

Why, the doctor was one in a thousand! Ever so clever, 'e was! And a nice way with 'im!

Got you laughing whether you wanted to or not. The things 'e used to say sometimes!

I'd 'ave done anythink for the doctor, I would!"

"Yes," said Henrietta. "He was a very clever man. He was a great man."

"Think the world of 'im in the 'orspital, they do! All them nurses. And 'is patients!

Always felt you were going to get well when 'e'd been along."

"So you are going to get well," said Henrietta.

The little shrewd eyes clouded for a moment.