“Still, she has never thought of refusing to accept the legacy?”
Isabel drew back a little.
“Oh, well—one would hardly do that.”
Poirot smiled.
“No, perhaps not….”
“You see, Mr. Parrot,” put in Julia. “She regards it as a trust—a sacred trust.”
“And she is quite willing to do something for Mrs. Tanios or for the Tanios children,” went on Isabel. “Only she doesn’t want him to get hold of it.”
“She even said she would consider making Theresa an allowance.”
“And that, I think, was very ge
nerous of her—considering the offhand way that girl has always treated her.”
“Indeed, Mr. Parrot, Minnie is the most generous of creatures. But there now, you know her, of course!”
“Yes,” said Poirot. “I know her. But I still do not know—her address.”
“Of course! How stupid of me! Shall I write it down for you?”
“I can write it down.”
Poirot produced the invariable notebook.
“17, Clanroyden Mansions, W.2. Not very far from Whiteleys. You’ll give her our love, won’t you? We haven’t heard from her just lately.”
Poirot rose and I followed suit.
“I have to thank you both very much,” he declared, “for a most charming talk as well as for your kindness in supplying me with my friend’s address.”
“I wonder they didn’t give it to you at the house,” exclaimed Isabel. “It must be that Ellen! Servants are so jealous and so small-minded. They used to be quite rude to Minnie sometimes.”
Julia shook hands in a grande dame manner.
“We have enjoyed your visit,” she declared graciously. “I wonder—”
She flashed a glance of inquiry at her sister.
“You would, perhaps—” Isabel flushed a little. “Would you, that is to say, stay and share our evening meal? A very simple one—some shredded raw vegetables, brown bread and butter, fruit.”
“It sounds delicious,” Poirot said hastily. “But alas! my friend and I have to return to London.”
With renewed handshaking and messages to be delivered to Miss Lawson, we at last made our exit.
Twelve
POIROT DISCUSSES THE CASE
“Thank goodness, Poirot,” I said with fervour, “you got us out of those raw carrots! What awful women!”
“Pour nous, un bon bifteck—with the fried potatoes—and a good bottle of wine. What should we have had to drink there, I wonder?”
“Well, water, I should think,” I replied with a shudder. “Or nonalcoholic cider. It was that kind of place! I bet there’s no bath and no sanitation except an E.C. in the garden!”