“And you all left on the Wednesday morning?”
“That’s right.”
“That was Wednesday, the fifteenth. When did you next see your aunt?”
“Well, it wasn’t the next weekend. It was the weekend after that.”
That would be—let me see—the twenty-fifth, would it not?”
“Yes, I think that was the date.”
“And your aunt died—when?”
“The following Friday.”
“Having been taken ill on the Monday night?”
“Yes.”
“That was the Monday that you left?”
“Yes.”
“You did not return during her illness?”
“Not until the Friday. We didn’t realize she was really bad.”
“You got there in time to see her alive?”
“No, she died before we arrived.”
Poirot shifted his glance to Theresa Arundell.
“You accompanied your brother on both these occasions?”
“Yes.”
“And nothing was said during the second weekend about a new will having been made?”
“Nothing,” said Theresa.
Charles, however, had answered at the same moment.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “It was.”
He spoke airily as ever, but there was something a little constrained as though the airiness were more artificial than usual.
“It was?” said Poirot.
“Charles!” cried Theresa.
Charles seemed anxious not to meet his sister’s eye.
He spoke to her without looking at her.
“Surely you remember, old girl? I told you. Aunt Emily made a kind of ultimatum of it. Sat there like a judge in court. Made a kind of speech. Said she thoroughly disapproved of all her relations—that is to say, of me and Theresa. Bella, she allowed, she had nothing against, but on the other hand she disliked and distrusted her husband. Buy British was ever Aunt Emily’s motto. If Bella were to inherit any considerable sum of money she said she was convinced that Tanios would somehow or other get possession of it. Trust a Greek to do that! ‘She’s safer as she is,’ she went on to say. Then she said that neither I nor Theresa were fit people to be trusted with money. We would only gamble and squander it away. Therefore, she finished up, she had made a new will and had left the entire estate to Miss Lawson. ‘She is a fool,’ said Aunt Emily, ‘but she is a faithful soul. And I really believe she is devoted to me. She cannot help her lack of brains. I have thought it fairer to tell you this, Charles, as you may as well realize that it will not be possible for you to raise money on your expectations from me.’ Rather a nasty one, that. Just what I’d been trying to do.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Charles?” demanded Theresa fiercely.