“No, no. I’ve told you, it was a complete surprise. I never dreamt—”
Poirot interrupted.
“You did not know the contents. But you knew the fact—that there was a will being made?”
“Well—I suspected—I mean her sending for the lawyer when she was laid up—”
“Exactly. That was after she had a fall, was it not?”
“Yes, Bob—Bob was the dog—he had left his ball at the top of the stairs—and she tripped over it and fell.”
“A nasty accident.”
“Oh, yes, why, she might easily have broken her leg or her arm. The doctor said so.”
“She might quite easily have been killed.”
“Yes, indeed.”
Her answer seemed quite natural and frank.
Poirot said, smiling:
“I think I saw Master Bob at Littlegreen House.”
“Oh, yes, I expect you did. He’s a dear little doggie.” Nothing annoys me more than to hear a sporting terrier called a dear little doggie. No wonder, I thought, that Bob despised Miss Lawson and refused to do anything she told him.
“And he is very intelligent?” went on Poirot.
“Oh, yes, very.”
“How upset he’d be if he knew he had nearly killed his mistress?”
Miss Lawson did not answer. She merely shook her head and sighed.
Poirot asked:
“Do you think it possible that that fall influenced Miss Arundell to remake her will?”
We were getting perilously near the bone here, I thought
, but Miss Lawson seemed to find the question quite natural.
“You know,” she said, “I shouldn’t wonder if you weren’t right. It gave her a shock—I’m sure of that. Old people never like to think there’s any chance of their dying. But an accident like that makes one think. Or perhaps she might have had a premonition that her death wasn’t far off.”
Poirot said casually:
“She was in fairly good health, was she not?”
“Oh, yes. Very well, indeed.”
“Her illness must have come on very suddenly?”
“Oh, it did. It was quite a shock. We had had some friends that evening—” Miss Lawson paused.
“Your friends, the Misses Tripp. I have met those ladies. They are quite charming.”
Miss Lawson’s face flushed with pleasure.