“Certainly, M. Poirot.”
“What is your opinion of Charles and Theresa Arundell?”
The doctor looked slightly relieved.
“Charles and Theresa?” he looked at his wife with an affectionate smile. “Bella, my dear, I don’t suppose you mind my being frank about your family?”
She shook her head, smiling faintly.
“Then it’s my opinion they’re rotten to the core, both of them! Funnily enough I like Charles the best. He’s a rogue but he’s a likeable rogue. He’s no moral sense but he can’t help that. People are born that way.”
“And Theresa?”
He hesitated.
“I don’t know. She’s an amazingly attractive young woman. But she’s quite ruthless, I should say. She’d murder anyone in cold blood if it suited her book. At least that’s my fancy. You may have heard, perhaps, that her mother was tried for murder?”
“And acquitted,” said Poirot.
“As you say, and acquitted,” said Tanios quickly. “But all the same, it makes one—wonder sometimes.”
“You met the young man to whom she is engaged?”
“Donaldson? Yes, he came to supper one night.”
“What do you think of him?”
“A clever fellow. I fancy he’ll go far—if he gets the chance. It takes money to specialize.”
“You mean that he is clever in his profession.”
“That is what I mean, yes. A first-class brain.” He smiled. “Not quite a shining light in society yet. A little precise and prim in manner. He and Theresa make a comic pair. The attraction of opposites. She’s a social butterfly and he’s a recluse.”
The two children were bombarding their mother.
“Mother, can’t we go in to lunch? I’m hungry. We’ll be late.”
Poirot looked at his watch and gave an exclamation.
“A thousand pardons! I delay your lunch hour.”
Glancing at her husband Mrs. Tanios said, uncertainly:
“Perhaps we can offer you—”
Poirot said quickly:
“You are most amiable, madame, but I have a luncheon engagement for which I am already late.”
He shook hands with both the Tanioses and with the children. I did the same.
We delayed for a minute or two in the hall. Poirot wanted to put through a telephone call. I waited for him by the hall porter’s desk. I was standing there when I saw Mrs. Tanios come out into the hall and look searchingly around. She had a hunted, harried look. She saw me and came swiftly across to me.
“Your friend—M. Poirot—I suppose he has gone?”
“No, he is in the telephone box.”
“Oh.”