“No matter. Is it true?”
“Well, there are elements of truth about it.”
“Come, come, let me hear the story—the true story, mind.”
“Oh, you can have it, sir. There was nothing melodramatic about it. I’d been attempting a touch—if you gather what I mean.”
“I comprehend.”
“Well, that didn’t go according to plan. Aunt Emily intimated that any efforts to separate her and her money would be quite unavailing! Well, I didn’t lose my temper, but I put it to her plainly. ‘Now look here, Aunt Emily,’ I said, ‘you know, you’re going about things in such a way that you’ll end by getting bumped off!’ She said, rather sniffily, what did I mean. ‘Just that,’ I said. ‘Here are your friends and relations all hanging around with their mouths open, all as poor as church mice—whatever church mice may be—all hoping. And what do you do? Sit down on the dibs and refuse to part. That’s the way people get themselves murdered. Take it from me, if you’re bumped off, you’ll only have yourself to blame.’
“She looked at me then, over the top of her spectacles in a way she had. Looked at me rather nastily. ‘Oh,’ she said drily enough, ‘so that’s your opinion, is it?’ ‘It is,’ I said. ‘You loosen up a bit, that’s my advice to you.’ ‘Thank you, Charles,’ she said, ‘for your well-meant advice. But I think you’ll find I’m well able to take care of myself.’ ‘Please yourself, Aunt Emily,’ I said. I was grinning all over my face—and I fancy she wasn’t as grim as she tried to look. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ ‘I’ll remember it,’ she said.”
He paused.
“That’s all there was to it.”
“And so,” said Poirot, “you contented yourself with a few pound notes you found in a drawer.”
Charles stared at him, then burst out laughing.
“I take off my hat to you,” he said. “You’re some sleuth! How did you get hold of that?”
“It is true, then?”
“Oh, it’s true enough! I was damned hard up. Had to get money somewhere. Found a nice little wad of notes in a drawer and helped myself to a few. I was very modest—didn’t think my little subtraction would be noticed. Even then, they’d probably think it was the servants.”
Poirot said drily:
“It would be very serious for the servants if such an idea had been entertained.”
Charles shrugged his shoulders.
“Everyone for himself,” he murmured.
“And le diable takes the hindermost,” said Poirot. “That is your creed, is it?”
&n
bsp; Charles was looking at him curiously.
“I didn’t know the old lady had ever spotted it. How did you come to know about it—and about the bumping off conversation?”
“Miss Lawson told me.”
“The sly old pussy cat!” He looked, I thought, just a shade disturbed. “She doesn’t like me and she doesn’t like Theresa,” he said presently. “You don’t think—she’s got anything more up her sleeve?”
“What could she have?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s just that she strikes me as a malicious old devil.” He paused. “She hates Theresa…” he added.
“Did you know, Mr. Arundell, that Dr. Tanios came down to see your aunt on the Sunday before she died?”
“What—on the Sunday that we were there?”
“Yes. You did not see him?”
“No. We were out for a walk in the afternoon. I suppose he must have come then. Funny that Aunt Emily didn’t mention his visit. Who told you?”