“Now let me see—when was it?”
“Was it during that Easter weekend when the house was full of guests?”
“Yes, that was the time—but I’m trying to recall just which day it was… Now, let me see, it wasn’t Sunday. No, and it wasn’t on Tuesday—that was the night Dr. Donaldson came to dinner. And on the Wednesday they had all left. No, of course, it was the Monday—Bank Holiday. I’d been lying awake—rather worried, you know. I always think Bank Holiday is such a worrying day! There had been only just enough cold beef to go round at supper and I was afraid Miss Arundell might be annoyed about it. You see I’d ordered the joint on the Saturday, and of course I ought to have said seven pounds but I thought five pounds would do nicely, but Miss Arundell was always so vexed if there was any shortage—she was so hospitable—”
Miss Lawson paused to draw a deep breath and then rushed on.
“And so I was lying awake and wondering whether she’d say anything about it tomorrow, and what with one thing and another I was a long time dropping off—and then just as I was going off something seemed to wake me up—a sort of rap or tap—and I sat up in bed, and then I sniffed. Of course, I’m always terrified of fire—sometimes I think I smell fire two or three times a night—(so awful wouldn’t it be if one were trapped?) Anyway there was a smell, and I sniffed hard but it wasn’t smoke or anything like that. And I said to myself it’s more like paint or floor stain—but of course, one wouldn’t smell that in the middle of the night. But it was quite strong and I sat up sniffing and sniffing, and then I saw her in the glass—”
“Saw her? Saw whom?”
“In my looking glass, you know, it’s really most convenient. I left my door open a little always, so as to hear Miss Arundell if she were to call, and if she went up and down stairs I could see her. The one light was always left switched on in the passage. That’s how I came to see her kneeling on the stair—Theresa, I mean. She was kneeling on about the third step with her head bent down over something and I was just thinking, ‘How odd, I wonder if she’s ill?’ when she got up and went away, so I supposed she’d just slipped or something. Or perhaps was stooping to pick something up. But, of course, I never thought about it again one way or another.”
“The tap that aroused you would be the tap of the hammer on the nail,” mused Poirot.
“Yes, I suppose it would. But oh, M. Poirot, how dreadful—how truly dreadful. I’ve always felt Theresa was, perhaps a little wild, but to do a thing like that.”
“You are sure it was Theresa?”
“Oh, dear me, yes.”
“It couldn’t have been Mrs. Tanios or one of the maids, for instance?”
“Oh, no, it was Theresa.”
Miss Lawson shook her head and murmured to herself:
“Oh dear. Oh dear,” several times.
Poirot was staring at her in a way I found it hard to understand.
“Permit me,” he said suddenly, “to make an experiment. Let us go upstairs and endeavour to reconstruct this little scene.”
“Reconstruction? Oh, really—I don’t know—I mean I don’t quite see—”
“I will show you,” said Poirot, cutting in upon these doubts in an authoritative manner.
Somewhat flustered, Miss Lawson led the way upstairs.
“I hope the room’s tidy—so much to do—what with one thing and another—” she tailed off incoherently.
The room was indeed somewhat heavily littered with miscellaneous articles, obviously the result of Miss Lawson’s turning out of cupboards. With her usual incoherence Miss Lawson managed to indicate her own position and Poirot was able to verify for himself the fact that a portion of the staircase was reflected in the wall mirror.
“And now, mademoiselle,” he suggested, “if you will be so good as to go out and reproduce the actions that you saw.”
Miss Lawson, still murmuring, “Oh, dear—” bustled out to fulfil her part. Poirot acted the part of the observer.
The performance concluded, he went out on the landing and asked which electric light had been left switched on.
“This one—this one along here. Just outside Miss Arundell’s door.”
Poirot reached up, detached the bulb and examined it.
“A forty watt lamp, I see. Not very powerful.”
“No, it was just so that the passage shouldn’t be quite dark.”
Poirot retraced his steps to the top of the stairs.