“And therefore you think it injudicious to speak? That may be true, legally speaking. But this is not a court of law. Colonel Race and myself are endeavouring to track down a murderer. Anything that can help us to do so may be valuable.”
Again Jim Fanthorp reflected. Then he said: “Very well. What is it you want to know?”
“Why did you come on this trip?”
“My uncle, Mr. Carmichael, Mrs. Doyle’s English solicitor, sent me. He handled a good many of her affairs. In this way, he was often in correspondence with Mr. Andrew Pennington, who was Mrs. Doyle’s American trustee. Several small incidents (I cannot enumerate them all) made my uncle suspicious that all was not quite as it should be.”
“In plain language,” said Race, “your uncle suspected that Pennington was a crook?”
Jim Fanthorp nodded, a faint smile on his face.
“You put it rather more bluntly than I should, but the main idea is correct. Various excuses made by Pennington, certain plausible explanations of the disposal of funds, aroused my uncle’s distrust.
“While these suspicions of his were still nebulous, Miss Ridgeway married unexpectedly and went off on her honeymoon to Egypt. Her marriage relieved my uncle’s mind, as he knew that on her return to England the estate would have to be formally settled and handed over.
“However, in a letter she wrote him from Cairo, she mentioned casually that she had unexpectedly run across Andrew Pennington. My uncle’s suspicions became acute. He felt sure that Pennington, perhaps by now in a desperate position, was going to try and obtain signatures from her which would cover his own defalcations. Since my uncle had no definite evidence to lay before her, he was in a most difficult position. The only thing he could think of was to send me out here, travelling by air, with instruction to discover what was in the wind. I was to keep my eyes open and act summarily if necessary—a most unpleasant mission, I can assure you. As a matter of fact, on the occasion you mention I had to behave more or less as a cad! It was awkward, but on the whole I was satisfied with the result.”
“You mean you put Madame Doyle on her guard?” asked Race.
“Not so much that, but I think I put the wind up Pennington. I felt convinced he wouldn’t try anymore funny business for some time, and by then I hoped to have got intimate enough with Mr. and Mrs. Doyle to convey some kind of a warning. As a matter of fact I hoped to do so through Doyle. Mrs. Doyle was so attached to Mr. Pennington that it would have been a bit awkward to suggest things to her about him. It would have been easier for me to approach the husband.”
Race nodded.
Poirot asked: “Will you give me a candid opinion on one point, Monsieur Fanthorp? If you were engaged in putting a swindle over, would you choose Madame Doyle or Monsieur Doyle as a victim?”
Fanthorp smiled faintly.
“Mr. Doyle, every time. Linnet Doyle was very shrewd in business matters. Her husband, I should fancy, is one of those trustful fellows who know nothing of business and are always ready to ‘sign on the dotted line’ as he himself put it.”
“I agree,” said Poirot. He looked at Race. “And there’s your motive.”
Jim Fanthorp said: “But this is all pure conjecture. It isn’t evidence.”
Poirot replied, easily: “Ah, bah! we will get evidence!”
“How?”
“Possibly from Mr. Pennington himself.”
Fanthorp looked doubtful.
“I wonder. I very much wonder.”
Race glanced at his watch. “He’s about due now.”
Jim Fanthorp was quick to take the hint. He left them.
Two minutes later Andrew Pennington made his appearance. His manner was all smiling urbanity. Only the taut line of his jaw and the wariness of his eyes betrayed the fact that a thoroughly experienced fighter was on his guard.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “here I am.”
He sat down and looked at them inquiringly.
“We asked you to come here, Monsieur Pennington,” began Poirot, “because it is fairly obvious that you have a very special and immediate interest in the case.”
Pennington raised his eyebrows slightly.
“Is that so?”