Poirot gently interposed a question.
“There were o
thers, I think, who also heard the shot?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Hugo and Miss Cardwell. And Miss Lingard.”
“These people were also in the hall?”
“Miss Lingard came out from the drawing room, and Miss Cardwell and Mr. Hugo were just coming down the stairs.”
Poirot asked:
“Was there any conversation about the matter?”
“Well, sir, Mr. Hugo asked if there was champagne for dinner. I told him that sherry, hock and burgundy were being served.”
“He thought it was a champagne cork?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But nobody took it seriously?”
“Oh, no, sir. They all went into the drawing room talking and laughing.”
“Where were the other members of the household?”
“I could not say, sir.”
Major Riddle said:
“Do you know anything about this pistol?” He held it out as he spoke.
“Oh, yes, sir. That belonged to Sir Gervase. He always kept it in the drawer of his desk in here.”
“Was it usually loaded?”
“I couldn’t say, sir.”
Major Riddle laid down the pistol and cleared his throat.
“Now, Snell, I’m going to ask you a rather important question. I hope you will answer it as truthfully as you can. Do you know of any reason which might lead your master to commit suicide?”
“No, sir. I know of nothing.”
“Sir Gervase had not been odd in his manner of late? Not depressed? Or worried?”
Snell coughed apologetically.
“You’ll excuse my saying it, sir, but Sir Gervase was always what might have seemed to strangers a little odd in his manner. He was a highly original gentleman, sir.”
“Yes, yes, I am quite aware of that.”
“Outsiders, sir, did not always Understand Sir Gervase.”
Snell gave the phrase a definite value of capital letter.
“I know. I know. But there was nothing that you would have called unusual?”