Sad Cypress (Hercule Poirot 22) - Page 88

“Perhaps you are right.”

Then he added:

“Do you think Roderick Welman’s feelings could have been sufficiently worked upon to induce him to do such a thing?”

Peter Lord replied scornfully:

“He wouldn’t have the guts!”

Poirot murmured:

“I wonder. In some ways, mon cher, you underestimate that young man.”

“Oh, he’s clever and intellectual and all that, I dare say.”

“Exactly,” said Poirot. “And he has charm, too… Yes, I felt that.”

“Did you? I never have!”

Then Peter Lord said earnestly:

“Look here, Poirot, isn’t there anything?”

Poirot said:

“They are not fortunate so far, my investigations! They lead always back to the same place. No one stood to gain by Mary Gerrard’s death. No one hated Mary Gerrard—except Elinor Carlisle. There is only one question that we might perhaps ask ourselves. We might say, perhaps: Did anyone hate Elinor Carlisle?”

Slowly Dr. Lord shook his head.

“Not that I know of… You mean—that someone might have framed her for the crime?”

Poirot nodded. He said:

“It is a very far-fetched speculation, that, and there is nothing to support it…except, perhaps, the very completeness of the case against her.”

He told the other of the anonymous letter.

“You see,” he said, “that makes it possible to outline a very strong case against her. She was warned that she might be completely cut out of her aunt’s will—that this girl, a stranger, might get all the money. So, when her aunt in her halting speech was asking for a lawyer, Elinor took no chances, and saw to it that the old lady should die that night!”

Peter Lord cried:

“What about Roderick Welman? He stood to lose, too!”

Poirot shook his head.

“No, it was to his advantage that the old lady should make a will. If she died intestate, he got nothing, remember. Elinor was the next of kin.”

Lord said:

“But he was going to marry Elinor!”

Poirot said, “True. But remember that immediately afterwards the engagement was broken off—that he showed her clearly that he wished to be released from it.”

Peter Lord groaned and held his head. He said:

“It comes back to her, then. Every time!”

“Yes. Unless….”

Tags: Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot Mystery
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