Dead Man's Mirror
written by Agatha Christie and narrated by Hugh Fraser

  

Eight

 

The Colonel dropped into a chair, shook his head, sighed and said:

“Terrible business, this, Riddle. Lady Chevenix-Gore is being wonderful—wonderful. Grand woman! Full of courage!”

Coming softly back to his chair, Poirot said:

“You have known her very many years, I think?”

“Yes, indeed, I was at her coming out dance. Wore rosebuds in her hair, I remember. And a white, fluffy dress . . . Wasn’t anyone to touch her in the room!”

His voice was full of enthusiasm. Poirot held out the pencil to him.

“This is yours, I think?”

“Eh? What? Oh, thank you, had it this afternoon when we were playing bridge. Amazing, you know, I held a hundred honours in spades three times running. Never done such a thing before.”

“You were playing bridge before tea, I understand?” said Poirot. “What was Sir Gervase’s frame of mind when he came in to tea?”

“Usual—quite usual. Never dreamed he was thinking of making away with himself. Perhaps he was a little more excitable than usual, now I come to think of it.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Why, then! Teatime. Never saw the poor chap alive again.”

“You didn’t go to the study at all after tea?”

“No, never saw him again.”

“What time did you come down to dinner?”

“After the first gong went.”

“You and Lady Chevenix-Gore came down together?”

“No, we—er—met in the hall. I think she’d been into the dining room to see to the flowers—something like that.”

Major Riddle said:

“I hope you won’t mind, Colonel Bury, if I ask you a somewhat personal question. Was there any trouble between you and Sir Gervase over the question of the Paragon Synthetic Rubber Company?”

Colonel Bury’s face became suddenly purple. He spluttered a little.

“Not at all. Not at all. Old Gervase was an unreasonable sort of fellow. You’ve got to remember that. He always expected everything he touched to turn out trumps! Didn’t seem to realize that the whole world was going through a period of crisis. All stocks and shares bound to be affected.”

“So there was a certain amount of trouble between you?”

“No trouble. Just damned unreasonable of Gervase!”

“He blamed you for certain losses he had sustained?”

“Gervase wasn’t normal! Vanda knew that. But she could always handle him. I was content to leave it all in her hands.”

Poirot coughed and Major Riddle, after glancing at him, changed the subject.

“You are a very old friend of the family, I know, Colonel Bury. Had you any knowledge as to how Sir Gervase had left his money?”

“Well, I should imagine the bulk of it would go to Ruth. That’s what I gathered from what Gervase let fall.”

“You don’t think that was at all unfair on Hugo Trent?”

“Gervase didn’t like Hugo. Never could stick him.”

“But he had a great sense of family. Miss Chevenix-Gore was, after all, only his adopted daughter.”

Colonel Bury hesitated, then after humming and hawing a moment, he said:

“Look here, I think I’d better tell you something. Strict confidence, and all that.”

“Of course—of course.”

“Ruth’s illegitimate, but she’s a Chevenix-Gore all right. Daughter of Gervase’s brother, Anthony, who was killed in the war. Seemed he’d had an affair with a typist. When he was killed, the girl wrote to Vanda. Vanda went to see her—girl was expecting a baby. Vanda took it up with Gervase, she’d just been told that she herself could never have another child. Result was they took over the child when it was born, adopted it legally. The mother renounced all rights in it. They’ve brought Ruth up as their own daughter and to all intents and purposes, she is their own daughter, and you’ve only got to look at her to realise she’s a Chevenix-Gore all right!”

“Aha,” said Poirot. “I see. That makes Sir Gervase’s attitude very much clearer. But if he did not like Mr. Hugo Trent, why was he so anxious to arrange a marriage between him and Mademoiselle Ruth?”

“To regularize the family position. It pleased his sense of fitness.”

“Even though he did not like or trust the young man?”

Colonel Bury snorted.

“You don’t understand old Gervase. He couldn’t regard people as human beings. He arranged alliances as though the parties were royal personages! He considered it fitting that Ruth and Hugo should marry, Hugo taking the name of Chevenix-Gore. What Hugo and Ruth thought about it didn’t matter.”

“And was Mademoiselle Ruth willing to fall in with this arrangement?”

Colonel Bury chuckled.

“Not she! She’s a tartar!”

“Did you know that shortly before his death Sir Gervase was drafting a new will by which Miss Chevenix-Gore would inherit only on condition that she should marry Mr. Trent?”

Colonel Bury whistled.

“Then he really had got the windup about her and Burrows—”

As soon as he had spoken, he bit the words off, but it was too late. Poirot had pounced upon the admission.

“There was something between Mademoiselle Ruth and young Monsieur Burrows?”

“Probably nothing in it—nothing in it at all.”

Major Riddle coughed and said:

“I think, Colonel Bury, that you must tell us all you know. It might have a direct bearing on Sir Gervase’s state of mind.”

“I suppose it might,” said Colonel Bury, doubtfully. “Well, the truth of it is, young Burrows is not a bad-looking chap—at least, women seem to think so. He and Ruth seem to have got as thick as thieves just lately, and Gervase didn’t like it—didn’t like it at all. Didn’t like to sack Burrows for fear of precipitating matters. He knows what Ruth’s like. She won’t be dictated to in any way. So I suppose he hit on this scheme. Ruth’s not the sort of girl to sacrifice everything for love. She’s fond of the fleshpots and she likes money.”

“Do you yourself approve of Mr. Burrows?”

The colonel delivered himself of the opinion that Godfrey Burrows was slightly hairy at the heel, a pronouncement which baffled Poirot completely, but made Major Riddle smile into his moustache.

A few more questions were asked and answered, and then Colonel Bury departed.

Riddle glanced over at Poirot who was sitting absorbed in thought.

“What do you make of it all, M. Poirot?”

The little man raised his hands.

“I seem to see a pattern—a purposeful design.”

Riddle said, “It’s difficult.”

“Yes, it is difficult. But more and more one phrase, lightly uttered, strikes me as significant.”

“What was that?”

“That laughing sentence spoken by Hugo Trent: ‘There’s always murder . . . ’ ”

Riddle said sharply:

“Yes, I can see that you’ve been leaning that way all along.”

“Do you not agree, my friend, that the more we learn, the less and less motive we find for suicide? But for murder, we begin to have a surprising collection of motives!”

“Still, you’ve got to remember the facts—door locked, key in dead man’s pocket. Oh, I know there are ways and means. Bent pins, strings—all sorts of devices. It would, I suppose, be possible . . . But do those things really work? That’s what I very much

doubt.”

“At all events, let us examine the position from the point of view of murder, not of suicide.”

“Oh, all right. As you are on the scene, it probably would be murder!”

For a moment Poirot smiled.

“I hardly like that remark.”

Then he became grave once more.

“Yes, let us examine the case from the standpoint of murder. The shot is heard, four people are in the hall, Miss Lingard, Hugo Trent, Miss Cardwell and Snell. Where are all the others?”

“Burrows was in the library, according to his own story. No one to check that statement. The others were presumably in their rooms, but who is to know if they were really there? Everybody seems to have come down separately. Even Lady Chevenix-Gore and Bury only met in the hall. Lady Chevenix-Gore came from the dining room. Where did Bury come from? Isn’t it possible that he came, not from upstairs, but from the study? There’s that pencil.”

“Yes, the pencil is interesting. He showed no emotion when I produced it, but that might be because he did not know where I found it and was unaware himself of having dropped it. Let us see, who else was playing bridge when the pencil was in use? Hugo Trent and Miss Cardwell. They’re out of it. Miss Lingard and the butler can vouch for their alibis. The fourth was Lady Chevenix-Gore.”

“You can’t seriously suspect her.”

“Why not, my friend? I tell you, me, I can suspect everybody! Supposing that, in spite of her apparent devotion to her husband, it is the faithful Bury she really loves?”

“H’m,” said Riddle. “In a way it has been a kind of ménage à trois for years.”

“And there is some trouble about this company between Sir Gervase and Colonel Bury.”

“It’s true that Sir Gervase might have been meaning to turn really nasty. We don’t know the ins-and-outs of it. It might fit in with that summons to you. Say Sir Gervase suspects that Bury has deliberately fleeced him, but he doesn’t want publicity because of a suspicion that his wife may be mixed up in it. Yes, that’s possible. That gives either of those two a possible motive. And it is a bit odd really that Lady Chevenix-Gore should take her husband’s death so calmly. All this spirit business may be acting!”

“Then there is the other complication,” said Poirot. “Miss Chevenix-Gore and Burrows. It is very much to their interest that Sir Gervase should not sign the new will. As it is, she gets everything on condition that her husband takes the family name—”

“Yes, and Burrows’s account of Sir Gervase’s attitude this evening is a bit fishy. High spirits, pleased about something! That doesn’t fit with anything else we’ve been told.”

“There is, too, Mr. Forbes. Most correct, most severe, of an old and well-established firm. But lawyers, even the most respectable, have been known to embezzle their client’s money when they themselves are in a hole.”

“You’re getting a bit too sensational, I think, Poirot.”

“You think what I suggest is too like the pictures? But life, Major Riddle, is often amazingly like the pictures.”

“It has been, so far, in Westshire,” said the chief constable. “We’d better finish interviewing the rest of them, don’t you think? It’s getting late. We haven’t seen Ruth Chevenix-Gore yet, and she’s probably the most important of the lot.”

“I agree. There is Miss Cardwell, too. Perhaps we might see her first, since that will not take long, and interview Miss Chevenix-Gore last.

“Quite a good idea.”