“She’d always seemed such a happy woman before,” said Mrs. Rosentelle.
Both women sighed. Mrs. Oliver changed the subject.
“Do you think that I’d find a wig useful?” she asked.
The expert stretched out a hand and laid it speculatively on Mrs. Oliver’s head.
“I wouldn’t advise it—you’ve got a splendid crop of hair— very thick still. I imagine”—a faint smile came to her lips— “you enjoy doing things with it?” “How clever of you to know that. It’s quite true—I enjoy experimenting. It’s such fun.” “You enjoy life altogether, don’t you?” “Yes, I do. I suppose it’s the feeling that one never knows what might be going to happen next.” “Yet that feeling,” said Mrs. Rosentelle, “is just what makes so many people never stop worrying!”
CHAPTER XVI Mr. Goby Reports
Mr. Goby came into the room and sat, as indicated by Poirot, in his usual chair. He glanced around him before choosing what particular piece of furniture or part of the room he was about to address. He settled, as often before, for the electric fire, not turned on at this time of year. Mr. Goby had never been known to address the human being he was working for directly. He selected always the cornice, a radiator, a television set, a clock, sometimes a carpet or a mat. Out of a briefcase he took a few papers.
“Well,” said Hercule Poirot, “you have something for me?” “I have collected various details,” said Mr. Goby.
Mr. Goby was celebrated all over London, indeed possibly all over England and even further, as a great purveyor of information. How he performed these miracles, nobody ever really quite knew. He employed a not excessive staff. Sometimes he complained that his legs, as he sometimes called them, were not as good as they used to be. But his results were still able to astonish people who had commissioned them.
“Mrs. Burton-Cox,” he said, announcing the name much as though he had been the local churchwarden having his turn at reading the lessons. He might equally have been saying, “Third verse, fourth chapter, the book of Isaiah.” “Mrs. Burton-Cox,” he said again. “Married Mr. Cecil Aidbury, manufacturer of buttons on a large scale. Rich man.
Entered politics, was MP for Little Stansmere. Mr. Cecil Aldbury was killed in a car accident four years after their marriage. The only child of the marriage died in an accident shortly afterwards, Mr. Aldbury’s estate was inherited by his wife, but was not as much as had been expected, since the firm had not been doing well of late years. Mr. Aldbury also left quite a considerable sum of money to a Miss Kathleen Fenn, with whom it seemed he had been having intimate relations quite unknown to his wife. Mrs. Burton-Cox continued her political career. Some three years after that she adopted a child which had been born to Miss Kathleen Fenn. Miss Kathleen Fenn insisted that the child was the son of the late Mr.
Aldbury. This, from what I have been able to learn in my inquiries, is somewhat difficult to accept,” continued Mr.
Goby. “Miss Fenn had had many relationships, usually with gentlemen of ample means and generous dispositions, but after all, so many people have their price, have they not? I’m afraid this is quite a serious bill I may have to send you in.” “Continue,” said Hercule Poirot.
“Mrs. Aldbury, as she then was, agreed to adopt the child.
A short while later she married Major Burton-Cox. Miss Kathleen Fenn became, I may say, a most successful actress and pop singer and made a very large amount of money. She then wrote to Mrs. Burton-Cox, saying she would be willing to take back the adopted child. Mrs. Burton-Cox refused.
Mrs. Burton-Cox has been living quite comfortably since, I understand. Major Burton-Cox was killed in Malaya. He left her moderately well off. A further piece of information I have obtained is that Miss Kathleen Fenn, who died a very short while ago–eighteen months, I think–left a will by which her entire fortune, which amounted by then to a considerable sum of money, was left to her natural son Desmond, at present known under the name of Desmond Burton-Cox.” “Very generous,” said Poirot. “Of what did Miss Fenn die?” “My informant tells me that she contracted leukemia.” “And the boy has inherited his mother’s money?” “It was left in trust for him to acquire at the age of twenty-five.” “So he will be independent, will have a substantial fortune?