They can face it with that brave acceptance that you have to have in life if life is to be any good to you. And the boy that she loves, he wants that for her, too. Will you listen to me?” “Yes,” said Zeiie Meauhourat, “I am listening. You understand a great deal, I think, and I think you know more than I could have imagined you would know. Speak and I will listen.”
CHAPTER XX Court Of Inquiry
Once more Hercule Poirot stood on the cliff overlooking the rocks below and the sea breaking against them. Here where he stood the bodies of a husband and wife had been found. Here, three weeks before that a woman had walked in her sleep and fallen to her death.
“Why had these things happened?” That had been Superintendent Garroway’s question.
Why? What had led to it?
An accident first–and three weeks later a double suicide.
Old sins that had left long shadows. A beginning that had led years later to a tragic end.
Today there would be people meeting here. A boy and a girl who sought the truth. Two people who knew the truth.
Hercule Poirot turned away from the sea and back along the narrow path that led to a house once called Overcliffe.
It was not very far. He saw cars parked against a wall. He saw the outline of a house against the sky. A house that was clearly empty, that needed repainting. A house agent’s board hung there, announcing that “this desirable property” was for sale. On the gate the word Overcliffe had a line drawn over it and the name Down House replaced it. He went to meet two people who were walking towards him. One was Desmond Burton-Cox and the other was Celia Ravenscroft.
“I got an order from the house agent,” said Desmond, “saying we wanted to view it or however they put it. I’ve got the key in case we want to go inside. It’s changed hands twice in the last five years. But there wouldn’t be anything to see there now, would there?” “I shouldn’t think so,” said Celia. “After all, it’s belonged to lots of people already. Some people called Archer who first bought it, and then somebody called Fallowfield, I think.
They said it was too lonely. And now these last people are selling it, too. Perhaps they were haunted.” “Do you really believe in haunted houses?” said Desmond.
“Well now, of course I don’t think so really,” said Celia, “but this might be, mightn’t it? I mean, the sort of things that happened, the sort of place it is and everything…” “I do not think so,” said Poirot. “There was sorrow here and death, but there was also love.” A taxi came along the road.
“I expect that’s Mrs. Oliver,” said Celia. “She said she’d come by train and take a taxi from the station.” Two women got out of the taxi. One was Mrs. Oliver and with her was a tall, elegantly dressed woman. Since Poirot knew she was coming, he was not taken by surprise. He watched Celia to see if she had any reactions.
“Oh!” Celia sprang forward.
She went towards the woman and her face had lit up.
“Zeiie!” she said. “It is Zeiie? It is really Zeiie! Oh, I am so pleased. I didn’t know you were coming.” “Monsieur Hercule Poirot asked me to come.” “I see,” said Celia. “Yes, yes, I suppose I see. But I—I didn’t—” she stopped. She turned her head and looked at the handsome boy standing beside her. “Desmond, was it—was it you?” “Yes. I wrote to Mademoiselle Meauhourat—to Zeiie, if I may still call her that.” “You can always call me that, both of you,” said Zeiie. “I was not sure I wanted to come. I did not know if I was wise to come. That I still do not know, but I hope so.” “I want to know,” said Celia. “We both want to know.
Desmond thought you could tell us something.” “Monsieur Poirot came to see me,” said Zeiie. “He persuaded me to come today.” Celia linked her arm in Mrs. Oliver’s.
“I wanted you to come, too, because you put this in hand, didn’t you? You got Monsieur Poirot and you found out some things yourself, didn’t you?” “People told me things,” said Mrs. Oliver; “people whom I thought might remember things. Some of them did remember things. Some of them remembered them right and some of them remembered them wrong. That was confusing. Monsieur Poirot says that that does not really matter.” “No,” said Poirot, “it is just as important to know what is hearsay and what is certain knowledge. Because from one you can learn facts even if they are not quite the right facts or had not got the explanation that you think they had. With the knowledge that you got for me, madame, from the people whom you designated elephants–” He smiled a little.