Agatha Christie – Lord Edgware Dies

Then he sat back and smiled at us beneficently. He had evidently thoroughly enjoyed his performance. In the dim light he looked like some genie of the mediaeval age. All around the room were exquisite examples of art and culture.

‘And now, Sir Montagu,’ said Poirot, ‘I will trespass on your kindness no longer but will come to the object of my visit.’

Sir Montagu waved a curious claw-like hand.

‘There is no hurry. Time is infinite.’

‘One always feels that in this house,’ sighed Mrs Widburn. ‘So wonderful.’

‘I would not live in London for a million pounds,’ said Sir Montagu. ‘Here one is in the old-world atmosphere of peace that—alas!—we have put behind us in these jarring days.’

A sudden impish fancy flashed over me that if someone were really to offer Sir Montagu a million pounds, old-world peace might go to the wall, but I trod down such heretical sentiments.

‘What is money, after all?’ murmured Mrs Widburn.

‘Ah!’ said Mr Widburn thoughtfully, and rattled some coins absent-mindedly in his trouser pocket.

‘Charles,’ said Mrs Widburn reproachfully.

‘Sorry,’ said Mr Widburn and stopped.

‘To speak of crime in such an atmosphere, is, I feel, unpardonable,’ began Poirot apologetically.

‘Not at all.’ Sir Montagu waved a gracious hand. ‘A crime can be a work of art. A detective can be an artist. I do not refer, of course, to the police. An inspector has been here today. A curious person. He had never heard of Benvenuto Cellini, for instance.’

‘He came about Jane Wilkinson, I suppose,’ said Mrs Widburn with instant curiosity.

‘It was fortunate for the lady that she was at your house last night,’ said Poirot.

‘So it seems,’ said Sir Montagu. ‘I asked her here knowing that she was beautiful and talented and hoping that I might be able to be of use to her. She was thinking of going into management. But it seems that I was fated to be of use to her in a very different way.’

‘Jane’s got luck,’ said Mrs Widburn. ‘She’s been dying to get rid of Edgware and here’s somebody gone and saved her the trouble. She’ll marry the young Duke of Merton now. Everyone says so. His mother’s wild about it.’

‘I was favourably impressed by her,’ said Sir Montagu graciously. ‘She made several most intelligent remarks about Greek art.’

I smiled to myself picturing Jane saying ‘Yes’ and ‘No’, ‘Really, how wonderful’, in her magical husky voice. Sir Montagu was the type of man to whom intelligence consisted of the faculty of listening to his own remarks with suitable attention.

‘Edgware was a queer fish, by all accounts,’ said Widburn. ‘I daresay he’s got a good few enemies.’

‘Is it true, M. Poirot,’ asked Mrs Widburn, ‘that somebody ran a penknife into the back of his brain?’

‘Perfectly true, Madame. It was very neatly and efficiently done—scientific, in fact.’

‘I note your artistic pleasure, M. Poirot,’ said Sir Montagu.

‘And now,’ said Poirot, ‘let me come to the object of my visit. Lady Edgware was called to the telephone when she was here at dinner. It is about that telephone call that I seek information. Perhaps you will allow me to question your domestics on the subject?’

‘Certainly. Certainly. Just press that bell, will you, Ross.’

The butler answered the bell. He was a tall middle-aged man of ecclesiastical appearance.

Sir Montagu explained what was wanted. The butler turned to Poirot with polite attention.

‘Who answered the telephone when it rang?’ began Poirot.

‘I answered it myself, sir. The telephone is in a recess leading out of the hall.’

‘Did the person calling ask to speak to Lady Edgware or to Miss Jane Wilkinson?’

‘To Lady Edgware, sir.’

‘What did they say exactly?’

The butler reflected for a moment.

‘As far as I remember, sir, I said “Hello”. A voice then asked if I was Chiswick 43434. I replied that that was so. It then asked me to hold the line. Another voice then asked if that was Chiswick 43434 and on my replying “Yes” it said, “Is Lady Edgware dining there?” I said her ladyship was dining here. The voice said, “I would like to speak to her, please.” I went and informed her ladyship who was at the dinner table. Her ladyship rose, and I showed her where the ’phone was.’