Agatha Christie – Lord Edgware Dies

‘And then?’

‘Her ladyship picked up the receiver and said: “Hello—who’s speaking?” Then she said: “Yes—that’s all right. Lady Edgware speaking.” I was just about to leave her ladyship when she called to me and said they had been cut off. She said someone had laughed and evidently hung up the receiver. She asked me if the person ringing up had given any name. They had not done so. That was all that occurred, sir.’

Poirot frowned to himself.

‘Do you really think the telephone call has something to do with the murder, M. Poirot?’ asked Mrs Widburn.

‘Impossible to say, Madame. It is just a curious circumstance.’

‘People do ring up for a joke sometimes. It’s been done to me.’

‘C’est toujours possible, Madame.’

He spoke to the butler again.

‘Was it a man’s voice or a woman’s who rang up?’

‘A lady’s, I think, sir.’

‘What kind of a voice, high or low?’

‘Low, sir. Careful and rather distinct.’ He paused. ‘It may be my fancy, sir, but it sounded like a foreign voice. The R’s were very noticeable.’

‘As far as that goes it might have been a Scotch voice, Donald,’ said Mrs Widburn, smiling at Ross.

Ross laughed.

‘Not guilty,’ he said. ‘I was at the dinner table.’

Poirot spoke once again to the butler.

‘Do you think,’ he asked, ‘that you could recognize that voice if you were to hear it any time?’

The butler hesitated.

‘I couldn’t quite say, sir. I might do so. I think it is possible that I should do so.’

‘I thank you, my friend.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

The butler inclined his head and withdrew, pontificial to the last.

Sir Montagu Corner continued to be very friendly and to play his role of old-world charm. He persuaded us to remain and play bridge. I excused myself—the stakes were bigger than I cared about. Young Ross seemed relieved also at the prospect of someone taking his hand. He and I sat looking on while the other four played. The evening ended in a heavy financial gain to Poirot and Sir Montagu.

Then we thanked our host and took our departure. Ross came with us.

‘A strange little man,’ said Poirot as we stepped out into the night.

The night was fine and we had decided to walk until we picked up a taxi instead of having one telephoned for.

‘Yes, a strange little man,’ said Poirot again.

‘A very rich little man,’ said Ross with feeling.

‘I suppose so.’

‘He seems to have taken a fancy to me,’ said Ross. ‘Hope it will last. A man like that behind you means a lot.’

‘You are an actor, Mr Ross?’

Ross said that he was. He seemed sad that his name had not brought instant recognition. Apparently he had recently won marvellous notices in some gloomy play translated from the Russian.

When Poirot and I between us had soothed him down again, Poirot asked casually:

‘You knew Carlotta Adams, did you not?’

‘No. I saw her death announced in the paper tonight. Overdose of some drug or other. Idiotic the way all these girls dope.’

‘It is sad, yes. She was clever, too.’

‘I suppose so.’

He displayed a characteristic lack of interest in anyone else’s performance but his own.

‘Did you see her show at all?’ I asked.

‘No. That sort of thing’s not much in my line. Kind of craze for it at present, but I don’t think it will last.’

‘Ah!’ said Poirot. ‘Here is a taxi.’

He waved a stick.

‘Think I’ll walk,’ said Ross. ‘I get a tube straight home from Hammersmith.’

Suddenly he gave a nervous laugh.

‘Odd thing,’ he said. ‘That dinner last night.’

‘Yes?’

‘We were thirteen. Some fellow failed at the last minute. We never noticed till just the end of dinner.’

‘And who got up first?’ I asked.

He gave a queer little nervous cackle of laughter.

‘I did,’ he said.

Chapter 16

Mainly Discussion

When we got home we found Japp waiting for us.

‘Thought I’d just call round and have a chat with you before turning in, M. Poirot,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Eh bien, my good friend, how goes it?’

‘Well, it doesn’t go any too well. And that’s a fact.’