“Has it changed hands often in the last few years?” inquired Poirot.
“On the contrary. Been in one family over fifty years. Name of Arundell. Very much respected in the town. Ladies of the old school.” He shot up, opened the door and called: “Particulars of Littlegreen House, Miss Jenkins. Quickly now.” He returned to the desk.
“I require a house about this distance from London,” said Poirot. “In the country, but not in the dead country, if you understand me–” “Perfectly–perfectly. Too much in the country doesn’t do. Servants don’t like it for one thing. Here, you have the advantages of the country but not the disadvantages.” Miss Jenkins flitted in with a typewritten sheet of paper which she placed in front of her employer, who dismissed her with a nod.
“Here we are,” said Mr. Gabler, reading with practised rapidity. “Period house of character: four recep., eight bed and dressing, usual offices, commodious kitchen premises, ample outbuildings, stables, etc.
Main water, old-world gardens, inexpensive upkeep, amounting in all to three acres, two summer-houses, etc., etc. Price £2,850 or near offer.” “You can give me an order to view?” “Certainly, my dear sir.” Mr. Gabler began writing in a flourishing fashion. “Your name and address?” Slightly to my surprise, Poirot gave his name as Mr. Parotti.
“We have one or two other properties on our books which might interest you,” Mr.
Gabler went on.
Poirot allowed him to add two further additions.
“Littlegreen House can be viewed any time?” he inquired.
“Certainly, my dear sir. There are servants in residence. I might perhaps ring up to make certain. You will be going there immediately? Or after lunch?” “Perhaps after lunch would be better.” “Certainly–certainly. I’ll ring up and tell them to expect you about two o’clock–eh?
Is that right?” “Thank you. Did you say the owner of the house–a Miss Arundell, I think you said?” “Lawson. Miss Lawson. That is the name of the nresent owner. Miss Arundell, I am sorry to say, died a short time ago. That is how the place has come into the market. And I can assure you it will be snapped up. Not a doubt of it. Between you and me, just in confidence, if you do think of making an offer I should make it quickly. As I’ve told you, there are two gentlemen after it already, and I shouldn’t be surprised to get an offer for it any day from one or other of them.
Each of them knows the other’s after it, you see. And there’s no doubt that competition spurs a man on. Ha, ha! I shouldn’t like you to be disappointed.” “Miss Lawson is anxious to sell, I gather.” Mr. Gabler lowered his voice confidentially.
“That’s just it. The place is larger than she wants–one middle-aged lady living by herself. She wants to get rid of this and take a house in London. Quite understandable.
That’s why the place is going so ridiculously cheap.” “She would be open, perhaps, to an offer?”
“That’s the idea, sir. Make an offer and set the ball rolling. But you can take it from me that there will be no difficulty in getting a price very near the figure named. Why, it’s ridiculous! To build a house like that nowadays would cost every penny of six thousand, let alone the land value and the valuable frontages.” “Miss Arundell died very suddenly, didn’t she?” “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Anno domini– anno domini. She had passed her threescore years and ten some time ago. And she’d been ailing for a long time. The last of her family–you know something about the family, perhaps?” “I know some people of the same name who have relations in this part of the world.
I fancy it must be the same family.” “Very likely. Four sisters there were. One married fairly late in life and the other three lived on here. Ladies of the old school. Miss Emily was the last of them. Very highly thought of in the town.” He leant forward and handed Poirot the orders.
“You’ll drop in again and let me know what you think of it, eh? Of course, it may need a little modernizing here and there.