“That’s right.” “That was Wednesday, the fifteenth.
When did you next see your aunt?” “Well, it wasn’t the next week-end. It was the week-end after that.” “That would be–let me see–the twentyfifth, would it not?” “Yes, I think that was the date.” “And your aunt died–when?” “The following Friday.” “Having been taken ill on the Monday night?” “Yes.” “That was the Monday that you left?” “Yes.” “You did not return during her illness?” “Not until the Friday. We didn’t realize she was really bad.” “You got there in time to see her alive?” “No, she died before we arrived.” Poirot shifted his glance to Theresa Arun- i^n I “You accompanied your brother on both these occasions?” “Yes.” “And nothing was said during that second week-end about a new will having been made?” “Nothing,” said Theresa.
Charles, however, had answered at the same moment.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “It was.” He spoke airily as ever, but there was something a little constrained, as though the airiness were more artificial than usual.
“It was?’9 said Poirot.
“Charles!” cried Theresa.
Charles seemed anxious not to meet his sister’s eye.
He spoke to her without looking at her.
“Surely you remember, old girl? I told you. Aunt Emily made a kind of ultimatum of it. Sat there like a judge in court. Made a kind of speech. Said she thoroughly disapproved of all her relations–that is to say, of me and Theresa. Bella, she allowed, she had nothing against, but on the other hand she disliked and distrusted her husband. Buy British was ever Aunt Emily’s motto. If Bella were to inherit any considerable sum of money she said she was convinced that Tanios would somehow or other get possession of it. Trust a Greek to do that! ‘She’s safer as she is,’ she went on to say. Then she said that neither I nor Theresa were fit people to be trusted with money. We would only gamble and squander it away. Therefore, she finished up, she had made a new will and had left the entire estate to Miss Lawson. ‘She is a fool,’ said Aunt Emily, ‘but she is a faithful soul. And I really believe she is devoted to me. She cannot help her lack of brains. I have thought it fairer to tell you this, Charles, as you may as well realize that it will not be possible for you to raise money on your expectations from me.5 Rather a nasty one, that. Just what I’d been trying to do.” “Why didn’t you tell me, Charles?” demanded Theresa fiercely.
“Thought I did.” Charles avoided her eye.
Poirot asked: “And what did you say, Mr. Arundell?” “I?” said Charles airily. “Oh, I just laughed. No good cutting up rough. That’s not the way. ‘Just as you please. Aunt Emily,’ I said. ‘Bit of a blow, perhaps, but after all, it’s your own money and you can do what you like with it.’ ” “And your aunt’s reaction to that?” “Oh, it went down well–very well, indeed.
She said, “Well, I will say you’re a sportsman, Charles.’ And I said, ‘Got to take the rough with the smooth. As a matter of fact, if I’ve no expectations, what about giving me a tenner now?5 And she said I was an impudent boy and actually parted with a river.” “You concealed your feelings very cleverly.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I didn’t take it very seriously.” “You didn’t?” “No. I thought it was what you might call a gesture on the old bean’s part. She wanted to frighten us all. I’d a pretty shrewd suspicion that after a few weeks or perhaps months she’d tear that will up. She was pretty hot on family. Aunt Emily. And, as a matter of fact, I believe that’s what she would have done if she hadn’t died so confoundedly suddenly.” “Ah!” said Poirot. “It is an interesting idea that.” He remained silent for a minute or two, then went on: “Could any one. Miss Lawson, for instance, have overheard your conversation?” “Rather. We weren’t speaking any too low. As a matter of fact, the Lawson bird was hovering about outside the door when I went out. Been doing a bit of snooping in my opinion.” Poirot turned a thoughtful glance on Theresa.