“That is why I am at a loss to explain your connection with this affair.” “And yet it is so simple!” “Hardly that,” said Donaldson. “You first present yourself as a writer of biographies.”
“A pardonable deception, do you not think? One cannot go everywhere announcing the fact that one is a detective–though that, too, has its uses sometimes.” “So I should imagine.” Again Donaldson’s tone was dry. “Your next proceeding,” he went on, “was to call on Miss Theresa Arundell and represent to her that her aunt’s will might conceivably be set aside.” Poirot merely bowed his head in assent.
“That, of course, was ridiculous.” Donaldson’s voice was sharp. “You knew perfectly well that that will was valid in law and that nothing could be done about it.” “You think that is the case?” “I am not a fool, M. Poirot–” “No, Dr. Donaldson, you are certainly not a fool.” “I know something–not very much, but enough–of the law. That will can certainly not be upset. Why did you pretend it could?
Clearly for reasons of your own–reasons which Miss Theresa Arundell did not for a moment grasp.” “You seem very certain of her reactions.” A very faint smile passed across the young man’s face.
He said unexpectedly: “I know a good deal more about Theresa than she suspects. I have no doubt that she and Charles think they have enlisted your aid in some questionable business. Charles is almost completely amoral. Theresa has a bad heredity and her upbringing has been unfortunate.” “It is thus you speak of your fiancee–as though she was a guinea-pig?” Donaldson peered at him through his pincenez.
“I see no occasion to blink the truth. I love Theresa Arundell and I love her for Donaldson said drily: “I like to be sure of my facts.” “You have the scientific mind!” “I may say that all reports on you are the same. You are obviously a very clever man in your profession. You have also the reputation of being a scrupulous and honest one.” “You are too flattering,” murmured Poirot.
“That is why I am at a loss to explain your connection with this affair.” “And yet it is so simple!” “Hardly that,” said Donaldson. “You first present yourself as a writer of biographies.”
“A pardonable deception, do you not think? One cannot go everywhere announcing the fact that one is a detective–though that, too, has its uses sometimes.” “So I should imagine.” Again Donaldson’s tone was dry. “Your next proceeding,” he went on, “was to call on Miss Theresa Arundell and represent to her that her aunt’s will might conceivably be set aside.” Poirot merely bowed his head in assent.
“That, of course, was ridiculous.” Donaldson’s voice was sharp. “You knew perfectly well that that will was valid in law and that nothing could be done about it.” “You think that is the case?” “I am not a fool, M. Poirot–” “No, Dr. Donaldson, you are certainly not a fool.” “I know something–not very much, but enough–of the law. That will can certainly not be upset. Why did you pretend it could?
Clearly for reasons of your own–reasons which Miss Theresa Arundell did not for a moment grasp.” “You seem very certain of her reactions.” A very faint smile passed across the young man’s face.
He said unexpectedly: “I know a good deal more about Theresa than she suspects. I have no doubt that she and Charles think they have enlisted your aid in some questionable business. Charles is almost completely amoral. Theresa has a bad heredity and her upbringing has been unfortunate.” “It is thus you speak of your fiancee–as [though she was a guinea-pig?” Donaldson peered at him through his pincenez.
“I see no occasion to blink the truth. I love Theresa Arundell and I love her for what she is and not for any imagined qualities.
“Do you realize that Theresa Arundell is devoted to you and that her wish for money is mainly in order that your ambitions should be gratified?” “Of course I realize it. I’ve already told you I’m not a fool. But I have no intention of allowing Theresa to embroil herself in any questionable situation on my account. In many ways Theresa is a child still. I am quite capable of furthering my career by my own efforts. I do not say that a substantial legacy would not have been acceptable. It would have been most acceptable. But it would merely have provided a short cut.” “You have, in fact, full confidence in your own abilities?” “It probably sounds conceited, but I have,” said Donaldson composedly.