That’s only to be expected. But I always say, ‘What’s a bathroom or two? That’s easily done.’ ” We took our leave and the last thing we heard was the vacant voice of Miss Jenkins saying: “Mrs. Samuels rang up, sir. She’d like you to ring her–Holland 5391.” As far as I could remember that was neither the number Miss Jenkins had scribbled on her pad nor the number finally arrived at through the telephone.
I felt convinced that Miss Jenkins was having her revenge for having been forced to find the particulars of Littlegreen House.
VII Lunch at The George
As we emerged into the market square, I remarked that Mr. Gabler lived up to his name! Poirot assented with a smile.
“He’ll be rather disappointed when you don’t return,” I said. “I think he feels he has as good as sold you that house already.” “Indeed, yes, I fear there is a deception in store for him.” “I suppose we might as well have lunch here before returning to London, or shall we lunch at some more likely spot on our way back?” “My dear Hastings, I am not proposing to leave Market Basing so quickly. We have not yet accomplished that which we came to do.” I stared.
“Do you mean—but, my dear fellow, that’s all a washout. The old lady is dead.
“Exactly.” The tone of that one word made me stare at him harder than ever. It was evident that he had some bee in his bonnet over this incoherent letter.
“But if she’s dead, Poirot,” I said gently, “what’s the use? She can’t tell you anything now. Whatever the trouble was, it’s over and finished with.” “How lightly and easily you put the matter aside! Let me tell you that no matter is finished with until Hercule Poirot ceases to concern himself with it!” I should have known from experience that to argue with Poirot is quite useless. Unwarily I proceeded: | “But since she is dead–” “Exactly, Hastings. Exactly–exactly– exactly…. You keep repeating the significant point with a magnificently obtuse disregard of its significance. Do you not see the importance of the point? Miss Arundell is dead.” “But, my dear Poirot, her death was perfectly natural and ordinary! There wasn’t anything odd or unexplained about it. We have old Gabler’s word for that.” “We have his word that Littlegreen House is a bargain at £2,850. Do you accept that as gospel also?” “No, indeed. It struck me that Gabler was all out to get the place sold–it probably needs modernizing from top to toe. I’d swear he–or rather his client–will be willing to accept a very much lower figure than that.
These large Georgian houses fronting right on the street must be the devil to get rid of.” “Eh bien, then,” said Poirot. “Do not say, ‘But Gabler says so!’ as though he were an inspired prophet who could not lie.” I was about to protest further, but at this minute we passed the threshold of The George and with an emphatic “Chut!” Poirot put a damper on further conversation.
We were directed to the coffee-room, a room of fine proportions, tightly shut windows and an odour of stale food. An elderly waiter attended to us, a slow, heavy-breathing man. We appeared to be the only lunchers.
We had some excellent mutton, large slabs of watery cabbage and some dispirited potatoes. Some rather tasteless stewed fruit and custard followed. After gorgonzola and biscuits the waiter brought us two cups of a doubtful fluid called coffee.
At this point Poirot produced his orders to view and invited the waiter’s aid.
“Yes, sir, I know where most of these are.
Hemel Down is three miles away–on the J Much Benham road—quite a little place.
Nay tor’s Farm is about a mile away. There’s a kind of lane goes off to it not long after the King’s Head. Bissett Grange? No, I’ve never heard of that. Littlegreen House is just close by, not more than a few minutes’ walk.” “Ah, I think I have already seen it from the outside. That is the most possible one, I think. It is in good repair—yes?” “Oh, yes, sir. It’s in good condition—roof and drains and all that. Old-fashioned, of course. It’s never been modernized in any way. The gardens are a picture. Very fond of her garden Miss Arundell was.” “It belongs, I see, to a Miss Lawson.” “That’s right, sir. Miss Lawson, she was Miss Arundell’s companion, and when the old lady died everything was left to her— house and all.” “Indeed? I suppose she had no relations to whom to leave it.” “Well, it was not quite like that, sir. She had nieces and nephews living. But, of course. Miss Lawson was with her all the time. And, of course, she was an old lady and—well—that’s how it was.” “In any case I suppose there was just the house and not much money?” I have often had occasion to notice how. where a direct question would fail to elicit a response, a false assumption brings instant information in the form of a contradiction.