“We have quite lost touch with each other.
I have been travelling. That is why I was so astonished and delighted to hear of the good fortune that had befallen my old friend.” “Yes, indeed. And so well deserved! Min- me is such a rare soul. So simple–so earnest.”
“Julia,” cried Isabel.
“Yes, Isabel?” “How remarkable. P. You remember the planchette distinctly insisted on P. last night. A visitor from over the water and the initial P.” “So it did,” agreed Julia.
Both ladies looked at Poirot in rapt and delighted surprise.
“It never lies,” said Miss Julia softly.
“Are you interested at all in the occult, Mr. Parrot?” “I have little experience, mademoiselle, but–like any one who has travelled much in the East, I am bound to admit that there is much one does not understand and that cannot be explained by natural means.” “So true,” said Julia. “Profoundly true.” “The East,” murmured Isabel. “The home of mysticism and the occult.” Poirot’s travellings in the East, as far as I knew, consisted of one journey to Syria extended to Iraq, and which occupied perhaps a few weeks. To judge by his present conversation one would swear that he had spent niost of his life in jungles and bazaars and in intimate converse with fakirs, dervishes 5 and mahatmas.
As far as I could make out the Misses Tripp were vegetarians, theosophists, British Israelites, Christian Scientists, spiritualists and enthusiastic amateur photographers.
“One sometimes feels,” said Julia with a sigh, “that Market Basing is an impossible place to live. There is no beauty here–no soul. One must have soul, don’t you think so, Captain Hawkins?” “Quite,” I said, slightly embarrassed.
“Oh, quite.” “Without vision the people perish,” quoted Isabel with a sigh. “I have often tried to discuss things with the vicar, but I find him most painfully narrow. Don’t you think, Mr.
Parrot, that any definite creed is bound to be narrowing?” “And everything is so simple, really,” put in her sister. “As we knew so well, everything is joy and lovel” “As you say, as you say,” said Poirot.
“What a pity it seems that misunderstandings and quarrels should arise–especially over money.” “Money is so sordid,” sighed Julia.
“I gather that the late Miss Arundell was — ^f xrrmr converts?” said Poirot.
The two sisters looked at each other.
“I wonder,” said Isabel.
“We were never quite sure,” breathed Julia.
“One minute she seemed to be convinced and then she would say something–so–so ribald.” “Ah, but you remember that last manifestation,” said Julia. “That was really most remarkable.” She turned to Poirot. “It was the night dear Miss Arundell was taken ill.
My sister and I went round after dinner and we had a sitting–just the four of us. And you know we saw–we all three saw–most distinctly, a kind of halo round Miss ArundelFs head.” “Comment?” “Yes. It was a kind of luminous haze.” She turned to her sister. “Isn’t that how you would describe it, Isabel?” “Yes. Yes, just that. A luminous haze gradually surrounding Miss ArundelFs head–an aureole of faint light. It was a sign–we know that now–a sign that she was about to pass over to the other side.” “Remarkable,” said Poirot in a suitably impressed voice. “It was dark in the room, yes?” “Oh, yes, we always get better results in the dark, and it was quite a warm evening, so we didn’t even have the fire on.” “A most interesting spirit spoke to us,” said Isabel. “Fatima, her name was. She told us she had passed over in the time of the Crusades. She gave us a most beautiful message.”
“She actually spoke to you?” “No, not direct voice. She rapped it out.
Love. Hope. Life. Beautiful words.” “And Miss Arundell was actually taken ill at the seance?” “It was just after. Some sandwiches and port wine were brought in, and dear Miss Arundell said she wouldn’t have any as she wasn’t feeling very well. That was the beginning of her illness. Mercifully, she did not have to endure much suffering.” “She passed over four days later,” said Isabel.
“And we have already had messages from her,” said Julia eagerly. “Saying that she is very happy and that everything is beautiful and that she hopes that there is love and peace among all her dear ones.” Poirot coughed.