He listened patiently enough and occasionally interpolated some pertinent little question, usually about Miss Lawson and the amount of time she spent in the sickroom.
He was also exceedingly interested in the diet idministered to the ill woman, comparing it with that administered to some dead relative (non-existent) of his own.
Seeing that they were enjoying themselves so much, I stole out in the hall again. Bob had gone to sleep on the landing, his ball lying under his chin.
I whistled to him and he sprang up, alert at once. This time, however, doubtless out of offended dignity, he made a protracted business of despatching the ball down to me, several times catching it back at the last minute.
“Disappointed, aren’t you? Well, perhaps I will let you have it this time.” When I next went back to the morningroom, Poirot was talking about Dr. Tanios’s surprise visit on the Sunday before the old lady’s death.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Charles and Miss Theresa were out for a walk. Dr. Tanios wasn’t expected, I know. The mistress was lying down and she was very surprised when I told her who it was. ‘Dr. Tanios?5 she said. ‘Is Mrs.
Tanios with him?” I told her no, the gentleman had come alone. So she said to tell him she’d be down in a minute.” “Did he stay long?” “Not above an hour, sir. He didn’t look too pleased when he went away.” “Have you any idea of the–er–purpose of his visit?” “I couldn’t say, I’m sure, sir.” “You did not happen to hear anything?” Ellen’s face flushed suddenly.
“No, I did not, sir! I’ve never been one to listen at doors, no matter what some people will do–and people who ought to know better!”
“Oh, but you misunderstand me.” Poirot was eager, apologetic. “It just occurred to me that perhaps you might have brought in tea while the gentleman was there and if so, you could hardly have helped hearing what he and your mistress were talking about.” Ellen was mollified.
“I’m sorry, sir, I misunderstand you. No, Dr. Tanios didn’t stay for tea.” Poirot looked up at her and twinkled a little.
“And if I want to know what he came down for–well, it is possible that Miss Lawson might be in a position to know? Is that it?” “Well, if she doesn’t know, sir, nobody does,” said Ellen with a sniff.
“Let me see.” Poirot frowned as though trying to remember. “Miss Lawson’s bedroom–was it next to Miss Arundell’s?” “no sir. Miss Lawson’s room is right at the top of the staircase. I can show you, sir.55 Poirot accepted the offer. As he went up the stairs he kept close to the wall side, and just as he reached the top uttered an exclamation and stooped to his trouser-leg.
“Ah–I have just caught a thread–ah, yes, there is a nail here in the skirtingboard.” “Yes, there is, sir. I think it must have worked loose or something. I’ve caught my dress on it once or twice.” “Has it been like that long?” “Well, some time, I’m afraid, sir. I noticed it first when the mistress was laid up –after her accident, that was, sir–I tried to pull it out but I couldn’t.” “It has had a thread round it some time, I think.” “That’s right, sir, there was a little loop of thread, I remember. I can’t think what for, I’m sure.” But there was no suspicion in Ellen’s voice. To her it was just one of the things that occur in houses and which one does not bother to explain!
Poirot had stepped into the room at the top of the stairs. It was of moderate size.
There were two windows directly facing us.
There was a dressing-table across one corner and between the windows was a wardrobe with a long mirror. The bed was to the right behind the door facing the windows. On the left-hand wall of the room was a big mahogany chest of drawers and a marble-topped washstand.
Poirot looked round the room thoughtfully and then came out again on the landing.
He went along the passage, passing two other bedrooms and then came to the large bedchamber which had belonged to Emily Arundell.