“Wasn’t much disguise to pierce! Not many like you about, are there? Don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad one. Difficult to say.” “I prefer, mademoiselle, to be unique.” “You’ve got your wish, I should say,” said Miss Peabody drily. “Now then, Mr. Poirot, I gave you all the gossip you wanted the other day. Now it’s my turn to ask questions.
What’s it all about? Eh? What’s it all about?” “Are you not asking a question to which you already know the answer?” < Is that it?" Poirot did not answer. Miss Peabody nodded her head slowly and thoughtfully as though she had received a reply. "Often wondered," she said inconsequently, "what it would feel like.... Readin' the papers you know--wondered if any one would ever be dug up in Market Basing.... Didn't think it would be Emily Arundell...." She gave him a sudden, piercing look. "She wouldn't have liked it, you know. I suppose you've thought of that--hey?" "Yes, I have thought of it." "I suppose you would do--you're not a fool! Don't think you're particularly officious either." Poirot bowed. "Thank you, mademoiselle." "And that's more than most people would say--looking at your moustache. Why d'you have a moustache like that? D'you like it?" I turned away convulsed with laughter. "In England the cult of the moustache is lamentably neglected," said Poirot. His hand surreptitiously caressed the hirsute adornment. "Oh, I see! Funny," said Miss Peabody. "Knew a woman once who had a goitre and was proud of it! Wouldn't believe that, but it's true! Well, what I say is, it's lucky when if you're pleased with what the Lord has given you. It's usually the other way about." She shook her head and sighed. "Never thought there would be a murder in this out-of-the-world spot." Again she shot a sudden, piercing look at Poirot. "Which of 'em did it?" "Am I to shout that to you here in the street?" "Probably means you don't know. Or do you? Oh, well--bad blood--bad blood. I'd like to know whether that Varley woman poisoned her husband or not. Makes a difference." "You believe in heredity?" Miss Peabody said suddenly: "I'd rather it was Tanios. An outsider! But wishes ain't horses, worse luck. Well, I'll be getting along. I can see you're not goin' to tell me anything.... Who are you actin' for, by the way?" Poirot said gravely: "I am acting for the dead, mademoiselle." I am sorry to say that Miss Peabody received this remark with a sudden shriek of laughter. Quickly subduing her mirth she ^ said: Hb, "Excuse me. It sounded like Isabel ^HB^ripp--that's all! What an awful woman! Julia's worse, I think. So painfully girlish. Never did like mutton-dressed lamb fashion. Well, good-bye. Seen Dr. Grainger at all?" "Mademoiselle, I have the bone to pick with you. You betrayed my secret." Miss Peabody indulged in her peculiar throaty chuckle. "Men are simple! He'd swallowed that preposterous tissue of lies you told him. Wasn't he mad when I told him? Went away snorting with rage! He's looking for you." "He found me last night." "Oh! I wish I'd been there." "I wish you had, mademoiselle," said Poirot gallantly. Miss Peabody laughed and prepared to waddle away. She addressed me over her shoulder. "Good-bye, young man. Don't you go buying those chairs. They're a fake." She moved off, chuckling. "That," said Poirot, "is a very clever old woman." "Even although she did not admire your moustaches?" "Taste is one thing," said Poirot coldly. "Brains are another." We passed into the shop and spent a pleasant twenty minutes looking round. We emerged unscathed in pocket and proceeded in the direction of Littlegreen House. Ellen, rather redder in the face than usual, admitted us and showed us into the drawingroom. Presently footsteps were heard descending the stairs and Miss Lawson came in. She seemed somewhat out of breath and flustered. Her hair was pinned up in a silk handkerchief. "I hope you'll excuse my coming in like this, M. Poirot. I've been going through some locked-up cupboards--so many things --old people are inclined to hoard a little, I'm afraid--dear Miss Arundell was no exception--and one gets so much dust in one's hair--astonishing, you know, the things people collect--if you can believe me, two dozen needlebooks--actually, two dozen." "You mean that Miss Arundell had bought two dozen needlebooks?" "Yes, and put them away and forgot about them--and, of course, now the needles are all rusty--such a pity. She used to give them to the maids as Christmas presents." "She was very forgetful--yes?" "Oh, very. Especially in the way of putting things away. Like a dog with a bone, you know. That's what we used to call it between us. 'Now don't go and dog and bone it,' I used to say to her." She laughed and then producing a small handkerchief from her pocket suddenly began to sniff.