She paused, then went on:
‘Money is nothing in this matter. Name any fee you like. But the marriage must be stopped. You are the man to do it.’
Poirot slowly shook his head.
‘It is not a question of money. I can do nothing—for a reason which I will explain to you presently. But also, I may say, I do not see there is anything to be done. I cannot give you help, Madame la Duchesse. Will you think me impertinent if I give you advice?’
‘What advice?’
‘Do not antagonize your son! He is of an age to choose for himself. Because his choice is not your choice, do not assume that you must be right. If it is a misfortune—then accept misfortune. Be at hand to aid him when he needs aid. But do not turn him against you.’
‘You hardly understand.’
She rose to her feet. Her lips were trembling.
‘But yes, Madame la Duchesse, I understand very well. I comprehend the mother’s heart. No one comprehends it better than I, Hercule Poirot. And I say to you with authority—be patient. Be patient and calm, and disguise your feelings. There is yet a chance that the matter may break itself. Opposition will merely increase your son’s obstinacy.’
‘Goodbye, M. Poirot,’ she said coldly. ‘I am disappointed.’
‘I regret infinitely, Madame, that I cannot be of service to you. I am in a difficult position. Lady Edgware, you see, has already done me the honour to consult me herself.’
‘Oh! I see.’ Her voice cut like a knife. ‘You are in the opposite camp. That explains, no doubt, why Lady Edgware has not yet been arrested for her husband’s murder.’
‘Comment, Madame la Duchesse?’
‘I think you heard what I said. Why is she not arrested? She was there that evening. She was seen to enter the house—to enter his study. No one else went near him and he was found dead? And yet she is not arrested! Our police force must be corrupt through and through.’
With shaking hands she arranged the scarf round her neck, then with the slightest of bows, she swept out of the room.
‘Whew!’ I said. ‘What a tartar! I admire her, though, don’t you?’
‘Because she wishes to arrange the universe to her manner of thinking?’
‘Well, she’s only got her son’s welfare at heart.’
Poirot nodded his head.
‘That is true enough, and yet, Hastings, will it really be such a bad thing for M. le Duc to marry Jane Wilkinson?’
‘Why, you don’t think she is really in love with him?’
‘Probably not. Almost certainly not. But she is very much in love with his position. She will play her part carefully. She is an extremely beautiful woman and very ambitious. It is not such a catastrophe. The Duke might very easily have married a young girl of his own class who would have accepted him for the same reasons—but no one would have made the song and the dance about that.’
‘That is quite true, but—’
‘And suppose he marries a girl who loves him passionately, is there such a great advantage in that? Often I have observed that it is a great misfortune for a man to have a wife who loves him. She creates the scenes of jealousy, she makes him look ridiculous, she insists on having all his time and attention. Ah! non, it is not the bed of roses.’
‘Poirot,’ I said. ‘You’re an incurable old cynic.’
‘Mais non, mais non, I only make the reflections. See you, really, I am on the side of the good mamma.’
I could not refrain from laughing at hearing the haughty Duchess described in this way.
Poirot remained quite serious.
‘You should not laugh. It is of great importance—all this. I must reflect. I must reflect a great deal.’
‘I don’t see what you can do in the matter,’ I said.
Poirot paid no attention.
‘You observed, Hastings, how well-informed the Duchess was? And how vindictive. She knew all the evidence there was against Jane Wilkinson.’
‘The case for the prosecution, but not the case for the defence,’ I said, smiling.
‘How did she come to know of it?’