Lord Edgware Dies: A Hercule Poirot Mystery by Agatha Christie

Author:Agatha Christie [Christie, Agatha]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Tags: Mystery, Thriller, Classics
ISBN: 9780062073891
Amazon: 0062073893
Publisher: William Morrow Paperbacks
Published: 2011-08-30T05:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

MAINLY DISCUSSION

When we got home we found Japp waiting for us.

“Thought I’d just call round and have a chat with you before turning in, M. Poirot,” he said cheerfully.

“Eh bien, my good friend, how goes it?”

“Well, it doesn’t go any too well. And that’s a fact.”

He looked distressed.

“Got any help for me, M. Poirot?”

“I have one or two little ideas that I should like to present to you,” said Poirot.

“You and your ideas! In some ways, you know, you’re a caution. Not that I don’t want to hear them. I do. There’s some good stuff in that funny-shaped head of yours.”

Poirot acknowledged the compliment somewhat coldly.

“Have you any ideas about the double lady problem—that’s what I want to know? Eh, M. Poirot? What about it? Who was she?”

“That is exactly what I wish to talk to you about.”

He asked Japp if he had ever heard of Carlotta Adams.

“I’ve heard the name. For the moment I can’t just place it.”

Poirot explained.

“Her! Does imitations does she? Now what made you fix on her? What have you got to go on?”

Poirot related the steps we had taken and the conclusion we had drawn.

“By the Lord, it looks as though you were right. Clothes, hat, gloves, etc., and the fair wig. Yes, it must be. I will say—you’re the goods, M. Poirot. Smart work, that! Not that I think there’s anything to show she was put out of the way. That seems a bit farfetched. I don’t quite see eye to eye with you there. Your theory is a bit fantastical for me. I’ve more experience than you have. I don’t believe in this villain-behind-the-scenes motif. Carlotta Adams was the woman all right, but I should put it one of two ways. She went there for purposes of her own—blackmail, maybe, since she hinted she was going to get money. They had a bit of a dispute. He turned nasty, she turned nasty, and she finished him off. And I should say that when she got home she went all to pieces. She hadn’t meant murder. It’s my belief she took an overdose on purpose as the easiest way out.”

“You think that covers all the facts?”

“Well, naturally there are a lot of things we don’t know yet. It’s a good working hypothesis to go on with. The other explanation is that the hoax and the murder had nothing to do with each other. It’s just a damned queer coincidence.”

Poirot did not agree, I knew. But he merely said noncommittally:

“Mais oui, c’est possible.”

“Or, look here, how’s this? The hoax is innocent enough. Someone gets to hear of it and thinks it will suit their purpose jolly well. That’s not a bad idea?” He paused and went on: “But personally I prefer idea No. 1. What the link was between his lordship and the girl we’ll find out somehow or other.”

Poirot told him of the letter to America posted by the maid, and Japp agreed that that might possibly be of great assistance.

“I’ll get on to that at once,” he said, making a note of it in his little book.

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