Agatha Christie - Murder in the mews

‘But the brain cells registered a lot?’

‘Well—there were certain indications—do you not think so?’

Japp looked at him sideways.

‘Such as?’

‘ Eh bien , there was very definitely something missing from the room. Also something added, I think…And then, on the writing-bureau…’

‘I knew it! We’re coming to that damned quill pen!’

‘ Du tout . The quill pen plays a purely negative rôle.’

Japp retreated to safer ground.

‘I’ve got Charles Laverton-West coming to see me at Scotland Yard in half an hour. I thought you might like to be there.’

‘I should very much.’

‘And you’ll be glad to hear we’ve tracked down Major Eustace. Got a service flat in the Cromwell Road.’

‘Excellent.’

‘And we’ve got a little to go on there. Not at all a nice person, Major Eustace. After I’ve seen Laverton-West, we’ll go and see him. That suit you?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘Well, come along then.’

At half-past eleven, Charles Laverton-West was ushered into Chief Inspector Japp’s room. Japp rose and shook hands.

The M.P. was a man of medium height with a very definite personality. He was clean-shaven, with the mobile mouth of an actor, and the slightly prominent eyes that so often go with the gift of oratory. He was good-looking in a quiet, well-bred way.

Though looking pale and somewhat distressed, his manner was perfectly formal and composed.

He took a seat, laid his gloves and hat on the table and looked towards Japp.

‘I’d like to say, first of all, Mr Laverton-West, that I fully appreciate how distressing this must be to you.’

Laverton-West waved this aside.

‘Do not let us discuss my feelings. Tell me, Chief Inspector, have you any idea what caused my—Mrs Allen to take her own life?’

‘You yourself cannot help us in any way?’

‘No, indeed.’

‘There was no quarrel? No estrangement of any kind between you?’

‘Nothing of the kind. It has been the greatest shock to me.’

‘Perhaps it will be more understandable, sir, if I tell you that it was not suicide—but murder!’

‘Murder?’ Charles Laverton-West’s eyes popped nearly out of his head. ‘You say murder ?’

‘Quite correct. Now, Mr Laverton-West, have you any idea who might be likely to make away with Mrs Allen?’

Laverton-West fairly spluttered out his answer.

‘No—no, indeed—nothing of the sort! The mere idea is—is unimaginable !’

‘She never mentioned any enemies? Anyone who might have a grudge against her?’

‘Never.’

‘Did you know that she had a pistol?’

‘I was not aware of the fact.’

He looked a little startled.

‘Miss Plenderleith says that Mrs Allen brought this pistol back from abroad with her some years ago.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course, we have only Miss Plenderleith’s word for that. It is quite possible that Mrs Allen felt herself to be in danger from some source and kept the pistol handy for reasons of her own.’

Charles Laverton-West shook his head doubtfully. He seemed quite bewildered and dazed.

‘What is your opinion of Miss Plenderleith, Mr Laverton-West? I mean, does she strike you as a reliable, truthful person?’

The other pondered a minute.

‘I think so—yes, I should say so.’

‘You don’t like her?’ suggested Japp, who had been watching him closely.

‘I wouldn’t say that. She is not the type of young woman I admire. That sarcastic, independent type is not attractive to me, but I should say she was quite truthful.’

‘H’m,’ said Japp. ‘Do you know a Major Eustace?’

‘Eustace? Eustace? Ah, yes, I remember the name. I met him once at Barbara’s—Mrs Allen’s. Rather a doubtful customer in my opinion. I said as much to my—to Mrs Allen. He wasn’t the type of man I should have encouraged to come to the house after we were married.’

‘And what did Mrs Allen say?’

‘Oh! she quite agreed. She trusted my judgment implicitly. A man knows other men better than a woman can do. She explained that she couldn’t very well be rude to a man whom she had not seen for some time—I think she felt especially a horror of being snobbish ! Naturally, as my wife, she would find a good many of her old associates well—unsuitable, shall we say?’

‘Meaning that in marrying you she was bettering her position?’ Japp asked bluntly.

Laverton-West held up a well-manicured hand.

‘No, no, not quite that. As a matter of fact, Mrs Allen’s mother was a distant relation of my own family. She was fully my equal in birth. But of course, in my position, I have to be especially careful in choosing my friends—and my wife in choosing hers. One is to a certain extent in the limelight.’

‘Oh, quite,’ said Japp dryly. He went on, ‘So you can’t help us in any way?’

‘No indeed. I am utterly at sea. Barbara! Murdered! It seems incredible.’

‘Now, Mr Laverton-West, can you tell me what your own movements were on the night of November fifth?’

‘My movements? My movements?’

Laverton-West’s voice rose in shrill protest.

‘Purely a matter of routine,’ explained Japp. ‘We—er—have to ask everybody.’

Charles Laverton-West looked at him with dignity.

‘I should hope that a man in my position might be exempt.’

Japp merely waited.

‘I was—now let me see… Ah, yes. I was at the House. Left at half-past ten. Went for a walk along the Embankment. Watched some of the fireworks.’

‘Nice to think there aren’t any plots of that kind nowadays,’ said Japp cheerily.

Laverton-West gave him a fish-like stare.

‘Then I—er—walked home.’

‘Reaching home—your London address is Onslow Square, I think—at what time?’

‘I hardly know exactly.’

‘Eleven? Half-past?’

‘Somewhere about then.’

‘Perhaps someone let you in.’

‘No, I have my key.’

‘Meet anybody whilst you were walking?’

‘No—er—really, Chief Inspector, I resent these questions very much!’

‘I assure you, it’s just a matter of routine, Mr Laverton-West. They aren’t personal, you know.’

The reply seemed to soothe the irate M.P.

‘If that is all—’

‘That is all for the present, Mr Laverton-West.’

‘You will keep me informed—’

‘Naturally, sir. By the way, let me introduce M. Hercule Poirot. You may have heard of him.’

Mr Laverton-West’s eye fastened itself interestedly on the little Belgian.

‘Yes—yes—I have heard the name.’

‘Monsieur,’ said Poirot, his manner suddenly very foreign. ‘Believe me, my heart bleeds for you. Such a loss! Such agony as you must be enduring! Ah, but I will say no more. How magnificently the English hide their emotions.’ He whipped out his cigarette case. ‘Permit me—Ah, it is empty. Japp?’

Japp slapped his pockets and shook his head.

Laverton-West produced his own cigarette case, murmured, ‘Er—have one of mine, M. Poirot.’

‘Thank you—thank you.’ The little man helped himself.

‘As you say, M. Poirot,’ resumed the other, ‘we English do not parade our emotions. A stiff upper lip—that is our motto.’

He bowed to the two men and went out.

‘Bit of a stuffed fish,’ said Japp disgustedly. ‘ And a boiled owl! The Plenderleith girl was quite right about him. Yet he’s a good-looking sort of chap—might go down well with some woman who had no sense of humour. What about that cigarette?’

Poirot handed it over, shaking his head.

‘Egyptian. An expensive variety.’