The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding

‘He's not the kind of man you notice very much. A fairly good servant. Adequate, but not polished.’

‘What age?’

‘About thirty-seven or eight, I should think. He'd been an orderly in the army during the war, but he wasn't a regular soldier.’

‘How long had he been with Major Rich?’

‘Not very long. About a year and a half, I think.’

‘You never noticed anything odd about his manner towards your husband?’

‘We weren't there so very often. No, I noticed nothing at all.’

‘Tell me now about the events of that evening. What time were you invited?’

‘Eight-fifteen for half past.’

‘And just what kind of a party was it to be?’

‘Well, there would be drinks, and a kind of buffet supper — usually a very good one. Foie gras and hot toast. Smoked salmon. Sometimes there was a hot rice dish — Charles had a special recipe he'd got in the Near East — but that was more for winter. Then we used to have music — Charles had got a very good stereophonic gramophone. Both my husband and Jock McLaren were very fond of classical records. And we had dance music — the Spences were very keen dancers. It was that sort of thing — a quiet informal evening. Charles was a very good host.’

‘And this particular evening — it was like other evenings there? You noticed nothing unusual — nothing out of place?’

‘Out of place?’ she frowned for a moment. ‘When you said that I — no, it's gone. There was something…’ She shook her head again. ‘No. To answer your question, there was nothing unusual at all about that evening. We enjoyed ourselves. Everybody seemed relaxed and happy.’ She shivered. ‘And to think that all the time —’

Poirot held up a quick hand.

‘Do not think. This business that took your husband to Scotland, how much do you know about that?’

‘Not very much. There was some dispute over the restrictions on selling a piece of land which belonged to my husband. The sale had apparently gone through and then some sudden snag turned up.’

‘What did your husband tell you exactly?’

‘He came in with a telegram in his hand. As far as I remember, he said: “This is most annoying. I shall have to take the night mail to Edinburgh and see Johnston first thing tomorrow morning… Too bad when one thought the thing was going through smoothly at last.” Then he said: “Shall I ring up Jock and get him to call for you,” and I said “Nonsense, I'll just take a taxi,” and he said that Jock or the Spences would see me home. I said did he want anything packed and he said he'd just throw a few things into a bag, and have a quick snack at the club, before catching the train. Then he went off and — and that's the last time I saw him.’

Her voice broke a little on the last words.

Poirot looked at her very hard.

‘Did he show you the telegram?’

‘No.’

‘A pity.’

‘Why do you say that?’

He did not answer that question. Instead he said briskly:

‘Now to business. Who are the solicitors acting for Major Rich?’

She told him and he made a note of the address.

‘Will you write a few words to them and give it to me? I shall want to make arrangements to see Major Rich.’

‘He — it's been remanded for a week.’

‘Naturally. That is the procedure. Will you also write a note to Commander McLaren and to your friends the Spences? I shall want to see all of them, and it is essential that they do not at once show me the door.’

When she rose from the writing desk, he said:

‘One thing more. I shall register my own impressions, but I also want yours — of Commander McLaren and of Mr and Mrs Spence.’

‘Jock is one of our oldest friends. I've known him ever since I was a child. He appears to be quite a dour person, but he's really a dear — always the same — always to be relied upon. He's not gay and amusing but he's a tower of strength — both Arnold and I relied on his judgement a lot.’

‘And he, also, is doubtless in love with you?’ Poirot's eyes twinkled slightly.

‘Oh yes,’ said Margharita happily. ‘He's always been in love with me — but by now it's become a kind of habit.’

‘And the Spences?’

‘They're amusing — and very good company. Linda Spence is really rather a clever girl. Arnold enjoyed talking with her. She's attractive, too.’

‘You are friends?’

‘She and I? In a way. I don't know that I really like her. She's too malicious.’

‘And her husband?’

‘Oh, Jeremy is delightful. Very musical. Knows a good deal about pictures, too. He and I go to picture shows a good deal together…’

‘Ah, well, I shall see for myself.’ He took her hand in his, ‘I hope, Madame, you will not regret asking for my help.’

‘Why should I regret it?’ Her eyes opened wide.

‘One never knows,’ said Poirot cryptically.

‘And I — I do not know,’ he said to himself, as he went down the stairs. The cocktail party was still in full spate, but he avoided being captured and reached the street.

‘No,’ he repeated. ‘I do not know.’

It was of Margharita Clayton he was thinking.