Agatha Christie's Secret Notebooks

by John Curran

  ‘That next weekend—the one after Easter.’

  ‘And I was there and you never told me?’

  ‘No—I—well, I thought it better to keep it to myself.’

  ‘How extraordinary of you!’

  ‘What exactly did your aunt say to you, Mr Graham?’ asked Poirot in his most silky tone.

  Graham clearly disliked answering the question. He spoke stiffly.

  ‘She said that she thought it only fair to let me know that she had made a new will leaving everything to Miss Lawson.’

  ‘Did she give any reason?’

  ‘None whatever.’

  ‘I think you ought to have told me,’ said Miss Davidson.

  ‘I thought better not,’ said her cousin stiffly.

  ‘Eh bien,’ said Poirot. ‘It is all very curious. I am not at liberty to tell you what was written to me in this letter, but I will give you some advice. I would apply, if I were you, for an order of exhumation.’

  They both stared at him without speaking for a minute or two.

  ‘Oh! no,’ cried Mollie Davidson.

  ‘This is outrageous,’ cried Graham. ‘I shall certainly not do anything of the sort. The suggestion is preposterous.’

  ‘You refuse?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Poirot turned to the girl.

  ‘And you, Mademoiselle? Do you refuse?’

  ‘I—No, I would not say I refused. But I do not like the idea.’

  ‘Well, I do refuse,’ said Graham angrily. ‘Come on, Mollie. We’ve had enough of this charlatan.’

  He fumbled for the door. Poirot sprang forward to help him. As he did so a rubber ball fell out of his pocket and bounced on the floor.

  ‘Ah!’ cried Poirot. ‘The ball!’

  He blushed and appeared uncomfortable. I guessed that he had not meant the ball to be seen.

  ‘Come on, Mollie,’ shouted Graham now in a towering passion.

  The girl had retrieved the ball and handed it to Poirot.

  ‘I did not know that you kept a dog, M. Poirot,’ she said.

  ‘I do not, Mademoiselle,’ said Poirot.

  The girl followed her cousin out of the room. Poirot turned to me.

  ‘Quick, mon ami,’ he said. ‘Let us visit the companion, the now rich Miss Lawson. I wish to see her before she is in any way put upon her guard.’

  ‘If it wasn’t for the fact that James Graham knew about the new will, I should be inclined to suspect him of having a hand in this business. He was down that last weekend. However, since he knew that the old lady’s death would not benefit him—well, that puts him out of court.’

  ‘Since he knew—’ murmured Poirot thoughtfully.

  ‘Why, yes, he admitted as much,’ I said impatiently.

  ‘Mademoiselle was quite surprised at his knowing. Strange that he should not tell her at the time. Unfortunate. Yes, unfortunate.’

  Exactly what Poirot was getting at I did not quite know, but knew from his tone that there was something. However, soon after, we arrived at Clanroyden Mansions.

  vii

  Miss Lawson was very much as I had pictured her. A middleaged woman, rather stout, with an eager but somewhat foolish face. Her hair was untidy and she wore pince-nez. Her conversation consisted of gasps and was distinctly spasmodic. ‘So good of you to come,’ she said. ‘Sit here, won’t you? A cushion. Oh! dear, I’m afraid that chair isn’t comfortable. That table’s in your way. We’re just a little crowded here.’ (This was undeniable. There was twice as much furniture in the room as there should have been, and the walls were covered with photographs and pictures.) ‘This flat is really too small. But so central. I’ve always longed to have a little place of my own. But there, I never thought I should. So good of dear Miss Wheeler. Not that I feel at all comfortable about it. No, indeed I don’t. My conscience, M. Poirot. Is it right? I ask myself. And really I don’t know what to say. Sometimes I think that Miss Wheeler meant me to have the money and so it must be all right. And other times—well, flesh and blood is flesh and blood—I feel very badly when I think of Mollie Davidson. Very badly indeed!’

  ‘And when you think of Mr James Graham?’

  Miss Lawson flushed and drew herself up.

  ‘That is very different. Mr Graham has been very rude—most insulting. I can assure you, M. Poirot—there was no undue influence. I had no idea of anything of the kind. A complete shock to me.’

  ‘Miss Wheeler did not tell you of her intentions?’

  ‘No, indeed. A complete shock.’

  ‘You had not, in any way, found it necessary to—shall we say, open the eyes—of Miss Wheeler in regard to her nephew’s shortcomings?’

  ‘What an idea, M. Poirot! Certainly not. What put that idea into your head, if I may ask?’

  ‘Mademoiselle, I have many curious ideas in my head.’

  Miss Lawson looked at him uncertainly. Her face, I reflected, was really singularly foolish. The way the mouth hung open for instance. And yet the eyes behind the glasses seemed more intelligent than one would have suspected.

  Poirot took something from his pocket.

  ‘You recognise this, Mademoiselle?’

  ‘Why, it’s Bob’s ball!’

  ‘No,’ said Poirot. ‘It is a ball I bought at Woolworth’s.’

  ‘Well, of course, that’s where Bob’s balls do come from. Dear Bob.’

  ‘You are fond of him?’

  ‘Oh! yes, indeed, dear little doggie. He always slept in my room. I’d like to have him in London, but dogs aren’t really happy in town, are they, M. Poirot?’

  ‘Me, I have seen some very happy ones in the Park,’ returned my friend gravely.

  ‘Oh! yes, of course, the Park,’ said Miss Lawson vaguely. ‘But it’s very difficult to exercise them properly. He’s much happier with Ellen, I feel sure, at the dear Laburnums. Ah! what a tragedy it all was!’

  ‘Will you recount to me, Mademoiselle, just what happened on that evening when Miss Wheeler was taken ill?’

  ‘Nothing out of the usual. At least, oh! of course, we held a séance—with distinct phenomena—distinct phenomena. You will laugh, M. Poirot. I feel you are a sceptic. But oh! the joy of hearing the voices of those who have passed over.’

  ‘No, I do not laugh,’ said Poirot gently.

  He was watching her flushed excited face.

  ‘You know, it was most curious—really most curious. There was a kind of halo—a luminous haze—all round dear Miss Wheeler’s head. We all saw it distinctly.’

  ‘A luminous haze?’ said Poirot sharply.

  ‘Yes. Really most remarkable. In view of what happened, I felt, M. Poirot, that already she was marked, so to speak, for the other world.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Poirot. ‘I think she was—marked for the other world.’ He added, completely incongruously it seemed to me, ‘Has Dr Lawrence got a keen sense of smell?’

  ‘Now it’s curious you should say that. “Smell this, doctor,” I said, and held up a great bunch of lilies of the valley to him. And would you believe it, he couldn’t smell a thing. Ever since influenza three years ago, he said. Ah! me—physician, heal thyself is so true, isn’t it?’

  Poirot had risen and was prowling round the room. He stopped and stared at a picture on the wall. I joined him.

  It was rather an ugly needlework picture done in drab wools, and represented a bulldog sitting on the steps of a house. Below it, in crooked letters, were the words ‘Out all night and no key!’[18]

  Poirot drew a deep breath.

  ‘This picture, it comes from The Laburnums?’

  ‘Yes. It used to hang over the mantelpiece in the drawingroom. Dear Miss Wheeler did it when she was a girl.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Poirot. His voice was entirely changed. It held a note that I knew well.

  He crossed to Miss Lawson.

  ‘You remember Bank Holiday? Easter Monday. The night that Miss Wheeler fell down the stairs? Eh bien, the little Bob, he was out that night, was he not? He did n
ot come in.’

  ‘Why, yes, M. Poirot, however did you know that? Yes, Bob was very naughty. He was let out at nine o’clock as usual, and he never came back. I didn’t tell Miss Wheeler—she would have been anxious. That is to say, I told her the next day, of course. When he was safely back. Five in the morning it was. He came and barked underneath my window and I went down and let him in.’

  ‘So that was it! Enfin!’ He held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Mademoiselle. Ah! Just one more little point. Miss Wheeler took digestive tablets after meals always, did she not? What make were they?’

  ‘Dr Carlton’s After Dinner Tablets. Very efficacious, M. Poirot.’

  ‘Efficacious! Mon Dieu!’ murmured Poirot, as we left. ‘No, do not question me, Hastings. Not yet. There are still one or two little matters to see to.’

  He dived into a chemist’s and reappeared holding a white wrapped bottle.

  vii

  He unwrapped it when we got home. It was a bottle of Dr Carlton’s After Dinner Tablets.

  ‘You see, Hastings. There are at least fifty tablets in that bottle—perhaps more.’

  He went to the bookshelf and pulled out a very large volume. For ten minutes he did not speak, then he looked up and shut the book with a bang.

  ‘But yes, my friend, now you may question. Now I know—everything.’

  ‘She was poisoned?’

  ‘Yes, my friend. Phosphorus poisoning.’

  ‘Phosphorus?’

  ‘Ah! mais oui—that is where the diabolical cleverness came in! Miss Wheeler had already suffered from jaundice. The symptoms of phosphorus poisoning would only look like another attack of the same complaint. Now listen, very often the symptoms of phosphorus poisoning are delayed from one to six hours. It says here’ (he opened the book again) ‘“The person’s breath may be phosphorescent before he feels in any way affected.” That is what Miss Lawson saw in the dark—Miss Wheeler’s phosphorescent breath—“a luminous haze”. And here I will read you again. “The jaundice having thoroughly pronounced itself the system may be considered as not only under the influence of the toxic action of phosphorus, but as suffering in addition from all the accidents incidental to the retention of the biliary secretion in the blood, nor is there from this point any special difference between phosphorus poisoning and certain affections of the liver—such, for example as yellow atrophy.”[19]

  ‘Oh! it was well planned, Hastings! Foreign matches—vermin paste. It is not difficult to get hold of phosphorus, and a very small dose will kill. The medicinal dose is from 1/100 to 1/30 grain. Even .116 of a grain has been known to kill. To make a tablet resembling one of these in the bottle—that too would not be too difficult. One can buy a tabletmaking machine, and Miss Wheeler she would not observe closely. A tablet placed at the bottom of this bottle—one day, sooner or later, Miss Wheeler will take it, and the person who put it there will have a perfect alibi, for she will not have been near the house for ten days.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘Mollie Davidson. Ah! mon ami, you did not see her eyes when that ball bounced from my pocket. The irate M. Graham, it meant nothing to him—but to her. “I did not know you kept a dog, M. Poirot.” Why a dog? Why not a child? A child, too, plays with balls. But that—it is not evidence, you say. It is only the impression of Hercule Poirot. Yes, but everything fits in. M. Graham is furious at the idea of an exhumation—he shows it. But she is more careful. She is afraid to seem unwilling. And the surprise and indignation she cannot conceal when she learns that her cousin has known of the will all along! He knew—and he did not tell her. Her crime had been in vain. Do you remember my saying it was unfortunate he didn’t tell her? Unfortunate for the poor Miss Wheeler. It meant her death sentence and all the good precautions she had taken, such as the will, were in vain.’

  ‘You mean the will—no, I don’t see.’

  ‘Why did she make that will? The incident of the dog’s ball, mon ami.

  ‘Imagine, Hastings, that you wish to cause the death of an old lady. You devise a simple accident. The old lady, before now, has slipped over the dog’s ball. She moves about the house in the night. Bien, you place the dog’s ball on the top of the stairs and perhaps also you place a strong thread or fine string. The old lady trips and goes headlong with a scream. Everyone rushes out. You detach your broken string while everyone else is crowding round the old lady. When they come to look for the cause of the fall, they find—the dog’s ball where he so often left it.

  ‘But, Hastings, now we come to something else. Suppose the old lady earlier in the evening after playing with the dog, puts the ball away in its usual place, and the dog goes out— and stays out. That is what she learns from Miss Lawson on the following day. She realises that it cannot be the dog who left the ball at the top of the stairs. She suspects the truth—but she suspects the wrong person. She suspects her nephew, James Graham, whose personality is not of the most charming. What does she do? First she writes to me—to investigate the matter. Then she changes her will and tells James Graham that she has done so. She counts on his telling Mollie though it is James she suspects. They will know that her death will bring them nothing! C’est bien imaginé for an old lady.

  ‘And that, mon ami, was the meaning of her dying words. I comprehend well enough the English to know that it is a door that is ajar, not a picture. The old lady is trying to tell Ellen of her suspicions. The dog—the picture above the jar on the mantelpiece with its subject—‘Out all night’ and the ball put away in the jar. That is the only ground for suspicion she has. She probably thinks her illness is natural—but at the last minute has an intuition that it is not.’

  He was silent for a moment or two.

  ‘Ah! if only she had posted that letter. I could have saved her. Now—’

  He took up a pen and drew some notepaper towards him.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I am going to write a full and explicit account of what happened and post it to Miss Mollie Davidson with a hint that an exhumation will be applied for.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘If she is innocent—nothing—’ said Poirot gravely. ‘If she is not innocent—we shall see.’

  viii

  Two days later there was a notice in the paper stating that a Miss Mollie Davidson had died of an overdose of sleeping draught. I was rather horrified.[20] Poirot was quite composed.

  ‘But no, it has all arranged itself very happily. No ugly scandal and trial for murder—Miss Wheeler she would not want that. She would have desired the privacy. On the other hand one must not leave a murderess—what do you say?—at loose. Or sooner or later, there will be another murder. Always a murderer repeats his crime. No,’ he went on dreamily ‘it has all arranged itself very well. It only remains to work upon the feelings of Miss Lawson—a task which Miss Davidson was attempting very successfully—until she reaches the pitch of handing over half her fortune to Mr James Graham who is, after all, entitled to the money. Since he was deprived of it under a misapprehension.’

  He drew from his pocket the brightly coloured rubber ball.

  ‘Shall we send this to our friend Bob? Or shall we keep it on the mantelpiece? It is a reminder, n’est ce pas, mon ami, that nothing is too trivial to be neglected? At one end, Murder, at the other only—the incident of the dog’s ball…’

  Select Bibliography

  Of the many books written about Agatha Christie, the following have been most helpful:

  Barnard, Robert, A Talent to Deceive (1980)

  Campbell, Mark, The Pocket Essentials Guide to Agatha Christie (2006)

  Morgan, Janet, Agatha Christie (1984)

  Osborne, Charles, The Life and Crimes of Agatha Christie (1982)

  Sanders, Dennis and Lovallo, Len, The Agatha Christie Companion (1984)

  Sova, Dawn B., Agatha Christie A to Z (1996)

  Thompson, Laura, Agatha Christie, An English Mystery (2007)

  Toye, Randall, The Agatha Christie Who’s Who (1980)

&nbs
p; Index of Titles

  The pagination of this electronic edition does not match the edition from which it was created. To locate a specific passage, please use the search feature of your e-book reader.

  The A.B.C. Murders

  ‘Accident’

  ‘The Adventure of the Baghdad Chest’

  ‘The Adventure of the Cheap Flat’

  The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding

  ‘The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding’

  ‘The Adventure of the Clapham Cook’

  ‘The Adventure of the Egyptian Tomb’

  ‘The Affair at the Bungalow’

  After the Funeral

  Afternoon at the Seaside (play)

  Akhnaton (play)

  And Then There Were None, see Ten Little Niggers

  ‘The Apples of the Hesperides’

  Appointment with Death

  Appointment with Death (play)

  ‘The Arcadian Deer’

  At Bertram’s Hotel

  ‘The Augean Stables’

  An Autobiography

  Behind the Screen

  The Big Four

  ‘The Bird with the Broken Wing’

  Black Coffee (play)

  ‘Blindman’s Buff’

  ‘The Blue Geranium’

  The Body in the Library

  The Burden

  Butter in a Lordly Dish (play)

  By the Pricking of my Thumbs

  ‘The Capture of Cerberus’

  Cards on the Table

  A Caribbean Mystery

  ‘The Case of the Caretaker’

  ‘The Case of the Distressed Lady’

  ‘The Case of the Missing Will’

  ‘The Case of the Perfect Maid’

  ‘The Case of the Regular Customer’, see ‘Four and Twenty Blackbirds’

  Cat among the Pigeons

  Chimneys (play)

  ‘Christmas Adventure’

  ‘A Christmas Tragedy’

  ‘The Clergyman’s Daughter’

  The Clocks

  ‘The Companion’

  ‘The Cornish Mystery’

  Cover Her Face, see Sleeping Murder

  ‘The Cretan Bull’