Lord Edgware Dies Page 0,38

Questions
'Why did you ask Miss Carroll about the possibility of Lord Edgware's wanting to marry again?' I asked with some curiosity as we were driving home.

'It just occurred to me that there was a possibility of such a thing, mon ami.'

'Why?'

'I have been searching in my mind for something to explain Lord Edgware's sudden volte face regarding the matter of divorce. There is something curious there, my friend.'

'Yes,' I said thoughtfully. 'It is rather odd.'

'You see, Hastings, Lord Edgware confirmed what Madame had told us. She had employed the lawyers of all kinds, but he refused to budge an inch. No, he would not agree to the divorce. And then, all of a sudden, he yields!'

'Or so he says,' I reminded him.

'Very true, Hastings. It is very just, the observation you make there. So he says. We have no proof, whatever, that that letter was written. Eh bien, on one part, ce Monsieur is lying. For some reason he tells us the fabrication, the embroidery. Is it not so? Why, we do not know. But, on the hypothesis that he did write that letter, there must have been a reason for so doing. Now the reason that presents itself most naturally to the imagination is that he has suddenly met someone whom he desires to marry. That explains perfectly his sudden change of face. And so, naturally, I make the inquiries.'

'Miss Carroll turned the idea down very decisively,' I said.

'Yes. Miss Carroll...' said Poirot in a meditative voice.

'Now what are you driving at?' I asked in exasperation.

Poirot is an adept at suggesting doubts by the tone of his voice.

'What reason should she have for lying about it?' I asked.

'Aucune - aucune.'

'But, you see, Hastings, it is difficult to trust her evidence.'

'You think she's lying? But why? She looks a most upright person.'

'That is just it. Between the deliberate falsehood and the disinterested inaccuracy it is very hard to distinguish sometimes.'

'What do you mean?'

'To deceive deliberately - that is one thing. But to be so sure of your facts, of your ideas and of their essential truth that the details do not matter - that, my friend, is a special characteristic of particularly honest persons. Already, mark you, she has told us one lie. She said she saw Jane Wilkinson's face when she could not possibly have done so. Now how did that come about? Look at it this way. She looks down and sees Jane Wilkinson in the hall. No doubt enters her head that it is Jane Wilkinson. She knows it is. She says she saw her face distinctly because - being so sure of her facts - exact details do not matter! It is pointed out to her that she could not have seen her face. Is that so? Well, what does it matter if she saw her face or not - it was Jane Wilkinson. And so with any other question. She knows. And so she answers questions in the light of her knowledge, not by reason of remembered facts. The positive witness should always be treated with suspicion, my friend. The uncertain witness who doesn't remember, isn't sure, will think a minute - ah! yes, that's how it was - is infinitely more to be depended upon!'

'Dear me, Poirot,' I said. 'You upset all my preconceived ideas about witnesses.'

'In reply to my question as to Lord Edgware's marrying again she ridicules the idea - simply because it has never occurred to her. She will not take the trouble to remember whether any infinitesimal signs may have pointed that way. Therefore we are exactly where we were before.'

'She certainly did not seem at all taken aback when you pointed out she could not have seen Jane Wilkinson's face,' I remarked thoughtfully.

'No. That is why I decided that she was one of those honestly inaccurate persons, rather than a deliberate liar. I can see no motive for deliberate lying unless - true, that is an idea!'

'What is?' I asked eagerly.

But Poirot shook his head.

'An idea suggested itself to me. But it is too impossible - yes, much too impossible.'

And he refused to say more.

'She seems very fond of the girl,' I said.

'Yes. She certainly was determined to assist at our interview. What was your impression of the Honourable Geraldine Marsh, Hastings?'

'I was sorry for her - deeply sorry for her.'

'You have always the tender heart, Hastings. Beauty in distress upsets you every time.'

'Didn't you feel the same?'

He nodded gravely.

'Yes - she has not had a happy life. That