Lord Edgware Dies Page 0,42

I trod down such heretical sentiments.

'What is money, after all?' murmured Mrs Widburn.

'Ah!' said Mr Widburn thoughtfully, and rattled some coins absent-mindedly in his trouser pocket.

'Charles,' said Mrs Widburn reproachfully.

'Sorry,' said Mr Widburn and stopped.

'To speak of crime in such an atmosphere, is, I feel, unpardonable,' began Poirot apologetically.

'Not at all.' Sir Montagu waved a gracious hand. 'A crime can be a work of art. A detective can be an artist. I do not refer, of course, to the police. An inspector has been here today. A curious person. He had never heard of Benvenuto Cellini, for instance.'

'He came about Jane Wilkinson, I suppose,' said Mrs Widburn with instant curiosity.

'It was fortunate for the lady that she was at your house last night,' said Poirot.

'So it seems,' said Sir Montagu. 'I asked her here knowing that she was beautiful and talented and hoping that I might be able to be of use to her. She was thinking of going into management. But it seems that I was fated to be of use to her in a very different way.'

'Jane's got luck,' said Mrs Widburn. 'She's been dying to get rid of Edgware and here's somebody gone and saved her the trouble. She'll marry the young Duke of Merton now. Everyone says so. His mother's wild about it.'

'I was favourably impressed by her,' said Sir Montagu graciously. 'She made several most intelligent remarks about Greek art.'

I smiled to myself picturing Jane saying 'Yes' and 'No', 'Really, how wonderful', in her magical husky voice. Sir Montagu was the type of man to whom intelligence consisted of the faculty of listening to his own remarks with suitable attention.

'Edgware was a queer fish, by all accounts,' said Widburn. 'I daresay he's got a good few enemies.'

'Is it true, M. Poirot,' asked Mrs Widburn, 'that somebody ran a penknife into the back of his brain?'

'Perfectly true, Madame. It was very neatly and efficiently done - scientific, in fact.'

'I note your artistic pleasure, M. Poirot,' said Sir Montagu.

'And now,' said Poirot, 'let me come to the object of my visit. Lady Edgware was called to the telephone when she was here at dinner. It is about that telephone call that I seek information. Perhaps you will allow me to question your domestics on the subject?'

'Certainly. Certainly. Just press that bell, will you, Ross.'

The butler answered the bell. He was a tall middle-aged man of ecclesiastical appearance.

Sir Montagu explained what was wanted. The butler turned to Poirot with polite attention.

'Who answered the telephone when it rang?' began Poirot.

'I answered it myself, sir. The telephone is in a recess leading out of the hall.'

'Did the person calling ask to speak to Lady Edgware or to Miss Jane Wilkinson?'

'To Lady Edgware, sir.'

'What did they say exactly?'

The butler reflected for a moment.

'As far as I remember, sir, I said "Hello". A voice then asked if I was Chiswick 43434. I replied that that was so. It then asked me to hold the line. Another voice then asked if that was Chiswick 43434 and on my replying "Yes" it said, "Is Lady Edgware dining there?" I said her ladyship was dining here. The voice said, "I would like to speak to her, please." I went and informed her ladyship who was at the dinner table. Her ladyship rose, and I showed her where the 'phone was.'

'And then?'

'Her ladyship picked up the receiver and said: "Hello - who's speaking?" Then she said: "Yes - that's all right. Lady Edgware speaking." I was just about to leave her ladyship when she called to me and said they had been cut off. She said someone had laughed and evidently hung up the receiver. She asked me if the person ringing up had given any name. They had not done so. That was all that occurred, sir.'

Poirot frowned to himself.

'Do you really think the telephone call has something to do with the murder, M. Poirot?' asked Mrs Widburn.

'Impossible to say, Madame. It is just a curious circumstance.'

'People do ring up for a joke sometimes. It's been done to me.'

'C'est toujours possible, Madame.'

He spoke to the butler again.

'Was it a man's voice or a woman's who rang up?'

'A lady's, I think, sir.'

'What kind of a voice, high or low?'

'Low, sir. Careful and rather distinct.' He paused. 'It may be my fancy, sir, but it sounded like a foreign voice. The R's were very noticeable.'

'As far as that goes it might have been a Scotch voice, Donald,' said Mrs Widburn, smiling at Ross.

Ross laughed.

'Not guilty,' he said.