Murder in the Mews (Hercule Poirot 18)

“No.”

Poirot suddenly interposed a question:

“Sir Gervase was not, you think, worried about his daughter in any way?”

“His daughter?”

“That is what I said.”

“Not as far as I know,” said the young man stiffly.

Poirot said nothing further. Major Riddle said:

“Well, thank you, Lake. Perhaps you’d stay around in case I might want to ask you anything.”

“Certainly, sir.” He rose. “Anything I can do?”

“Yes, you might send the butler here. And perhaps you’d find out for me how Lady Chevenix-Gore is, and if I could have a few words with her presently, or if she’s too upset.”

The young man nodded and left the room with a quick, decisive step.

“An attractive personality,” said Hercule Poirot.

“Yes, nice fellow, and good at his job. Everyone likes him.”

Five

“Sit down, Snell,” said Major Riddle in a friendly tone. “I’ve a good many questions to ask you, and I expect this has been a shock to you.”

“Oh, it has indeed, sir. Thank you, sir.” Snell sat down with such a discreet air that it was practically the same as though he had remained on his feet.

“Been here a good long time, haven’t you?”

“Sixteen years, sir, ever since Sir Gervase—er—settled down, so to speak.”

“Ah, yes, of course, your master was a great traveller in his day.”

“Yes, sir. He went on an expedition to the Pole and many other interesting places.”

“Now, Snell, can you tell me when you last saw your master this evening?”

“I was in the dining room, sir, seeing that the table arrangements were all complete. The door into the hall was open, and I saw Sir Gervase come down the stairs, cross the hall and go along the passage to the study.”

“That was at what time?”

“Just before eight o’clock. It might have been as much as five minutes before eight.”

“And that was the last you saw of him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you hear a shot?”

“Oh, yes, indeed, sir; but of course I had no idea at the time—how should I have had?”

“What did you think it was?”

“I thought it was a car, sir. The road runs quite near the park wall. Or it might have been a shot in the woods—a poacher, perhaps. I never dreamed—”