One, Two, Buckle My Shoe (Hercule Poirot 23)
Page 41
“It mayn’t be important in the least—but I thought you ought to know.”
“Yes?”
“It was the last time Uncle Alistair went to the dentist’s—I don’t mean the other day—I mean about three months ago. I went with him to Queen Charlotte Street in the Rolls and it was to take me on to some friends in Regent’s Park and come back for him. We stopped at 58, and Uncle got out, and just as he did, a woman came out of 58—a middle-aged woman with fussy hair and rather arty clothes. She made a beeline for Uncle and said (Jane Olivera’s voice rose to an affected squeak): ‘Oh, Mr. Blunt, you don’t remember me, I’m sure!’ Well, of course, I could see by Uncle’s face that he didn’t remember her in the slightest—”
Alistair Blunt sighed.
“I never do. People are always saying it—”
“He put on his special face,” went on Jane. “I know it well. Kind of polite and make-believe. It wouldn’t deceive a baby. He said in a most unconvincing voice: ‘Oh—er—of course.’ The terrible woman went on: ‘I was a great friend of your wife’s, you know!’”
“They usually say that, too,” said Alistair Blunt in a voice of even deeper gloom.
He smiled rather ruefully.
“It always ends the same way! A subscription to something or other. I got off this time with five pounds to a Zenana Mission or something. Cheap!”
“Had she really known your wife?”
“Well, her being interested in Zenana Missions made me think that, if so, it would have been in India. We were there about ten years ago. But, of course, she couldn’t have been a great friend or I’d have known about it. Probably met her once at a reception.”
Jane Olivera said:
“I don’t believe she’d ever met Aunt Rebecca at all. I think it was just an excuse to speak to you.”
Alistair Blunt said tolerantly:
“Well, that’s quite possible.”
Jane said:
“I mean, I think it’s queer the way she tried to scrape an acquaintance with you, Uncle.”
Alistair Blunt said with the same tolerance:
“She just wanted a subscription.”
Poirot said:
“She did not try to follow it up in any way?”
Blunt shook his head.
“I never thought of her again. I’d even forgotten her name till Jane spotted it in the paper.”
Jane said a little unconvincingly:
“Well, I thought M. Poirot ought to be told!”
Poirot said politely:
“Thank you, Mademoiselle.”
He added:
“I must not keep you, Mr. Blunt. You are a busy man.”
Jane said quickly: