Hercule Poirot's Christmas: A Hercule Poirot Mystery (Hercule Poirot 20)

‘The same goes for you! What have you ever done? Whined to me for money from all over the world! I tell you I’m sick of the sight of you all! Get out!’

He leaned back in his chair, panting a little.

Slowly, one by one, his family went out. George was red and indignant. Magdalene looked frightened. David was pale and quivering. Harry blustered out of the room. Alfred went like a man in a dream. Lydia followed him with her head held high. Only Hilda paused in the doorway and came slowly back.

She stood over him, and he started when he opened his eyes and found her standing there. There was something menacing in the solid way she stood there quite immovably.

He said irritably: ‘What is it?’

Hilda said: ‘When your letter came I believed what you said—that you wanted your family round you for Christmas, I persuaded David to come.’

Simeon said: ‘Well, what of it?’

Hilda said slowly: ‘You did want your family round you—but not for the purpose you said! You wanted them there, didn’t you, in order to set them all by the ears? God help you, it’s your idea of fun!’

Simeon chuckled. He said: ‘I always had rather a specialized sense of humour. I don’t expect anyone else to appreciate the joke. I’m enjoying it!’

She said nothing. A vague feeling of apprehension came over Simeon Lee. He said sharply:

‘What are you thinking about?’

Hilda Lee said slowly: ‘I’m afraid…’

Simeon said: ‘You’re afraid—of me?’

Hilda said: ‘Not of you. I’m afraid—for you!’

Like a judge who has delivered sentence, she turned away. She marched, slowly and heavily, out of the room…

Simeon sat staring at the door.

Then he got to his feet and made his way over to the safe. He murmured: ‘Let’s have a look at my beauties.’

III

The doorbell rang about a quarter to eight.

Tressilian went to answer it. he returned to his pantry to find Horbury there, picking up the coffee-cups off the tray and looking at the mark on them.

‘Who was it?’ said Horbury.

‘Superintendent of Police—Mr Sugden—mind what you’re doing!’

Horbury had dropped one of the cups with a crash.

‘Look at that now,’ lamented Tressilian. ‘Eleven years I’ve had the washing up of those and never one broken, and now you come along touching things you’ve no business to touch, and look what happens!’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Tressilian. I am indeed,’ the other apologized. His face was covered with perspiration. ‘I don’t know how it happened. Did you say a Superintendent of Police had called?’

‘Yes—Mr Sugden.’

The valet passed a tongue over pal

e lips.

‘What—what did he want?’

‘Collecting for the Police Orphanage.’