‘But that’s not your idea? Come, Mr Poirot, what is your idea?’
Poirot said:
‘I go back always to the same thing: the character of the dead man. What manner of a man was Simeon Lee?’
‘There isn’t much mystery about that,’ said Sugden, staring.
‘Tell me, then. That is to say, tell me from the local point of view what was known of the man.’
Superintendent Sugden drew a doubtful finger along his jawbone. He looked perplexed. He said:
‘I’m not a local man myself. I come from Reeveshire, over the border—next county. But of course old Mr Lee was a well-known figure in these parts. I know all about him by hearsay.’
‘Yes? And that hearsay was—what?’
Sugden said:
‘Well, he was a sharp customer; there weren’t many who could get the better of him. But he was generous with his money. Openhanded as they make ’em. Beats me how Mr George Lee can be the exact opposite, and be his father’s son.’
‘Ah! But there are two distinct strains in the family. Alfred, George, and David resemble—superficially at least—their mother’s side of the family. I have been looking at some portraits in the gallery this morning.’
‘He was hot-tempered,’ continued Superintendent Sugden, ‘and of course he had a bad reputation with women—that was in his younger days. He’s been an invalid for many years now. But even there he always behaved generously. If there was trouble, he always paid up handsomely and got the girl married off as often as not. He may have been a bad lot, but he wasn’t mean. He treated his wife badly, ran after other women, and neglected her. She died of a broken heart, so they say. It’s a convenient term, but I believe she was really very unhappy, poor lady. She was always sickly and never went about much. There’s no doubt that Mr Lee was an odd character. Had a revengeful streak in him, too. If anyone did him a nasty turn he always paid it back, so they say, and didn’t mind how long he had to wait to do it.’
‘The mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small,’ murmured Poirot.
Superintendent Sugden said heavily:
‘Mills of the devil, more likely! Nothing saintly about Simeon Lee. The kind of man you might say had sold his soul to the devil and enjoyed the bargain! And he was proud, too, proud as Lucifer.’
‘Proud as Lucifer!’ said Poirot. ‘It is suggestive, what you say there.’
Superintendent Sugden said, looking puzzled:
‘You don’t mean that he was murdered because he was proud?’
‘I mean,’ said Poirot, ‘that there is such a thing as inheritance. Simeon Lee transmitted that pride to his sons—’
He broke off. Hilda Lee had come out of the house and was standing looking along the terrace.
III
‘I wanted to find you, M. Poirot.’
Superintendent Sugden had excused himself and gone back into the house. Looking after him, Hilda said:
‘I didn’t know he was with you. I thought he was with Pilar. He seems a nice man, quite considerate.’
Her
voice was pleasant, a low, soothing cadence to it.
Poirot asked:
‘You wanted to see me, you say?’
She inclined her head.
‘Yes. I think you can help me.’