Sad Cypress (Hercule Poirot 22)

“I am staying at the moment with my sister. Is there anything I can do for you up at the house, Miss Elinor? I could come up there with you, if you like.”

“No, thank you.”

Elinor spoke quickly, rather abruptly.

Mrs. Bishop said:

“It would be no trouble, I assure you—a pleasure. Such a melancholy task going through all dear Mrs. Welman’s things.”

Elinor said:

“Thank you, Mrs. Bishop, but I would rather tackle it alone. One can do some things better alone—”

Mrs. Bishop said stiffly:

“As you please, of course.”

She went on:

“That daughter of Gerrard’s is down here. The funeral was yesterday. She’s staying with Nurse Hopkins. I did hear they were going up to the Lodge this morning.”

Elinor nodded. She said:

“Yes, I asked Mary to come down and see to that. Major Somervell wants to get in as soon as possible.”

“I see.”

Elinor said:

“Well, I must be getting on now. So glad to have seen you, Mrs. Bishop. I’ll remember about the secretaire and the chairs.”

She shook hands and passed on.

She went into the baker’s and bought a loaf of bread. Then she went into the dairy and bought half a pound of butter and some milk.

Finally she went into the grocer’s.

“I want some paste for sandwiches, please.”

“Certainly, Miss Carlisle.” Mr. Abbott himself bustled forward, elbowing aside his junior apprentice.

“What would you like? Salmon and shrimp? Turkey and tongue? Salmon and sardine? Ham and tongue?”

He whipped down pot after pot and arrayed them on the counter.

Elinor said with a faint smile:

“In spite of their names, I always think they taste much alike.”

Mr. Abbott agreed instantly.

“Well, perhaps they do, in a way. Yes, in a way. But, of course, they’re very tasty—very tasty.”

Elinor said:

“One used to be rather afraid of eating fish pastes. There have been cases of ptomaine poisoning from them, haven’t there?”

Mr. Abbot put on a horrified expression.