Death in the Clouds (Hercule Poirot 12) - Page 78
‘And yet you said at the inquest that you had never seen the woman before?’
‘Well, naturally, what else could I say?’
Poirot looked at her thoughtfully.
‘You, Madame, could say nothing else.’
‘It’s been too ghastly—nothing but lies—lies—lies. That dreadful inspector man has been here again and again badgering me with questions. But I felt pretty safe. I could see he was only trying it on. He didn’t know anything.’
‘If one does guess, one should guess with assurance.’
‘And then,’ continued Cicely, pursuing her own line of thought, ‘I couldn’t help feeling that if anything were to leak out, it would have leaked out at once. I felt safe—till that awful letter yesterday.’
‘You have not been afraid all this time?’
‘Of course I’ve been afraid!’
‘But of what? Of exposure, or of being arrested for murder?’
The colour ebbed away from her cheeks.
‘Murder—but I didn’t—Oh, you don’t believe that! I didn’t kill her. I didn’t!’
‘You wanted her dead…’
‘Yes, but I didn’t kill her…Oh, you must believe me—you must. I never moved from my seat. I—’
She broke off. Her beautiful blue eyes were fixed on him imploringly.
Hercule Poirot nodded soothingly.
‘I believe you, Madame, for two reasons—first, because of your sex, and secondly because of—a wasp.’
She stared at him.
‘A wasp?’
‘Exactly. That does not make sense to you, I see. Now, then, let us attend to the matter in hand. I will deal with this Mr Robinson. I pledge you my word that you shall never see or hear of him again. I will settle his—his—I have forgotten the word—his bacon? No, his goat. Now in return for my services I will ask you two little questions. Was Mr Barraclough in Paris the day before the murder?’
‘Yes, we dined together. But he thought it better I should go and see the woman alone.’
‘Ah, he did, did he? Now, Madame, one further question: Your stage name before you were married was Cicely Bland. Was that your real name?’
‘No, my real name is Martha Jebb. But the other—’
‘Made a better professional name. And you were born—where?’
‘Doncaster. But why—’
‘Mere curiosity. Forgive me. And now, Lady Horbury, will you permit me to give you some advice? Why not arrange with your husband a discreet divorce?’
‘And let him marry that woman?’
‘And let him marry that woman. You have a generous heart, Madame; and besides, you will be safe—oh, so safe—and your husband he will pay you an income.’
‘Not a very large one.’
‘Eh bien, once you are free you will marry a millionaire.’
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