Cards on the Table (Hercule Poirot 15) - Page 43

“Oh, I quite understand that the police won’t let it drop. They’ll probably come here and ask me a lot more questions. I’m prepared for that. But privately, I mean, I don’t want to think about it—or be reminded of it in any way. I daresay I’m a coward, but that’s how I feel about it.”

“Oh, Anne!” cried Rhoda Dawes.

“I can understand your feeling, but I’m not at all sure that you’re wise,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Left to themselves, the police will probably never find out the truth.”

Anne Meredith shrugged her shoulders.

“Does that really matter?”

“Matter?” cried Rhoda. “Of course it matters. It does matter, doesn’t it, Mrs. Oliver?”

“I should certainly say so,” said Mrs. Oliver dryly.

“I don’t agree,” said Anne obstinately. “Nobody who knows me would ever think I’d done it. I don’t see any reason for interfering. It’s the business of the police to get at the truth.”

“Oh, Anne, you are spiritless,” said Rhoda.

“That’s how I feel, anyway,” said Anne. She held out her hand. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Oliver. It’s very good of you to have bothered.”

“Of course, if you feel that way, there’s nothing more to be said,” said Mrs. Oliver cheerfully. “I, at any rate, shall not let the grass grow under my feet. Good-bye, my dear. Look me up in London if you change your mind.”

She climbed into the car, started it, and drove off, waving a cheerful hand at the two girls.

Rhoda suddenly made a dash after the car and leapt on the running board.

“What you said—about looking you up in London,” she said breathlessly. “Did you only mean Anne, or did you mean me, too?”

Mrs. Oliver applied the brake.

“I meant both of you, of course.”

“Oh, thank you. Don’t stop. I—perhaps I might come one day. There’s something—No, don’t stop. I can jump off.”

She did so and, waving a hand, ran back to the gate, where Anne was standing.

“What on earth—?” began Anne.

“Isn’t she a duck?” asked Rhoda enthusiastically. “I do like her. She had on odd stockings, did you notice? I’m sure she’s frightfully clever. She must be—to write all those books. What fun if she found out the truth when the police and everyone were baffled.”

“Why did she come here?” asked Anne.

Rhoda’s eyes opened wide.

“Darling—she told you—”

Anne made an impatient gesture.

“We must go in. I forgot. I’ve left him all alone.”

“Major Despard? Anne, he’s frightfully good-looking, isn’t he?”

“I suppose he is.”

They walked up the path together.

Major Despard was standing by the mantelpiece, teacup in hand.

He cut short Anne’s apologies for leaving him.

Tags: Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot Mystery
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