Dumb Witness (Hercule Poirot 16)

“Yes, I—I meant to—”

“Eh bien, I am here, at your service.”

Mrs. Tanios did not respond. She sat quite still, twisting a ring round and round on her finger.

“Well, madame?”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I daren’t.”

“You daren’t, madame?”

“No. I—if he knew—he’d—Oh, something would happen to me!”

“Come, come, madame—that is absurd.”

“Oh, but it isn’t absurd—it isn’t absurd at all. You don’t know him….”

“By him, you mean your husband, madame?”

“Yes, of course.”

Poirot was silent a minute or two, then he said:

“Your husband came to see me yesterday, madame.”

A quick look of alarm sprang up in her face.

“Oh, no! You didn’t tell him—but of course you didn’t! You couldn’t. You didn’t know where I was. Did he—did he say I was mad?”

Poirot answered cautiously.

“He said that you were—highly nervous.”

But she shook her head, undeceived.

“No, he said that I was mad—or that I was going mad! He wants to shut me up so that I shan’t be able to tell anyone ever.”

“Tell anyone—what?”

But she shook her head. Twisting her fingers nervously round and round, she muttered:

“I’m afraid….”

“But madame, once you have told me—you are safe! The secret is out! That fact will protect you automatically.”

But she did not reply. She went on twisting—twisting at her ring.

“You must see that yourself,” said Poirot gently.

She gave a sort of gasp.

“How am I to know… Oh, dear, it’s terrible. He’s so plausible! And he’s a doctor! People will believe him and not me. I know they will. I should myself. Nobody will believe me. How could they?”

“You will not even give me the chance?”

She shot a troubled glance at him.