Hercule Poirot's Christmas: A Hercule Poirot Mystery (Hercule Poirot 20)

Through the frosted glass of the upper half of the door he saw a silhouette—a big man in a slouch hat. He opened the door. As he had thought—a cheap, flashy stranger—nasty pattern of suit he was wearing—loud! Some impudent begging fellow!

‘Blessed if it isn’t Tressilian,’ said the stranger. ‘How are you, Tressilian?’

Tressilian stared—took a deep breath—stared again. That bold arrogant jaw, the high-bridged nose, the rollicking eye. Yes, they had all been there three years ago. More subdued then…

He said with a gasp:

‘Mr Harry!’

Harry Lee laughed.

‘Looks as though I’d given you quite a shock. Why? I’m expected, aren’t I?’

‘Yes, indeed, sir. Certainly, sir.’

‘Then why the surprise act?’ Harry stepped back a foot or two and looked up at the house—a good solid mass of red brick, unimaginative but solid.

‘Just the same ugly old mansion,’ he remarked. ‘Still standing, though, that’s the main thing. How’s my father, Tressilian?’

‘He’s somewhat of an invalid, sir. Keeps his room, and can’t get about much. But he’s wonderfully well, considering.’

‘The old sinner!’

Harry Lee came inside, let Tressilian remove his scarf and take the somewhat theatrical hat.

‘How’s my dear brother Alfred, Tressilian?’

‘He’s very well, sir.’

Harry grinned.

‘Looking forward to seeing me? Eh?’

‘I expect so, sir.’

‘I don’t! Quite the contrary. I bet it’s given him a nasty jolt, my turning up! Alfred and I never did get on. Ever read your Bible, Tressilian?’

‘Why, yes, sir, sometimes, sir.’

‘Remember the tale of the prodigal’s return? The good brother didn’t like it, remember? Didn’t like it at all! Good old stay-at-home Alfred doesn’t like it either, I bet.’

Tressilian remained silent looking down his nose. His stiffened back expressed protest. Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

‘Lead on, old son,’ he said. ‘The fatted calf awaits me! Lead me right to it.’

Tressilian murmured:

‘If you will come this way into the drawing-room, sir. Iam not quite sure where everyone is…They were unable to send to meet you, sir, not knowing the time of your arrival.’

Harry nodded. He followed Tressilian along the hall, turning his head to look about him as he went.

‘All the old exhibits in their place, I see,’ he remarked. ‘I don’t believe anything has changed since I went away twenty years ago.’

He followed Tressilian into the drawing-room. The old man murmured:

‘I will see if I can find Mr or Mrs Alfred,’ and hurried out.

Harry Lee had marched into the room and had then stopped, staring at the figure who was seated on one of the window-sills. His eyes roamed incredulously over the black hair and the creamy exotic pallor.