Mr. Satterthwaite opened his lips impulsively, then met the gentle quizzical gaze of Poirot’s shining green eyes, and altered what he had been about to say.
“I wonder - perhaps, M. Poirot, you are right - unconsciously that may be true.”
“I would like to ask you something, Mr. Satterthwaite.”
“Certainly - certainly,” Mr. Satterthwaite answered complacently.
“From what you have told me, I gather that Sir Charles and Miss Lytton Gore went together to interview Mrs. Babbington.”
“Yes.”
“You did not accompany them?”
“No. three would have been rather a crowd.”
Poirot smiled.
“And also, perhaps, your inclinations led you elsewhere.
You had, as they say, different fish to fry.
Where did you go, Mr. Satterthwaite?”
“I had tea with Lady Mary Lytton Gore,” said Mr. Satterthwaite stiffly.
“And what did you talk about?”
“She was so good as to confide in me some of the troubles of her early married life.” He repeated the substances of Lady Mary’s story.
Poirot nodded his head sympathetically.
“That is so true to life - the idealistic young girl who marries the bad hat and will listen to nobody.
But did you talk of nothing else?
Did you, for instance, not speak of Mr. Oliver Manders?”
“As a matter of fact we did.”
“And you leant about him - what?”
Mr. Satterthwaite repeated what Lady Mary had told him.
Then he said: “What made you think we had talked of him?”
“Because you went there for that reason.
Oh, yes, do not protest.
You may hope that Mrs. Dacres or her husband committed the crime, but you think that young Manders did.” He stilled Mr. Satterthwaite’s protests. “Yes, yes, you have the secretive nature. You have your ideas, but you like keeping them to yourself.
I have sympathy with you. I do the same myself ... ”
“I don’t suspect him - that’s absurd.
But I just want to know more about him.”
“That is as I say.
He is your instinctive choice.
I, too, am interested in that young man. I was interested in him on the night of the dinner here, because I saw - ”
“What did you see?” asked Mr. Satterthwaite eagerly.
“I saw that there were two people at least (perhaps more) who were playing a part.
One was Sir Charles.” He smiled. “He was playing the naval officer, am I not right?
That is quite natural.
A great actor does not cease to act because he is not on the stage any more.
But young Manders, he too was acting. He was playing the part of the bored and blase young man - but in reality he was neither bored nor blase - he was very keenly alive.
And therefore, my friend, I noticed him.”
“How did you know I’d been wondering about him?”
“In many little ways.
You have been interested in that accident of his that brought him to Melfort Abbey that night.
You had not gone with Sir Charles and Miss Lytton Gore to see Mrs. Babbington.
Why?
Because you wanted to follow out some line of your own unobserved.
You went to Lady Mary’s to find out about someone.
Who?
It could only be someone local. Oliver Manders.
And then, most characteristic, you put his name at the bottom of the list.
Who are really the least likely suspects in you mind - Lady Mary and Mademoiselle Egg - but you put his name after theirs, because he is your dark horse, and you want to keep him to yourself.”