Oliver Manders leaned forward suddenly.
“I’m innocent, sir, absolutely innocent.”
“I haven’t suggested that you are guilty,” said Mr. Satterthwaite mildly. “But someone has - someone must have done.
Someone has put the police on to me.”
Mr. Satterthwaite shook his head.
“No, no.” “Then why did you come here today?”
“Partly as the result of my - er - investigations on the spot. Mr. Satterthwaite spoke a little pompously. And partly at the suggestion of - a friend.”
“What friend?”
“Hercule Poirot.”
“That man! The expression burst from Oliver.
Is he back in England?”
“Yes.”
“Why has he come back?”
Mr. Satterthwaite rose.
“Why does a dog go hunting?” he inquired. And, rather pleased with his retort, he left the room.
23
Sitting in a comfortable armchair in his slightly florid suite at the Ritz, Hercule Poirot listened.
Egg was perched on the arm of a chair, Sir Charles stood in front of the fireplace, Mr. Satterthwaite sat a little farther away observing the group.
“It’s failure all along the line,” said Egg.
Poirot shook his head gently.
“No, no, you exaggerate.
As regards a link with Mr. Babbington, you have drawn the blank - yes; but you have collected other suggestive information.”
“The Wills woman knows something,” said Sir Charles. “I’ll swear she knows something.” “And Captain Dacres, he too has not the clear conscience.
And Mrs. Dacres was desperately in want of money, and Sir Bartholomew spoilt her chance of laying hold of some.”
“What do you think of young Manders’s story?” asked Mr. Satterthwaite. “It strikes me as peculiar and as being highly uncharacteristic of the late Sir Bartholomew Strange.”
“You mean it’s a lie?” asked Sir Charles bluntly.
“There are so many kinds of lies,” said Hercule Poirot.
He was silent for a minute or two, then he said: “This Miss Wills, she has written a play for Miss Sutcliffe?”
“Yes.
The first night is Wednesday next.”
“Ah!” He was silent again.
Egg said: “Tell us: What shall we do now?”
The little man smiled at her.
“There is only one thing to do - think.”
“Think?” cried Egg. Her voice was disgusted.
Poirot beamed on her. “But yes, exactly that. Think!
With thought, all problems can be solved.”
“Can’t we do something?”
“For you the action, eh, mademoiselle?
But certainly, there are still things you can do.
There is, for instance, this place, Gilling, where Mr. Babbington lived for so many years. You can make inquiries there.
You say that this Miss Milray’s mother lives at Gilling and is an invalid.
An invalid knows everything. She hears everything and forgets nothing.
Make your inquiries of her, if may lead to something - who knows?”
“Aren’t you going to do anything?” demanded Egg persistently.
Poirot twinkled.
“You insist that I, too, shall be active?
Eh bien. It shall be as you wish.
Only me, I shall not leave this place. I am very comfortable here.
But I will tell you what I will do: I will give the party - the Sherry Party - that is fashionable, is it not?”