Murder in the Mews

‘I wouldn’t say that. She is not the type of young woman I admire. That sarcastic, independent type is not attractive to me, but I should say she was quite truthful.’

‘H’m,’ said Japp. ‘Do you know a Major Eustace?’

‘Eustace? Eustace? Ah, yes, I remember the name. I met him once at Barbara’s—Mrs Allen’s. Rather a doubtful customer in my opinion. I said as much to my—to Mrs Allen. He wasn’t the type of man I should have encouraged to come to the house after we were married.’

‘And what did Mrs Allen say?’

‘Oh! she quite agreed. She trusted my judgment implicitly. A man knows other men better than a woman can do. She explained that she couldn’t very well be rude to a man whom she had not seen for some time—I think she felt especially a horror of being snobbish! Naturally, as my wife, she would find a good many of her old associates well—unsuitable, shall we say?’

‘Meaning that in marrying you she was bettering her position?’ Japp asked bluntly.

Laverton-West held up a well-manicured hand.

‘No, no, not quite that. As a matter of fact, Mrs Allen’s mother was a distant relation of my own family. She was fully my equal in birth. But of course, in my position, I have to be especially careful in choosing my friends—and my wife in choosing hers. One is to a certain extent in the limelight.’

‘Oh, quite,’ said Japp dryly. He went on, ‘So you can’t help us in any way?’

‘No indeed. I am utterly at sea. Barbara! Murdered! It seems incredible.’

‘Now, Mr Laverton-West, can you tell me what your own movements were on the night of November fifth?’

‘My movements? My movements?’

Laverton-West’s voice rose in shrill protest.

‘Purely a matter of routine,’ explained Japp. ‘We—er—have to ask everybody.’

Charles Laverton-West looked at him with dignity.

‘I should hope that a man in my position might be exempt.’

Japp merely waited.

‘I was—now let me see … Ah, yes. I was at the House. Left at half-past ten. Went for a walk along the Embankment. Watched some of the fireworks.’

‘Nice to think there aren’t any plots of that kind nowadays,’ said Japp cheerily.

Laverton-West gave him a fish-like stare.

‘Then I—er—walked home.’

‘Reaching home—your London address is Onslow Square, I think—at what time?’

‘I hardly know exactly.’

‘Eleven? Half-past?’

‘Somewhere about then.’

‘Perhaps someone let you in.’

‘No, I have my key.’

‘Meet anybody whilst you were walking?’

‘No—er—really, Chief Inspector, I resent these questions very much!’

‘I assure you, it’s just a matter of routine, Mr Laverton-West. They aren’t personal, you know.’

The reply seemed to soothe the irate M.P.

‘If that is all—’

‘That is all for the present, Mr Laverton-West.’

‘You will keep me informed—’

‘Naturally, sir. By the way, let me introduce M. Hercule Poirot. You may have heard of him.’

Mr Laverton-West’s eye fastened itself interestedly on the little Belgian.

‘Yes—yes—I have heard the name.’

‘Monsieur,’ said Poirot, his manner suddenly very foreign. ‘Believe me, my heart bleeds for you. Such a loss! Such agony as you must be enduring! Ah, but I will say no more. How magnificently the English hide their emotions.’ He whipped out his cigarette case. ‘Permit me—Ah, it is empty. Japp?’

Japp slapped his pockets and shook his head.

Laverton-West produced his own cigarette case, murmured, ‘Er—have one of mine, M. Poirot.’

‘Thank you—thank you.’ The little man helped himself.

‘As you say, M. Poirot,’ resumed the other, ‘we English do not parade our emotions. A stiff upper lip—that is our motto.’

He bowed to the two men and went out.

‘Bit of a stuffed fish,’ said Japp disgustedly. ‘And a boiled owl! The Plenderleith girl was quite right about him. Yet he’s a good-looking sort of chap—might go down well with some woman who had no sense of humour. What about that cigarette?’

Poirot handed it over, shaking his head.

‘Egyptian. An expensive variety.’

‘No, that’s no good. A pity, for I’ve never heard a weaker alibi! In fact, it wasn’t an alibi at all … You know, Poirot, it’s a pity the boot wasn’t on the other leg. If she’d been blackmailing him … He’s a lovely type for blackmail—would pay out like a lamb! Anything to avoid a scandal.’

‘My friend, it is very pretty to reconstruct the case as you would like it to be, but that is not strictly our affair.’

‘No, Eustace is our affair. I’ve got a few lines on him. Definitely a nasty fellow.’

‘By the way, did you do as I suggested about Miss Plenderleith?’