Wanted to see the fur fly when I blew in unexpectedly! That’s why he talked about altering his will, too.’
Poirot stirred softly. He murmured:
‘So your father mentioned his will?’
‘Yes—in front of the whole lot of us, watching us like a cat to see how we reacted. Just told the lawyer chap to come over and see him about it after Christmas.’
Poirot asked:
‘What changes did he contemplate making?’
Harry Lee grinned:
‘He didn’t tell us that! Trust the old fox! I imagine—or shall we say I hoped—that the change was to the advantage of your humble servant! I should imagine I’d been cut out of any former wills. Now, I rather fancy, I was to go back. Nasty blow for the others. Pilar, too—he’d taken a fancy to her. She was in for something good, I should imagine. You haven’t seen her yet? My Spanish niece. She’s a beautiful creature, Pilar—with the lovely warmth of the South—and its cruelty. Wish I wasn’t a mere uncle!’
‘You say your father took to her?’
Harry nodded.
‘She knew how to get round the old man. Sat up there with him a good deal. I bet she knew just what she was after! Well, he’s dead now. No wills can be altered in Pilar’s favour—nor mine either, worse luck.’
He frowned, paused a minute, and then went on with a change of tone.
‘But I’m wandering from the point. You wanted to know what was the last time I saw my father? As I’ve told you, it was after tea—might have been a little past six. The old man was in good spirits then—a bit tired, perhaps. I went away and left him with Horbury. I never saw him again.’
‘Where were you at the time of his death?’
‘In the dining-room with brother Alfred. Not a very harmonious after-dinner session. We were in the middle of a pretty sharp argument when we heard the noise overhead. Sounded as though ten men were wrestling up there. And then poor old Father screamed. It was like killing a pig. The sound of it paralysed Alfred. He just sat there with his jaw dropping. I fairly shook him back to life, and we started off upstairs. The door was locked. Had to break it open. Took some doing, too. How the devil that door came to be locked, I can’t imagine! There was no one in the room but Father, and I’m damned if anyone could have got away through the windows.’
Superintendent Sugden said:
‘The door was locked from the outside.’
‘What?’ Harry stared. ‘But I’ll swear the key was on the inside.’
Poirot murmured:
‘So you noticed that?’
Harry Lee said sharply:
‘I do notice things. It’s a habit of mine.’
He looked sharply from one face to the other.
‘Is there anything more you want to know, gentlemen?’
Johnson shook his head.
‘Thank you, Mr Lee, not for the moment. Perhaps you will ask the next member of the family to come along?’
‘Certainly I will.’
He walked to the door and went out without looking back.
The three men looked at each other.
Colonel Johnson said:
‘What about it, Sugden?’
The superintendent shook his head doubtfully. He said:
‘He’s afraid of something. I wonder why?…’
Hercule Poirot's Christmas
XI
Magdalene Lee paused effectively in the doorway. One long slender hand touched the burnished platinum sheen of her hair. The leaf-green velvet frock she wore clung to the delicate lines of her figure. She looked very young and a little frightened.
The three men were arrested for a moment looking at her. Johnson’s eyes showed a sudden surprised admiration. Superintendent Sugden’s showed no animation, merely the impatience of a man anxious to get on with his job. Hercule Poirot’s eyes were deeply appreciative (as she saw) but the appreciation was not for her beauty, but for the effective use she made of it. She did not know that he was thinking to himself:
‘Jolie mannequin, la petite. Mais elle a les yeux durs.’
Colonel Johnson was thinking:
‘Damned good-looking girl. George Lee will have trouble with her if he
Poirot stirred softly. He murmured:
‘So your father mentioned his will?’
‘Yes—in front of the whole lot of us, watching us like a cat to see how we reacted. Just told the lawyer chap to come over and see him about it after Christmas.’
Poirot asked:
‘What changes did he contemplate making?’
Harry Lee grinned:
‘He didn’t tell us that! Trust the old fox! I imagine—or shall we say I hoped—that the change was to the advantage of your humble servant! I should imagine I’d been cut out of any former wills. Now, I rather fancy, I was to go back. Nasty blow for the others. Pilar, too—he’d taken a fancy to her. She was in for something good, I should imagine. You haven’t seen her yet? My Spanish niece. She’s a beautiful creature, Pilar—with the lovely warmth of the South—and its cruelty. Wish I wasn’t a mere uncle!’
‘You say your father took to her?’
Harry nodded.
‘She knew how to get round the old man. Sat up there with him a good deal. I bet she knew just what she was after! Well, he’s dead now. No wills can be altered in Pilar’s favour—nor mine either, worse luck.’
He frowned, paused a minute, and then went on with a change of tone.
‘But I’m wandering from the point. You wanted to know what was the last time I saw my father? As I’ve told you, it was after tea—might have been a little past six. The old man was in good spirits then—a bit tired, perhaps. I went away and left him with Horbury. I never saw him again.’
‘Where were you at the time of his death?’
‘In the dining-room with brother Alfred. Not a very harmonious after-dinner session. We were in the middle of a pretty sharp argument when we heard the noise overhead. Sounded as though ten men were wrestling up there. And then poor old Father screamed. It was like killing a pig. The sound of it paralysed Alfred. He just sat there with his jaw dropping. I fairly shook him back to life, and we started off upstairs. The door was locked. Had to break it open. Took some doing, too. How the devil that door came to be locked, I can’t imagine! There was no one in the room but Father, and I’m damned if anyone could have got away through the windows.’
Superintendent Sugden said:
‘The door was locked from the outside.’
‘What?’ Harry stared. ‘But I’ll swear the key was on the inside.’
Poirot murmured:
‘So you noticed that?’
Harry Lee said sharply:
‘I do notice things. It’s a habit of mine.’
He looked sharply from one face to the other.
‘Is there anything more you want to know, gentlemen?’
Johnson shook his head.
‘Thank you, Mr Lee, not for the moment. Perhaps you will ask the next member of the family to come along?’
‘Certainly I will.’
He walked to the door and went out without looking back.
The three men looked at each other.
Colonel Johnson said:
‘What about it, Sugden?’
The superintendent shook his head doubtfully. He said:
‘He’s afraid of something. I wonder why?…’
Hercule Poirot's Christmas
XI
Magdalene Lee paused effectively in the doorway. One long slender hand touched the burnished platinum sheen of her hair. The leaf-green velvet frock she wore clung to the delicate lines of her figure. She looked very young and a little frightened.
The three men were arrested for a moment looking at her. Johnson’s eyes showed a sudden surprised admiration. Superintendent Sugden’s showed no animation, merely the impatience of a man anxious to get on with his job. Hercule Poirot’s eyes were deeply appreciative (as she saw) but the appreciation was not for her beauty, but for the effective use she made of it. She did not know that he was thinking to himself:
‘Jolie mannequin, la petite. Mais elle a les yeux durs.’
Colonel Johnson was thinking:
‘Damned good-looking girl. George Lee will have trouble with her if he
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