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Murder at Grey Gables
14 Sep 2001
by Nia Nye
Part Two
Poirot leant back, relishing the effect that his words had had upon the assembled group.
The faces before him were mute, aghast, all except for one face, where for a fleeting moment he had glimpsed... what? Triumph? Satisfaction? The look had confirmed his suspicions, but they had scarcely needed to be confirmed, after all it was he, Poirot, who had solved the case. Now there remained only the tiresome business of proof...
Suddenly a voice broke across his meditation. "Now look here, Porrett," expostulated an elderly gentleman with a strong Midlands accent. "Murder? You can't go making accusations like that. This is a respectable hotel, I won't have you spreading such allegations!"
"As your famous Shakespeare has it 'Murder will out', M. Woolley," replied Poirot calmly. "The experts of Inspector Japp, here, they have examined the body - there is no question about it. M. Crawford, he was poisoned!"
"Poisoned!" Mr. Woolley's face drained of all colour, "at my hotel? I'm ruined, ruined!" He clutched at his chest. "Peggy! My medicine!" "Right here, Jack," responded his wife, opening her handbag and rapidly extracting a small white tablet which her husband placed under his tongue. She scowled at the detective. "Really, Mr. Poirot. You must not make such ridiculous allegations. My husband's heart..."
"Madame Woolley," said Poirot calmly, "whether we like it or no, M. Crawford was indeed murdered, and it is in the interests of M. Woolley, indeed of all of us, to find out exactly who was responsible as soon as possible. Allons-y, let us then begin."
He walked toward Brian Aldridge, who was gazing at him with barely disguised contempt. "Let us start with you, M. Aldridge. Where were you on Thursday around lunchtime?"
"This is monstrous, quite monstrous!" spluttered Brian. "I will not be accused by this ridiculous popinjay..." "He hasn't actually accused you yet, darling," interrupted the attractive early middle-aged lady sitting near him on the chaise longue. "He hasn't really accused anyone."
"That is correct, Mme Aldridge," smiled M. Poirot, acknowledging her comment with a flourish. "I have not accused either yourself or your husband of this crime, even though you had possibly the strongest motive to kill him, after what his company had done to your farm."
He turned to face Brian again, "You need not answer my previous question, M. Aldridge. I know exactly where you and Mme. were on Thursday lunchtime. M. Japp?"
The policeman, who had hitherto stood unmoving at the door, consulted a small notebook. "Between 11 am and 2 pm, Mr. and Mrs. Aldridge were having drinks at the Bull public house in Ambridge. They were observed by several witnesses."
Poirot turned to face the couple. "So it was not you. But who, then, was it..."
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