I want you to make a new one for me.
There had been a third child, Nicholas, but he had died young.
I want to leave everything to my secretary, Joseph Scotcher, announced the clear-as-a-bell voice.
Gathercole sat forward in his chair.
It was pointless to make a run at push the unwelcome words away.
He had heard them, and could not pretend otherwise.
I am in my right mind and entirely serious, Michael.
Joseph Scotcher is to inherit everything.
But…what about your children?
I must appeal to you to think very carefully before
Lady Playford cut him off.
Do you imagine the idea first occurred to me as you knocked on the door a few minutes ago?
Or is it more likely that I have been ruminating on this for months?
The careful thought you urge upon me has taken place, I assure you.
Now: are you going to draw up my new will or must I call for Mr Rolfe?
Do Harry and Claudia know your intentions?
At present the only people who know are you and me.
Has there been a conflict within the family of which I am unaware?
I … but … you have known Joseph Scotcher a mere six years.
There is no need to tell me what I already know, Michael.
Whereas your children … Additionally, my understanding was that Joseph Scotcher …
Speak, dear man.
Is Scotcher not seriously ill?
Silently, Gathercole added:Do you no longer believe he will die before you?
Athelinda Playford was not young but she was full of vitality.
It was hard to believe that anyone who relished life as she did might be deprived of it.
Indeed, Joseph is very sick, she said.
He grows weaker by the day.
He tells me his doctors have said he has only weeks, now, to live.
But … then Im afraid Im quite baffled, said Gathercole.
Nothing is ever known for certain in this world, Michael.
I must ask you something, said Gathercole, in whom a painful anxiety had started to grow.
Do you have any reason to believe that you too will die imminently?
Im strong as an ox.
I expect to chug on for years.
On the contrary: my new will might causesomethingwonderfulto happen.
She said this with relish.
Im afraid to say Im still baffled.
Of course you are, said Athelinda Playford.
I knew you would be.
Chapter Two
Conceal and reveal: how appropriate that those two words should rhyme.
All of which is my clumsy way of introducing myself as the narrator of this story.
My name is Edward Catchpool, and I am a detective with Londons Scotland Yard.
I put the letter down on the dining room table at my lodging house and considered what to do.
Did I want to go?
Not greatly, no and that meant that I probably would.
Human beings, I have noticed, like to follow patterns, and I am no exception.
Some days later, I wrote to Lady Playford and enthusiastically accepted her invitation.
I suspected she wished to pick my brains and use whatever she extracted in a future book or books.
Maybe she had finally decided to find out a little more about how the police operated.
Strangely, it had not occurred to me before that I had Athelinda Playford to thank for this.
It was no wonder, really, that Lady Playford knew nothing of the way policemen conducted themselves.
A butler peered out at me.
The effect was of an old mans eyes inserted into a much younger mans face.
The butlers expression was odder still.
I waited for him to introduce himself or invite me into the house.
Eventually I said, My name is Edward Catchpool.
I have just arrived from England.
I believe Lady Playford is expecting me.
My suitcases were by my feet.
He looked at them, then looked over his shoulder; he repeated this sequence twice.
There was no verbal accompaniment to any of it.
Eventually, he said, I will have your belongings taken to your room, sir.
This really was most peculiar more so than I can describe, I fear.
Was there something else?
Another of Lady Playfords … guests awaits you in the drawing room, sir.
I had assumed I was to be the only one.
My question appeared to repel him.
Catchpool!Mon cher ami!
To the butler I said, Is that Hercule Poirot?
The poor creature looked as if it was smiling, and I smiled back at it.
Despite being dead and detached from its body, the deers head was more welcoming than the butler.
Again came the voice.
Look here, is Hercule Poirot in this house?
I asked more insistently.
