The Peril at End House Read Online Free PDF

they been here?' 'Oh! about six months.'
    'I see. Now, beyond this cousin of yours-on your father's side or your mother's, by the way?'
    'Mother's. My mother was Amy Vyse.'
    'Bien! Now, beyond this cousin, as I was saying, have you any other relatives?'
    'Some very distant cousins in Yorkshire-Buckleys.'
    'No one else?'
    'No.'
    'That is lonely.'
    Nick stared at him.
    'Lonely? What a funny idea. I'm not down here much, you know. I'm usually in London. Relations are too devastating as a rule. They fuss and interfere. It's much more fun to be on one's own.'
    'I will not waste the sympathy. You are a modern, I see, Mademoiselle. Now-your household.'
    'How grand that sounds! Ellen's the household. And her husband, who's a sort of gardener-not a very good one. I pay them frightfully little because I let them have the child here. Ellen does for me when I'm down here and if I have a party
    we get in who and what we can to help. I'm giving a party on Monday. It's Regatta week, you know.'
    'Monday-and today is Saturday. Yes. Yes. And now, Mademoiselle, your friends-the ones with whom you were lunching today, for instance?'
    'Well, Freddie Rice-the fair girl-is practically my greatest friend. She's had a rotten life. Married to a beast-a man who drank and drugged and was altogether a queer of the worst description. She had to leave him a year or two ago. Since then she's drifted round. I wish to goodness she'd get a divorce and marry Jim Lazarus.'
    'Lazarus? The art dealer in Bond Street?'
    'Yes. Jim's the only son. Rolling in money, of course. Did you see that car of his? He's a Jew, of course, but a frightfully decent one. And he's devoted to Freddie. They go about everywhere together. They are staying at the Majestic over the week-end and are coming to me on Monday.'
    'And Mrs Rice's husband?'
    'The mess? Oh! he's dropped out of everything. Nobody knows where he is. It makes it horribly awkward for Freddie. You can't divorce a man when you don't know where he is.'
    'Evidemment!'
    'Poor Freddie,' said Nick, pensively. 'She's had rotten luck. The thing was all fixed once. She got hold of him and put it to him, and he said he was perfectly willing, but he simply hadn't got the cash to take a woman to a hotel. So the end of it all was she forked out-and he took it and off he went and has never been heard of from that day to this. Pretty mean, I call it.'
    'Good heavens,' I exclaimed.
    'My friend Hastings is shocked,' remarked Poirot. 'You must be more careful, Mademoiselle. He is out of date, you comprehend. He has just returned from
    those great clear open spaces, etc., and he has yet to learn the language of nowadays.'
    'Well, there's nothing to get shocked about,' said Nick, opening her eyes very wide. 'I mean, everybody knows, don't they, that there are such people. But I call it a low-down trick all the same. Poor old Freddie was so damned hard up at the time that she didn't know where to turn.'
    'Yes, yes, not a very pretty affair. And your other friend, Mademoiselle. The good Commander Challenger?'
    'George? I've known George all my life-well, for the last five years anyway. He's a good scout, George.'
    'He wishes you to marry him-eh?'
    'He does mention it now and again. In the small hours of the morning or after the second glass of port.'
    'But you remain hard-hearted.'
    'What would be the use of George and me marrying one another? We've neither of us got a bean. And one would get terribly bored with George. That “playing for one's side,” “good old school” manner. After all, he's forty if he's a day.'
    The remark made me wince slightly.
    'In fact he has one foot in the grave,' said Poirot. 'Oh! do not mind me, Mademoiselle. I am a grandpapa-a nobody. And now tell me more about these accidents. The picture, for instance?'
    'It's been hung up again-on a new cord. You can come and see it if you like.'
    She led the way out of the room and we followed her. The picture in question was an oil painting in a heavy frame. It hung