Read Online Dumb Witness by Agatha Christie - Free Book Online Page B

him if possible. A most reasonable proceeding.”
    He beamed on Bob.
    â€œAnd a most intelligent person, I fancy.”
    â€œOh, he is, sir. He’s almost human, Bob is.”
    She flung open another door.
    â€œThe drawing room, sir.”
    The drawing room conjured up memories of the past. A faint fragrance of potpourri hung about it. The chintzes were worn, their pattern faded garlands of roses. On the walls were prints and water-colour drawings. There was a good deal of china—fragile shepherds and shepherdesses. There were cushions worked in crewel stitch. There were faded photographs in handsome silver frames. There were many inlaid workboxes and tea caddies. Most fascinating of all to me were two exquisitely cut tissue paper ladies under glass stands. One with a spinning wheel, one with a cat on her knee.
    The atmosphere of a bygone day, a day of leisure, of refinement, of “ladies and gentlemen” closed round me. This was indeed a “withdrawing room.” Here ladies sat and did their fancywork, and if a cigarette was ever smoked by a favoured member of the male sex, what a shaking out of curtains and general airing of the room there would be afterwards!
    My attention was drawn by Bob. He was sitting in an attitude of rapt attention close beside an elegant little table with two drawers in it.
    As he saw that I was noticing him, he gave a short, plaintive yelp, looking from me to the table.
    â€œWhat does he want?” I asked.
    Our interest in Bob was clearly pleasing to the maid, who obviously was very fond of him.
    â€œIt’s his ball, sir. It was always kept in that drawer. That’s why he sits there and asks.”
    Her voice changed. She addressed Bob in a high falsetto.
    â€œIt isn’t there any longer, beautiful. Bob’s ball is in the kitchen. In the kitchen, Bobsie.”
    Bob shifted his gaze impatiently to Poirot.
    â€œThis woman’s a fool,” he seemed to be saying. “You look a brainy sort of chap. Balls are kept in certain places—this drawer is one of those places. There always has been a ball here. Therefore there should be a ball there now. That’s obvious dog logic, isn’t it?”
    â€œIt’s not there now, boy,” I said.
    He looked at me doubtfully. Then, as we went out of the room he followed slowly in an unconvinced manner.
    We were shown various cupboards, a downstairs cloakroom, and a small pantry place, “where the mistress used to do the flowers, sir.”
    â€œYou were with your mistress a long time?” asked Poirot.
    â€œTwenty-two years, sir.”
    â€œYou are alone here caretaking?”
    â€œMe and cook, sir.”
    â€œShe was also a long time with Miss Arundell?”
    â€œFour years, sir. The old cook died.”
    â€œSupposing I were to buy the house, would you be prepared to stay on?”
    She blushed a little.
    â€œIt’s very kind of you, sir, I’m sure, but I’m going to retire from service. The mistress left me a nice little sum, you see, andI’m going to my brother. I’m only remaining here as a convenience to Miss Lawson until the place is sold—to look after everything.”
    Poirot nodded.
    In the momentary silence a new sound was heard.
    â€œBump, bump, BUMP.”
    A monotonous sound increasing in volume and seeming to descend from above.
    â€œIt’s Bob, sir.” She was smiling. “He’s got hold of his ball and he’s bumping it down the stairs. It’s a little game of his.”
    As we reached the bottom of the stairs a black rubber ball arrived with a thud on the last step. I caught it and looked up. Bob was lying on the top step, his paws splayed out, his tail gently wagging. I threw it up to him. He caught it neatly, chewed it for a minute or two with evident relish, then laid it between his paws and gently edged it forward with his nose till he finally bunted it over and it bumped once more down the stairs, Bob