Read Online While the Light Lasts by Agatha Christie - Free Book Online Page B

to the girl. ‘It is my business to know things.’
    â€˜I am so miserable, M. Poirot–so very miserable. You see, once we were very well off. I was supposed to be an heiress, and Roger was only a younger son; and–and although I’m sure he cared for me, he never said anything, but went off to Australia.’
    â€˜It is droll, the way they arrange the marriages over here,’ interpolated M. Poirot. ‘No order. No method. Everything left to chance.’
    Evelyn continued.
    â€˜Then suddenly we lost all our money. My mother and I were left almost penniless. We moved into a tiny house, and we could just manage. But my mother became very ill. The only chance for her was to have a serious operation and go abroad to a warm climate.And we hadn’t the money, M. Poirot–we hadn’t the money! It meant that she must die. Mr Levering had proposed to me once or twice already. He again asked me to marry him, and promised to do everything that could be done for my mother. I said yes–what else could I do? He kept his word. The operation was performed by the greatest specialist of the day, and we went to Egypt for the winter. That was a year ago. My mother is well and strong again; and I–I am to marry Mr Levering after Christmas.’
    â€˜I see,’ said M. Poirot; ‘and in the meantime, M. Roger’s elder brother has died, and he has come home–to find his dream shattered. All the same, you are not yet married, Mademoiselle.’
    â€˜A Haworth does not break her word, M. Poirot,’ said the girl proudly.
    Almost as she spoke, the door opened, and a big man with a rubicund face, narrow, crafty eyes, and a bald head stood on the threshold.
    â€˜What are you moping in here for, Evelyn? Come out for a stroll.’
    â€˜Very well, Oscar.’
    She rose listlessly. Poirot rose also and demanded politely:
    â€˜Mademoiselle Levering, she is still indisposed?’
    â€˜Yes, I’m sorry to say my sister is still in bed. Too bad, to be laid up on Christmas Day.’
    â€˜It is indeed,’ agreed the detective politely.
    A few minutes sufficed for Evelyn to put on her snow-boots and some wraps, and she and her fiancé went out into the snow-covered grounds. It was an ideal Christmas Day, crisp and sunny. The rest of the house-party were busy with the erection of the snowman. Levering and Evelyn paused to watch them.
    â€˜Love’s young dream, yah!’ cried Johnnie, and threw a snowball at them.
    â€˜What do you think of it, Evelyn?’ cried Jean. ‘M. Hercule Poirot, the great detective.’
    â€˜Wait till the moustache goes on,’ said Eric. ‘Nancy’s going to clip off a bit of her hair for it. Vivent les braves Belges! Pom, pom!’
    â€˜Fancy having a real-live detective in the house!’–this from Charlie–‘I wish there could be a murder, too.’
    â€˜Oh, oh, oh!’ cried Jean, dancing about. ‘I’ve got an idea. Let’s get up a murder–a spoof one, I mean. And take him in. Oh, do let’s–it would be no end of a rag.’
    Five voices began to talk at once.
    â€˜How should we do it?’
    â€˜Awful groans!’
    â€˜No, you stupid, out here.’
    â€˜Footprints in the snow, of course.’
    â€˜Jean in her nightie.’
    â€˜You do it with red paint.’
    â€˜In your hand–and clap it to your head.’
    â€˜I say, I wish we had a revolver.’
    â€˜I tell you, Father and Aunt Em won’t hear. Their rooms are the other side of the house.’
    â€˜No, he won’t mind a bit; he’s no end of a sport.’
    â€˜Yes, but what kind of red paint? Enamel?’
    â€˜We could get some in the village.’
    â€˜Fat-head, not on Christmas Day.’
    â€˜No, watercolour. Crimson lake.’
    â€˜Jean can be it.’
    â€˜Never mind if you are cold. It won’t be for long.’
    â€˜No, Nancy can be it,