The Mysterious Mr Quin Read Free Page B

it with half my mind, you know, the other half wondering about poor old Derek lying dead upstairs.’
    ‘A common, but very curious phenomenon, that,’ observed Mr Quin. ‘In moments of great stress, the mind focuses itself upon some quite unimportant matter which is remembered long afterwards with the utmost fidelity, driven in, as it were, by the mental stress of the moment. It may be some quite irrelevant detail, like the pattern of a wallpaper, but it will never be forgotten.’
    ‘Rather extraordinary, your saying that, Mr Quin,’ said Conway. ‘Just as you were speaking, I suddenly felt myself back in Derek Capel’s room–with Derek lying dead on the floor–I saw as plainly as possible the big tree outside the window, and the shadow it threw upon the snow outside. Yes, the moonlight, the snow, and the shadow of the tree–I can see them again this minute. By Gad, I believe I could draw them, and yet I never realized I was looking at them at the time.’
    ‘His room was the big one over the porch, was it not?’ asked Mr Quin.
    ‘Yes, and the tree was the big beech, just at the angle of the drive.’
    Mr Quin nodded, as though satisfied. Mr Satterthwaite was curiously thrilled. He was convinced that every word, every inflection of Mr Quin’s voice, was pregnant with purpose. He was driving at something–exactly what Mr Satterthwaite did not know, but he was quite convinced as to whose was the master hand.
    There was a momentary pause, and then Evesham reverted to the preceding topic.
    ‘That Appleton case, I remember it very well now. What a sensation it made. She got off, didn’t she? Pretty woman, very fair–remarkably fair.’
    Almost against his will, Mr Satterthwaite’s eyes sought the kneeling figure up above. Was it his fancy, or did he see it shrink a little as though at a blow. Did he see a hand slide upwards to the table cloth–and then pause.
    There was a crash of falling glass. Alex Portal, helping himself to whisky, had let the decanter slip.
    ‘I say–sir, damn’ sorry. Can’t think what came over me.’
    Evesham cut short his apologies.
    ‘Quite all right. Quite all right, my dear fellow. Curious–That smash reminded me. That’s whatshe did, didn’t she? Mrs Appleton? Smashed the port decanter?’
    ‘Yes. Old Appleton had his glass of port–only one–each night. The day after his death, one of the servants saw her take the decanter out and smash it deliberately. That set them talking, of course. They all knew she had been perfectly wretched with him. Rumour grew and grew, and in the end, months later, some of his relatives applied for an exhumation order. And sure enough, the old fellow had been poisoned. Arsenic, wasn’t it?’
    ‘No–strychnine, I think. It doesn’t much matter. Well, of course, there it was. Only one person was likely to have done it. Mrs Appleton stood her trial. She was acquitted more through lack of evidence against her than from any overwhelming proof of innocence. In other words, she was lucky. Yes, I don’t suppose there’s much doubt she did it right enough. What happened to her afterwards?’
    ‘Went out to Canada, I believe. Or was it Australia? She had an uncle or something of the sort out there who offered her a home. Best thing she could do under the circumstances.’
    Mr Satterthwaite was fascinated by Alex Portal’s right hand as it clasped his glass. How tightly he was gripping it.
    ‘You’ll smash that in a minute or two, if you’re notcareful,’ thought Mr Satterthwaite. ‘Dear me, how interesting all this is.’
    Evesham rose and helped himself to a drink.
    ‘Well, we’re not much nearer to knowing why poor Derek Capel shot himself,’ he remarked. ‘The Court of Inquiry hasn’t been a great success, has it, Mr Quin?’
    Mr Quin laughed…
    It was a strange laugh, mocking–yet sad. It made everyone jump.
    ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘You are still living in the past, Mr Evesham. You are still hampered by your