‘And then,’ said Hilda slowly, ‘we all went away.’
‘That was the last you saw of him?’
She bowed her head.
‘Where were you at the time the crime occurred?’
‘I was with my husband in the music-room. He was playing to me.’
‘And then?’
‘We heard tables and chairs overturned upstairs, and china being broken—some terrible struggle. And then that awful scream as his throat was cut…’
Poirot said:
‘Was it such an awful scream? Was it’—he paused—‘like a soul in hell?’
Hilda Lee said:
‘It was worse than that!’
‘What do you mean, madame?’
‘It was like someone who had no soul…It was inhuman like a beast…’
Poirot said gravely:
‘So—you have judged him, madame?’
She raised a hand in sudden distress. Her eyes fell and she stared down at the floor.
XIV
Pilar came into the room with the wariness of an animal who suspects a trap. Her eyes went quickly from side to side. She looked not so much afraid as deeply suspicious.
Colonel Johnson rose and put a chair for her. Then he said:
‘You understand English, I suppose, Miss Estravados?’
Pilar’s eyes opened wide. She said:
‘Of course. My mother was English. I am really very English indeed.’
A faint smile came to Colonel Johnson’s lips, as his eyes took in the black gloss of her hair, the proud dark eyes, and the curling red lips. Very English! An incongruous term to apply to Pilar Estravados.
He said:
‘Mr Lee was your grandfather. He sent for you to come from Spain. And you arrived a few days ago. Is that right?’
Pilar nodded.
‘That is right. I had—oh! a lot of adventures getting out of Spain—there was a bomb from the air and the chauffeur he was killed—where his head had been there was all blood. And I could not drive a car, so for a long way I had to walk—and I do not like walking. I never walk. My feet were sore—but sore—’
Colonel Johnson smiled. He said:
‘At any rate you arrived here. Had your mother spoken to you of your grandfather much?’