Dumb Witness by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page A

startled.
    “Particulars of Littlegreen House.”
    Unwillingly she opened a drawer and took out an untidy file of papers.
    Then she called “John.”
    A lanky youth sitting in a corner looked up.
    “Yes, miss.”
    “Have we got any particulars of - what did you say?”
    “Littlegreen House,” said Poirot distinctly.
    “You've got a large bill of it here,” I remarked, pointing to the wall.
    She looked at me coldly. Two to one, she seemed to think, was an unfair way of playing the game. She called up her own reinforcements.
    “You don't know anything about Littlegreen House, do you, John?”
    “No, miss. Should be in the file.”
    “I'm sorry,” said the young woman without looking so in the least. “I rather fancy we must have sent all the particulars out.”
    “C'est dammage.”
    “Pardon?”
    “A pity.”
    “We've a nice bungalow at Hemel End, two bed, one sit.”
    She spoke without enthusiasm, but with the air of one willing to do her duty by her employer.
    “I thank you, no.”
    “And a semi-detached with small conservatory. I could give you particulars of that.”
    “No, thank you. I desired to know what rent you were asking for Littlegreen House.”
    “It's not to be rented,” said the young woman, abandoning her position of complete ignorance of anything to do with Littlegreen House in the pleasure of scoring a point. “Only to be sold outright.”
    “The board says, 'To be Let or Sold.'”
    “I couldn't say as to that, but it's for sale only.”
    At this stage in the battle the door opened and a grey-haired, middle-aged man entered with a rush. His eye, a militant one, swept over us with a gleam. His eyebrows asked a question of his employee.
    “This is Mr Gabler,” said the young woman.
    Mr Gabler opened the door of an inner sanctum with a flourish.
    “Step in here, gentlemen.” He ushered us in, an ample gesture swept us into chairs and he himself was facing us across a flat-topped desk.
    “And now what can I do for you?”
    Poirot began again perseveringly.
    “I desired a few particulars of Littlegreen House -”
    He got no further. Mr Gabler took command.
    “Ah! Littlegreen House - there's a property! An absolute bargain. Only just come into the market. I can tell you, gentlemen, we don't often get a house of that class going at the price. Taste's swinging round. People are fed up with jerry-building. They want sound stuff. Good, honest building. A beautiful property - character - feeling - Georgian throughout. That's what people want nowadays - there's a feeling for period houses if you understand what I mean. Ah, yes, Littlegreen House won't be long in the market. It'll be snapped up. Snapped up! A member of Parliament came to look at it only last Saturday. Liked it so much he's coming down again this weekend. And there's a stock exchange gentleman after it too. People want quiet nowadays when they come to the country, want to be well away from main roads. That's all very well for some people, but we attract class here. And that's what that house has got. Class! You've got to admit, they knew how to build for gentlemen in those days. Yes, we shan't have Littlegreen long on our books.”
    Mr Gabler, who, it occurred to me, lived up to his name very happily, paused for breath.
    “Has it changed hands often in the last few years?” inquired Poirot.
    “On the contrary. Been in one family over fifty years. Name of Arundell. Very much respected in the town. Ladies of the old school.”
    He shot up, opened the door and called:
    “Particulars of Littlegreen House, Miss Jenkins. Quickly now.”
    He returned to the desk.
    “I require a house about this distance from London,” said Poirot. “In the country, but not in the dead country, if you understand me -”
    “Perfectly - perfectly. Too much in the country doesn't do. Servants don't like it for one thing. Here, you have the advantages of the country but not the disadvantages.” Miss Jenkins flitted in with a typewritten sheet of