Dumb Witness by Agatha Christie Read Free Book Online Page B

Poirot slowly and distinctly. “Littlegreen House.”
    â€œOh, Littlegreen House,” said the young woman vaguely. “ Littlegreen House, did you say?”
    â€œThat is what I said.”
    â€œLittlegreen House, ” said the young woman, making a tremendous mental effort. “Oh, well, I expect Mr. Gabler would know about that.”
    â€œCan I see Mr. Gabler?”
    â€œHe’s out,” said the young woman with a kind of faint, anaemic satisfaction as of one who says, “A point to me.”
    â€œDo you know when he will be in?”
    â€œI couldn’t say, I’m sure,” said the young woman.
    â€œYou comprehend, I am looking for a house in this neighbourhood,” said Poirot.
    â€œOh, yes,” said the young woman, uninterested.
    â€œAnd Littlegreen House seems to me just what I am looking for. Can you give me particulars?”
    â€œParticulars?” The young woman seemed startled.
    â€œParticulars 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.
    â€œYes, miss.”
    â€œHave we got any particulars of—what did you say?”
    â€œLittlegreen House,” said Poirot distinctly.
    â€œYou’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.
    â€œYou don’t know anything about Littlegreen House, do you, John?”
    â€œNo, miss. Should be in the file.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” said the young woman without looking so in the least. “I rather fancy we must have sent all the particulars out.”
    â€œC’est dommage.”
    â€œPardon?”
    â€œA pity.”
    â€œWe’ve a nice bungalow at Hemel End, two bed., one sitt.”
    She spoke without enthusiasm, but with the air of one willing to do her duty by her employer.
    â€œI thank you, no.”
    â€œAnd a semidetached with small conservatory. I could give you particulars of that.”
    â€œNo, thank you. I desired to know what rent you were asking for Littlegreen House.”
    â€œIt’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.”
    â€œThe board says, ‘To be Let or Sold.’”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œThis is Mr. Gabler,” said the young woman.
    Mr. Gabler opened the door of an inner sanctum with a flourish.
    â€œStep 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.
    â€œAnd now what can I do for you?”
    Poirot began again perseveringly.
    â€œI desired a few particulars of Littlegreen House—”
    He got no further. Mr. Gabler took command.
    â€œAh! 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