"However, in a letter she wrote him from Cairo, she mentioned casually that she had unexpectedly run across Andrew Pennington. My uncle's suspicions became acute. He felt sure that Pennington, perhaps by now in a desperate position, was going to try and obtain signatures from her which would cover his own defalcations. Since my uncle had no definite evidence to lay before her, he was in a most difficult position. The only thing he could think of was to send me out here, travelling by air, with instructions to discover what was in the wind. I was to keep my eyes open and act summarily if necessary - a most unpleasant mission, I can assure you. As a matter of fact, on the occasion you mention I had to behave more or less as a cad! It was awkward, but on the whole I was satisfied with the result."
"You mean you put Madame Doyle on her guard?" asked Race.
"Not so much that, but I think I put the wind up Pennington. I felt convinced he wouldn't try any more funny business for some time, and then I hoped to have got intimate enough with Mr and Mrs Doyle to convey some kind of a warning. As a matter of fact I hoped to do so through Doyle. Mrs Doyle was so attached to Mr Pennington that it would have been a bit awkward to suggest things to her about him. It would have been easier for me to approach the husband."
Race nodded.
Poirot asked: "Will you give me a candid opinion on one point, Monsieur Fanthorp? If you were engaged in putting a swindle over, would you choose Madame Doyle or Monsieur Doyle as a victim?"
Fanthorp smiled faintly.
"Mr Doyle, every time. Linnet Doyle was very shrewd in business matters. Her husband, I should fancy, is one of those trustful fellows who know nothing of business and are always ready to 'sign on the dotted line' as he himself put it."
"I agree," said Poirot. He looked at Race. "And there's your motive."
Jim Fanthorp said: "But this is all pure conjecture. It isn't evidence."
Poirot replied, easily, "Ah, bah! we will get evidence!"
"How?"
"Possibly from Mr Pennington himself."
Fanthorp looked doubtful.
"I wonder. I very much wonder."
Race glanced at his watch. "He's about due now."
Jim Fanthorp was quick to take the hint. He left them.
Two minutes later Andrew Pennington made his appearance. His manner was all smiling urbanity. Only the taut line of his jaw and the wariness of his eyes betrayed the fact that a thoroughly experienced fighter was on his guard.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, "here I am."
He sat down and looked at them inquiringly.
"We asked you to come here, Monsieur Pennington," began Poirot, "because it is fairly obvious that you have a very special and immediate interest in the case."
Pennington raised his eyebrows slightly.
"Is that so?"
Poirot said gently: "Surely. You have known Linnet Ridgeway, I understand, since she was quite a child."
"Oh! that -" His face altered, became less alert. "I beg pardon, I didn't quite get you. Yes, as I told you this morning, I've known Linnet since she was a cute little thing in pinafores."
"You were on terms of close intimacy with her father?"
"That's so. Melhuish Ridgeway and I were close - very close."
"You were so intimately associated that on his death he appointed you business guardian to his daughter and trustee to the vast fortune she inherited."
"Why, roughly, that is so." The wariness was back again. The note was more cautious. "I was not the only trustee, naturally; others were associated with me."
"Who have since died?"
"Two of them are dead. The other, Mr Stemdale Rockford, is alive."
"Your partner?"
"Yes."
"Mademoiselle Ridgeway, I understand, was not yet of age when she married?"
"She would have been twenty-one next July."
"And in the normal course of events she would have come into control of her fortune then?"
"Yes.
"But her marriage precipitated matters?"
Pennington's jaw hardened. He shot out his chin at them aggressively.
"You'll pardon me, gentlemen, but what exact business is all this of yours?"
"If you dislike answering the question -"
"There's no dislike about it. I don't mind what you ask me. But I don't see the relevance of all this."
"Oh, but surely, Monsieur Pennington -" Poirot leaned forward, his eyes green and catlike - " there is the question of motive. In considering that, financial considerations must always be taken into account."
Pennington said sullenly, "By Ridgeway's will, Linnet got control of her dough when she was twenty-one or when she married."
"No conditions of any kind?"
"No conditions."
"And it is a matter, I am credibly assured, of millions."
"Millions it is."
Poirot said softly, "Your responsibility, Mr Pennington, and that of your partner, has been a very grave one."
Pennington replied curtly: "We're used to responsibility. Doesn't worry us any."
"I wonder."
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