my fancy at the time, sir, that Mr Leverson was – I should not exactly like to say drunk, but inclined to be a little indiscreet and noisy. He was shouting at his uncle at the top of his voice. I caught a word or two here or there, but not enough to understand what it was all about, and then there was a sharp cry and a heavy thud.’
There was a pause, and Parsons repeated the last words.
‘A heavy thud,’ he said impressively.
‘If I mistake not, it is a dull thud in most works of romance,’ murmured Poirot.
‘Maybe, sir,’ said Parsons severely. ‘It was a heavy thud I heard.’
‘A thousand pardons,’ said Poirot.
‘Do not mention it, sir. After the thud, in the silence, I heard Mr Leverson’s voice as plain as plain can be, raised high. “My God,” he said, “my God,” just like that, sir.’
Parsons, from his first reluctance to tell the tale, had now progressed to a thorough enjoyment of it. He fancied himself mightily as a narrator. Poirot played up to him.
‘Mon Dieu,’ he murmured. ‘What emotion you must have experienced!’
‘Yes, indeed, sir,’ said Parsons, ‘as you say, sir. Not that I thought very much of it at the time. But it did occur to me to wonder if anything was amiss, and whether I had better go up and see. I went to turn the electric light on, and was unfortunate enough to knock over a chair.
‘I opened the door, and went through the servants’ hall, and opened the other door which gives on a passage. The back stairs lead up from there, and as I stood at the bottom of them, hesitating, I heard Mr Leverson’s voice from up above, speaking hearty and cheery-like. “No harm done, luckily,” he says. “Good night,” and I heard him move off along the passage to his own room, whistling.
‘Of course I went back to bed at once. Just something knocked over, that’s all I thought it was. I ask you, sir, was I to think Sir Reuben was murdered, with Mr Leverson saying good night and all?’
‘You are sure it was Mr Leverson’s voice you heard?’
Parsons looked at the little Belgian pityingly, and Poirot saw clearly enough that, right or wrong, Parsons’s mind was made up on this point.
‘Is there anything further you would like to ask me, sir?’
‘There is one thing,’ said Poirot, ‘do you like Mr Leverson?’
‘I – I beg your pardon, sir?’
‘It is a simple question. Do you like Mr Leverson?’
Parsons, from being startled at first, now seemed embarrassed.
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