Hercule Poirot’s Christmas

‘I’m willing,’ said Simeon. ‘Harry’s my son, after all, you know, Alfred.’

‘Yes, but—I resent it—for Father’s sake.’

Simeon said: ‘Harry’s coming here! I wish it.’ He laid a hand gently on the latter’s shoulder. ‘I’m very fond of Harry.’

Alfred got up and left the room. His face was white. Harry rose too and went after him, laughing.

Simeon sat chuckling to himself. Then he started and looked round. ‘Who the devil’s that? Oh, it’s you, Horbury. Don’t creep about that way.’

‘I beg your pardon, sir.’

‘Never mind. Listen, I’ve got some orders for you. I want everybody to come up here after lunch—everybody.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘There’s something else. When they come, you come with them. And when you get half-way along the passage raise your voice so that I can hear. Any pretext will do. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Horbury went downstairs. He said to Tressilian:

‘If you ask me, we are going to have a Merry Christmas.’

Tressilian said sharply: ‘What d’you mean?’

‘You wait and see, Mr Tressilian. It’s Christmas Eve today, and a nice Christmas spirit abroad—I don’t think!’

II

They came into the room and paused at the doorway.

Simeon was speaking into the telephone. He waved a hand to them.

‘Sit down, all of you. I shan’t be a minute.’

He went on speaking into the telephone.

‘Is that Charlton, Hodgkins & Bruce? Is that you, Charlton? Simeon Lee speaking. Yes, isn’t it?…Yes…No, I wanted you to make a new will for me…Yes, it’s some time since I made the other…Circumstances have altered…Oh no, no hurry. Don’t want you to spoil your Christmas. Say Boxing Day or the day after. Come along, and I’ll tell you what I want done. No, that’s quite all right. I shan’t be dying just yet.’

He replaced the receiver, then looked round at the eight members of his family. He cackled and said: