The Case of the Scottish Nobleman

ACT IV

(ACT IV)

     We were not surprised when Macbeth summoned us to his castle. At the time, my heart really went out to poor Macbeth; he was lord of the castle, but for how long? Now he had lost two of his best friends, and it seemed that he was next in line to be killed.

     “That is a fine blue jacket you are wearing, Hastings,” remarked my friend in the car on the way to the castle.

      “Yes, Poirot, I thought it would be a good idea to wear blue today.” 

       He smiled. “Today is the twenty-fourth, non?”

     “Why, so it is.”  I cleared my throat, not wanting to say more.

     He smiled and did not say anything.

     We were let into the castle by that servant who still looked a bit tight. Lord Macbeth was in the sitting room, but he was not alone. We could hear female voices coming from the other side of the door.

     When the servant knocked to announce us, Macbeth cried, “What is it? I told you that I do not wish to be disturbed!”

     “It is Mister Pie-rot to see you, my lord,” said the porter.

     “Tell him to wait; I have company!”

     He was shouting so loudly and impatiently that we didn’t have to be told. We waited in the foyer while the porter left, I presumed, to get some more to drink.

     Poirot stealthily approached the door.  “You’re not trying to eavesdrop, are you?”  I whispered.  “That’s not cricket!”

     “It may be for Lord Macbeth’s own safety that we discover who his companion is.”

     “It sounded like a lady,” I whispered, joining him. 

     We could hear three female voices, not just one.

     “We’d like to thank you for your generosity with us, Lord Macbeth,” said crone number one.  I wondered how much he had already paid them.

     “It isn’t often someone takes an interest in us,” said number two.

     “But, you see, we simply cannot activate the clairvoyant state to order,” said number three.

     From the way they spoke in sequence, and from the high fluttering voices, I knew it was the daft sisters from the Blasted Heath.

     “But you must prophesy to me!” said Macbeth petulantly. “I will pay you any amount you wish, but there are some things I must know!”

     “It isn’t that we won’t,” said number one.

     “We can’t, my lord; it isn’t something one can switch on and off,” said number two. 

     “We certainly would for such a wealthy benefactor, but we cannot,” said number three.    

     “Then—tell me as soon as the fit comes on you again,” said Macbeth.  I imagined him reaching for his cheque book, and I felt so sorry for him—paying any price for lifesaving information.

     “We will; we promise you,” said number one.

     “We’ll call you by telephone,” said number two.

     There was a silence, as though the two sisters were waiting for the third to say something.

     “What’s wrong with her? Is she ill?” asked Macbeth.