Is that necessary? asked John gravely. A spasm of pain crossed his face.
Absolutely, said Dr Bauerstein.
You mean by that?
That neither Dr Wilkins nor myself could give a death certificate under the circumstances.
John bent his head.
In that case, I have no alternative but to agree.
Thank you, said Dr Wilkins briskly. We propose that it should take place tomorrow nightor rather tonight. And he glanced at the daylight. Under the circumstances, I am afraid an inquest can hardly be avoidedthese formalities are necessary, but I beg that you wont distress yourselves.
There was a pause, and then Dr Bauerstein drew two keys from his pocket, and handed them to John.
These are the keys of the two rooms. I have locked them and, in my opinion, they would be better kept locked for the present.
The doctors then departed.
I had been turning over an idea in my head, and I felt that the moment had now come to broach it. Yet I was a little chary of doing so. John, I knew, had a horror of any kind of publicity, and was an easy-going optimist, who preferred never to meet trouble halfway. It might be difficult to convince him of the soundness of my plan. Lawrence, on the other hand, being less conventional, and having more imagination, I felt I might count upon as an ally. There was no doubt that the moment had come for me to take the lead.
John, I said, I am going to ask you something.
Well?
You remember my speaking of my friend Poirot? The Belgian who is here? He has been a most famous detective.
Yes.
I want you to let me call him into investigate this matter.
Whatnow? Before the post-mortem?
Yes, time is an advantage ififthere has been foul play.
Rubbish! cried Lawrence angrily. In my opinion the whole thing is a mares nest of Bauersteins[52]! Wilkins hadnt an idea of such a thing, until Bauerstein put it into his head. But, like all specialists, Bauersteins got a bee in his bonnet[53]. Poisons are his hobby, so of course, he sees them everywhere.
I confess that I was surprised by Lawrences attitude. He was so seldom vehement about anything.
John hesitated.
I cant feel as you do, Lawrence, he said at last. Im inclined to give Hastings a free hand, though I should prefer to wait a bit. We dont want any unnecessary scandal.
No, no, I cried eagerly, you need have no fear of that. Poirot is discretion itself.
Very well, then, have it your own way. I leave it in your hands. Though, if it is as we suspect, it seems a clear enough case. God forgive me if I am wronging him!
I looked at my watch. It was six oclock. I determined to lose no time.
Five minutes delay, however, I allowed myself. I spent it in ransacking the library until I discovered a medical book which gave a description of strychnine poisoning.
CHAPTER 4. Poirot Investigates
The house which the Belgians occupied in the village was quite close to the park gates. One could save time by taking a narrow path through the long grass, which cut off the detours of the winding drive. So I, accordingly, went that way. I had nearly reached the lodge, when my attention was arrested by the running figure of a man approaching me. It was Mr Inglethorp. Where had he been? How did he intend to explain his absence?
He accosted me eagerly.
My God! This is terrible! My poor wife! I have only just heard.
Where have you been? I asked.
Denby kept me late last night. It was one oclock before wed finished. Then I found that Id forgotten the latchkey after all. I didnt want to arouse the household, so Denby gave me a bed.
How did you hear the news? I asked.
Wilkins knocked Denby up to tell him. My poor Emily! She was so self-sacrificingsuch a noble character. She overtaxed her strength.
A wave of revulsion swept over me. What a consummate hypocrite the man was!
I must hurry on, I said, thankful that he did not ask me whither I was bound[54].
In a few minutes I was knocking at the door of Leastways Cottage.
Getting no answer, I repeated my summons impatiently. A window above me was cautiously opened, and Poirot himself looked out.
He gave an exclamation of surprise at seeing me. In a few brief words, I explained the tragedy that had occurred, and that I wanted his help.
Wait, my friend, I will let you in, and you shall recount to me the affair whilst I dress.
In a few moments he had unbarred the door, and I followed him up to his room. There he installed me in a chair, and I related the whole story, keeping back nothing, and omitting no circumstance, however insignificant, whilst he himself made a careful and deliberate toilet[55].
I told him of my awakening, of Mrs Inglethorps dying words, of her husbands absence, of the quarrel the day before, of the scrap of conversation between Mary and her mother-in-law that I had overheard, of the former quarrel between Mrs Inglethorp and Evelyn Howard, and of the latters innuendoes.
I was hardly as clear as I could wish. I repeated myself several times, and occasionally had to go back to some detail[56] that I had forgotten. Poirot smiled kindly on me.
The mind is confused? Is it not so? Take time, mon ami[57]. You are agitated; you are excitedit is but natural. Presently, when we are calmer, we will arrange the facts, neatly, each in his proper place. We will examineand reject. Those of importance we will put on one side; those of no importance, pouf !he screwed up his cherub-like face[58], and puffed comically enoughblow them away!
Thats all very well, I objected, but how are you going to decide what is important, and what isnt? That always seems the difficulty to me.
Poirot shook his head energetically. He was now arranging his moustache with exquisite care.
Not so. Voyons![59] One fact leads to anotherso we continue. Does the next fit in with that? A merveille![60] Good! We can proceed. This next little factno! Ah, that is curious! There is something missinga link in the chain that is not there. We examine. We search. And that little curious fact, that possibly paltry little detail that will not tally, we put it here! He made an extravagant gesture with his hand. It is significant! It is tremendous!
Yes
Ah! Poirot shook his forefinger so fiercely at me that I quailed before it. Beware! Peril to the detective who says: It is so smallit does not matter. It will not agree. I will forget it. That way lies confusion! Everything matters.
I know. You always told me that. Thats why I have gone into all the details of this thing whether they seemed to me relevant or not.
And I am pleased with you. You have a good memory, and you have given me the facts faithfully. Of the order in which you present them, I say nothingtruly, it is deplorable! But I make allowancesyou are upset. To that I attribute the circumstance that you have omitted one fact or paramount importance.
What is that? I asked.
You have not told me if Mrs Inglethorp ate well last night.
I stared at him. Surely the war had affected the little mans brain. He was carefully engaged in brushing his coat before putting it on, and seemed wholly engrossed in the task.
I dont remember, I said. And, anyway, I dont see
You do not see? But it is of the first importance.
I cant see why, I said, rather nettled. As far as I can remember, she didnt eat much. She was obviously upset, and it had taken her appetite away. That was only natural.
Yes, said Poirot thoughtfully, it was only natural.
He opened a drawer, and took out a small dispatch case, then turned to me.
Now I am ready. We will proceed to the château[61], and study matters on the spot[62]. Excuse me, mon ami, you dressed in haste, and your tie is on one side. Permit me. With a deft gesture, he rearranged it.
Ça y est![63] Now, shall we start?
We hurried up the village, and turned in at the lodge gates. Poirot stopped for a moment, and gazed sorrowfully over the beautiful expanse of park, still glittering with morning dew.
So beautiful, so beautiful, and yet, the poor family, plunged in sorrow, prostrated with grief[64].
He looked at me keenly as he spoke, and I was aware that I reddened under his prolonged gaze[65].
Was the family prostrated by grief? Was the sorrow at Mrs Inglethorps death so great? I realized that there was an emotional lack in the atmosphere. The dead woman had not the gift of commanding love. Her death was a shock and a distress, but she would not be passionately regretted.
Poirot seemed to follow my thoughts. He nodded his head gravely.
No, you are right, he said, it is not as though there was a blood tie. She has been kind and generous to these Cavendishes, but she was not their own mother. Blood tells[66]always remember thatblood tells.
Poirot, I said, I wish you would tell me why you wanted to know if Mrs Inglethorp ate well last night? I have been turning it over in my mind, but I cant see how it has anything to do with the matter.
He was silent for a minute or two as we walked along, but finally he said:
I do not mind telling youthough, as you know, it is not my habit to explain until the end is reached. The present contention is that Mrs Inglethorp died of strychnine poisoning, presumably administered in her coffee.
Yes?
Well, what time was the coffee served?
About eight oclock.
Therefore she drank it between then and half past eightcertainly not much later. Well, strychnine is a fairly rapid poison. Its effects would be felt very soon, probably in about an hour. Yet, in Mrs Inglethorps case, the symptoms do not manifest themselves until five oclock the next morning: nine hours! But a heavy meal, taken at about the same time as the poison, might retard its effects, though hardly to that extent. Still, it is a possibility to be taken into account. But, according to you, she ate very little for supper, and yet the symptoms do not develop until early the next morning! Now that is a curious circumstance, my friend. Something may arise at the autopsy to explain it. In the meantime, remember it.
As we neared the house, John came out and met us. His face looked weary and haggard.
This is a very dreadful business, Monsieur Poirot, he said. Hastings has explained to you that we are anxious for no publicity?
I comprehend perfectly.
You see, it is only suspicion so far. We have nothing to go upon.
Precisely. It is a matter of precaution only.
John turned to me, taking out his cigarette-case, and lighting a cigarette as he did so.
You know that fellow Inglethorp is back?
Yes. I met him.
John flung the match into an adjacent flower bed, a proceeding which was too much for Poirots feelings. He retrieved it, and buried it neatly.
Its jolly difficult to know how to treat him.
That difficulty will not exist long, pronounced Poirot quietly.
John looked puzzled, not quite understanding the portent of this cryptic saying. He handed the two keys which Dr Bauerstein had given him to me.
Show Monsieur Poirot everything he wants to see.
The rooms are locked? asked Poirot.
Dr Bauerstein considered it advisable.
Poirot nodded thoughtfully.
Then he is very sure. Well, that simplifies matters for us.
We went up together to the room of the tragedy. For convenience I append a plan of the room and the principal articles of furniture in it.
MRS. INGLETHORPS BEDROOM
A.Door into Passage
B.Door into Mr. Inglethorps Room.
C.Door into Cynthias Room
Poirot locked the door on the inside, and proceeded to a minute inspection of the room. He darted from one object to the other with the agility of a grasshopper[67]. I remained by the door, fearing to obliterate any clues. Poirot, however, did not seem grateful to me for my forbearance.
What have you, my friend? he cried, that you remain there likehow do you say it?ah, yes, the stuck pig?
I explained that I was afraid of obliterating any footmarks.
Footmarks? But what an idea! There has already been practically an army in the room! What footmarks are we likely to find? No, come here and aid me in my search. I will put down my little case until I need it.
He did so, on the round table by the window, but it was an ill-advised proceeding; for, the top of it being loose, it tilted up, and precipitated the dispatch case on to the floor.
En voilà une table![68] cried Poirot. Ah, my friend, one may live in a big house and yet have no comfort.
After which piece of moralizing, he resumed his search.
A small purple dispatch case, with a key in the lock, on the writing table, engaged his attention for some time. He took out the key from the lock, and passed it to me to inspect. I saw nothing peculiar, however. It was an ordinary key of the Yale type[69], with a bit of twisted wire through the handle.
Next, he examined the framework of the door we had broken in, assuring himself that the bolt had really been shot. Then he went to the door opposite leading into Cynthias room. That door was also bolted, as I had stated. However, he went to the length of unbolting it, and opening and shutting it several times; this he did with the utmost precaution against making any noise. Suddenly something in the bolt itself seemed to rivet his attention. He examined it carefully, and then, nimbly whipping out a pair of small forceps from his case, he drew out some minute particle which he carefully sealed up in a tiny envelope.
On the chest of drawers there was a tray with a spirit lamp[70] and a small saucepan on it. A small quantity of a dark fluid remained in the saucepan, and an empty cup and saucer that had been drunk out of stood near it.
I wondered how I could have been so unobservant as to overlook this. Here was a clue worth having. Poirot delicately dipped his finger into the liquid, and tasted it gingerly. He made a grimace.
CocoawithI thinkrum in it.
He passed on to the debris on the floor, where the table by the bed had been overturned. A reading-lamp, some books, matches, a bunch of keys, and the crushed fragments of a coffee cup lay scattered about.
Ah, this is curious, said Poirot.
I must confess that I see nothing particularly curious about it.
You do not? Observe the lampthe chimney is broken in two places; they lie there as they fell. But see, the coffee cup is absolutely smashed to powder.
Well, I said wearily. I suppose someone must have stepped on it.
Exactly, said Poirot, in an odd voice. Someone stepped on it.
He rose from his knees, and walked slowly across to the mantelpiece, where he stood abstractedly fingering the ornaments, and straightening thema trick of his when he was agitated.
Mon ami, he said, turning to me, somebody stepped on that cup, grinding it to powder, and the reason they did so was either because it contained strychnine orwhich is far more seriousbecause it did not contain strychnine!
I made no reply. I was bewildered, but I knew that it was no good asking him to explain. In a moment or two he roused himself, and went on with his investigations. He picked up the bunch of keys from the floor, and twirling them round in his fingers finally selected one, very bright and shining, which he tried in the lock of the purple dispatch case. It fitted, and he opened the box, but after a moments hesitation, closed and relocked it, and slipped the bunch of keys, as well as the key that had originally stood in the lock, into his own pocket.
I have no authority to go through these papers. But it should be doneat once!
He then made a very careful examination of the drawers of the washstand. Crossing the room to the left-hand window, a round stain, hardly visible on the dark brown carpet, seemed to interest him particularly. He went down on his knees, examining it minutelyeven going so far as to smell it.