西班牙箱子之谜9

"The discovery," he said kindly¹, "must have been a great shock to you.""Oh it was, sir. I'll never forget it." The valet rushed into speech. Words poured from him. He felt,perhaps, that by telling the story often enough, he might at last expunge² it from his mind.

"I'd gone round the room, sir. Clearing up. Glasses and so on. I'd just stooped to pick up a coupleof olives off the floor - and I saw it - on the rug, a rusty³ dark stain. No, the rug's gone now. To thecleaners. The police had done with it. Whatever's that? I thought. Saying to myself, almost in jokelike: 'Really it might be blood! But where does it come from? What got spilled?' And then I saw itwas from the chest - down the side, here, where there's a crack. And I said, still not thinkinganything, 'Well whatever -?' And I lifted up the lid like this -" (he suited the action to the word)"and there it was the body of a man lying on his side doubled up - like he might be asleep. Andthat nasty foreign knife or dagger⁴ thing sticking up out of his neck. I'll never forget it - never! Notas long as I live! The shock - not expecting it, you understand…"He breathed deeply.

"I let the lid fall and I ran out of the flat and down to the street. Looking for a policeman - andlucky, I found one - just round the corner."Poirot regarded him reflectively. The performance, if it was a performance, was very good. Hebegan to be afraid that it was not a performance - that it was just how things had happened.

"You did not think of awakening⁵ first Major Rich?" he asked.

"It never occurred to me, sir. What with the shock, I - I just wanted to get out of here -" heswallowed - "and - and get help."Poirot nodded.

"Did you realize that it was Mr. Clayton?" he asked.

"I ought to have, sir, but you know, I don't believe I did. Of course, as soon as I got back with thepolice officer, I said 'Why, it's Mr. Clayton!' And he says 'Who's Mr. Clayton?' And I says: 'Hewas here last night.'""Ah," said Poirot, "last night. Do you remember exactly when it was Mr. Clayton arrived here?""Not to the minute. But as near as not a quarter to eight, I'd say.""You knew him well?""He and Mrs. Clayton had been here quite frequently during the year and a half I've beenemployed here.""Did he seem quite as usual?"

"I think so. A little out of breath - but I took it he'd been hurrying. He was catching⁶ a train, or sohe said.""He had a bag with him, I suppose, as he was going to Scotland?""No, sir. I imagine he was keeping a taxi down below.""Was he disappointed to find that Major Rich was out?""Not to notice. Just said he'd scribble⁷ a note. He came in here and went over to the desk and I wentback to the kitchen. I was a little behindhand with the anchovy⁸ eggs. The kitchen's at the end ofthe passage and you don't hear very well from there. I didn't hear him go out or the master come in- but then I wouldn't expect to.""And the next thing -"

"Major Rich called me. He was standing⁹ in the door here. He said he'd forgotten Mrs. Spence'sTurkish cigarettes. I was to hurry out and get them. So I did. I brought them back and put them onthe table in here. Of course I took it that Mr. Clayton had left by then to get his train.""And nobody else came to the flat during the time Major Rich was out and you were in thekitchen?""No, sir - no one."

"Can you be sure of that?"

"How could anyone, sir? They'd have had to ring the bell."Poirot shook his head. How could anyone? The Spences and McLaren and also Mrs. Claytoncould, he already knew, account for every minute of their time. McLaren had been withacquaintances at the club, the Spences had had a couple of friends in for a drink before starting.

Margharita Clayton had talked to a friend on the telephone at just that period. Not that he thoughtof any of them as possibilities. There would have been better ways of killing¹⁰ Arnold Clayton thanfollowing him to a flat with a manservant there and the host returning any moment. No, he had hada last minute hope of a "mysterious stranger"! Someone out of Clayton's apparently¹¹ impeccablepast, recognizing him in the street, following him here. Attacking him with the stiletto, thrustingthe body into the chest, and fleeing. Pure melodrama¹², unrelated to reason or to probabilities! Intune with romantic historical fictions - matching the Spanish chest.

He went back across the room to the chest. He raised the lid. It came up easily, noiselessly. In afaint voice, Burgess said: "It's been scrubbed out, sir, I saw to that."Poirot bent¹³ over it. With a faint exclamation¹⁴ he bent lower. He explored with his fingers.

"These holes - at the back and one side - they look - they feel, as though they had been made quiterecently.""Holes, sir?" The valet bent to see. "I really couldn't say. I've never noticed them particularly.""They are not very obvious. But they are there. What is their purpose, would you say?""I really wouldn't know, sir. Some animal, perhaps - I mean a beetle¹⁵, something of that kind.

Something that gnaws¹⁶ wood?"

"Some animal?" said Poirot. "I wonder."

He stepped back across the room.

"When you came in here with the cigarettes, was there anything at all about this room that lookeddifferent? Anything at all? Chairs moved, table, something of that kind?""It's odd your saying that, sir... Now you come to mention it, there was. That screen there that cutsoff the draft from the bedroom door, it was moved over a bit more to the left.""Like this?" Poirot moved swiftly.

"A little more still... That's right."

The screen had already masked about half of the chest. The way it was now arranged, it almost hidthe chest altogether.

"Why did you think it had been moved?"

"I didn't think, sir."

(Another Miss Lemon!)

 

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