弱者的愤怒7

"I have caused you suffering," he said. "I apologize. Let us now be very business-like - verypractical, very exact. You still cling to your idea that Mr Trefusis murdered your husband?"Lady Astwell drew herself up.

"A woman's instinct, M. Poirot," she said solemnly, "never lies.""Exactly, exactly," said Poirot. "But when did he do it?""When? After I left him, of course.""You left Sir Reuben at a quarter to twelve. At five minutes to twelve Mr Leverson came in. Inthat ten minutes you say the secretary came down from his bedroom and murdered him?""It is perfectly¹ possible.""So many things are possible," said Poirot. "It could be done in ten minutes. Oh, yes! But was it?""Of course he says he was in bed and fast asleep," said Lady Astwell, "but who is to know if hewas or not?""Nobody saw him about," Poirot reminded her.

"Everybody was in bed and fast asleep," said Lady Astwell triumphantly². "Of course nobody sawhim.""I wonder," said Poirot to himself.

A short pause.

"Eh bien, Lady Astwell, I will wish you good night."George deposited a tray of early morning coffee by his master's bedside.

"Miss Margrave, sir, wore a dress of light green chiffon on the night in question.""Thank you, George, you are most reliable.""The third housemaid looks after Miss Margrave, sir. Her name is Gladys.""Thank you, George. You are invaluable³.""Not at at all, sir."

"It is a fine morning," said Poirot, looking out of the window, "and no one is likely to be astir veryearly. I think, my good George, that we shall have the Tower room to ourselves if we proceedthere to make a little experiment.""You need me, sir?"

"The experiment'," said Poirot, "will not be painful."The curtains were still drawn⁴ in the Tower room when they arrived there. George was about topull them, when Poirot restrained him.

"We will leave the room as it is. Just turn on the desk lamp."The valet obeyed.

"Now, my good George, sit down in that chair. Dispose yourself as though you were writing. Trèsbien. Me, I seize a club, I steal up behind you, so, and I hit you on the back of the head.""Yes, sir," said George.

"Ah!" said Poirot, "but when I hit you, do not continue to write. You comprehend I cannot beexact. I cannot hit you with the same force with which the assassin hit Sir Reuben. When it comesto that point, we must do the make-believe. I hit you on the head, and you collapse⁵, so. The armswell relaxed, the body limp. Permit me to arrange you. But no, do not flex⁶ your muscles."He heaved a sigh of exasperation⁷.

"You press admirably the trousers, George," he said, "but the imagination, you possess it not. Getup and let me take your place."Poirot in his turn sat down at the writing table.

"I write," he declared, "I write busily. You steal up behind me you hit me on the head with theclub. Crash! The pen slips from my fingers, I drop forward, but not very far forward, for the chairis low, and the desk is high, and, moreover, my arms support me. Have the goodness, George, togo back to the door, stand there, and tell me what you see.""Ahem!""Yes, George?" encouragingly. "I see you, sir, sitting at the desk.""Sitting at the desk?""It is a little difficult to see plainly, sir," explained George, "being such a long way away, sir, andthe lamp being so heavily shaded. If I might turn on this light, sir?"His hand reached out to the switch.

"Not at all," said Poirot sharply. "We shall do very well as we are. Here am I bending over thedesk, there are you standing⁸ by the door. Advance now, George, advance, and put your hand onmy shoulder."George obeyed.

"Lean on me a little, George, to steady yourself on your feet, as it were. Ah! Voilà."Hercule Poirot's limp body slid artistically⁹ sideways.

"I collapse - so!" he observed. "Yes, it is very well imagined. There is now something mostimportant that must be done.""Indeed, sir?" said the valet.

"Yes it is necessary that I should breakfast well."The little man laughed heartily¹⁰ at his own joke.

"The stomach, George; it must not be ignored."George maintained a disapproving¹¹ silence. Poirot went downstairs chuckling¹² happily to himself.

He was pleased at the way things were shaping. After breakfast he made the acquaintance ofGladys, the third housemaid. He was very interested in what she could tell him of the crime. Shewas sympathetic toward Charles, although she had no doubt of his guilt¹³.

"Poor young gentleman, sir, it seems hard, it does, him not being quite himself at the time.""He and Miss Margrave should have got on well together," suggested Poirot, "as the only twoyoung people in the house."Gladys shook her head.

"Very stand-offish Miss Lily was with him. She wouldn't have no carryings-on, and she made itplain.""He was fond of her, was he?"

"Oh, only in passing, so to speak; no harm in it, sir. Mr Victor Astwell, now he is properly gone onMiss Lily."She giggled¹⁴.

"Ah vraiment!"

Gladys giggled again.

"Sweet on her straight away he was. Miss Lily is just like a lily, isn't she, sir? So tall and such alovely shade of gold hair.""She should wear a green evening frock," mused¹⁵ Poirot. "There is a certain shade of green -""She has one, sir," said Gladys. "Of course, she can't wear it now, being in mourning, but she hadit on the very night Sir Reuben died.""It should be a light green, not a dark green," said Poirot.

"It is a light green, sir. If you wait a minute I'll show it to you. Miss Lily has just gone out with thedogs."Poirot nodded. He knew that as well as Gladys did. In fact, it was only after seeing Lily safely offthe premises¹⁶ that he had gone in search of the housemaid. Gladys hurried away, and returned afew minutes later with a green evening dress on a hanger¹⁷.

"Exquis!" murmured Poirot, holding up hands of admiration¹⁸. "Permit me to take it to the light aminute."He took the dress from Gladys, turned his back on her and hurried to the window. He bent¹⁹ over it,then held it out at arm's length.

"It is perfect," he declared. "Perfectly ravishing. A thousand thanks for showing it to me.""Not at ail²⁰, sir," said Gladys. "We all know that Frenchmen are interested in ladies' dresses.""You are too kind," murmured Poirot.

He watched her hurry away again with the dress. Then he looked down at his two hands andsmiled. In the right hand was a tiny pair of small nail scissors, in the left was a neatly²¹ clippedfragment of green chiffon.

 

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