弱者的愤怒8

"And now," he murmured, "to be heroic."

He returned to his own apartment and summoned George.

"On the dressing-table, my good George, you will perceive a gold scarf pin.""Yes, sir.""On the washstand is a solution of carbolic. Immerse, I pray you, the point of the pin in thecarbolic."George did as he was bid. He had long ago ceased to wonder at the vagaries¹ of his master.

"I have done that, sir."

"Très bien! Now approach. I tender to you my first finger; insert the point of the pin in it.""Excuse me, sir, you want me to prick² you, sir?""But, yes, you have guessed correctly. You must draw blood, you understand, but not too much."George took hold of his master's finger. Poirot shut his eyes and leaned back. The valet stabbed atthe finger with the scarf pin, and Poirot uttered a shrill³ yell.

"Je vous remercie, George," he said. "What you have done is ample."Taking a small piece of green chiffon from his pocket, he dabbed⁴ his finger with it gingerly.

"The operation has succeeded to a miracle," he remarked, gazing at the result. "You have nocuriosity, George? Now, that is admirable!"The valet had just taken a discreet⁵ look out of the window.

"Excuse me, sir," he murmured, "a gentleman has driven up in a large car.""Ah! Ah!" said Poirot. He rose briskly to his feet. "The elusive⁶ Mr Victor Astwell. I go down tomake his acquaintance."Poirot was destined⁷ to hear Mr Victor Astwell some time before he saw him. A loud voice rangout from the hall.

"Mind what you are doing, you damned idiot! That case has got glass in it. Curse you, Parsons, getout of the way! Put it down, you fool!"Poirot skipped nimbly down the stairs. Victor Astwell was a big man. Poirot bowed to himpolitely.

"Who the devil are you?" roared the big man.

Poirot bowed again.

"My name is Hercule Poirot."

"Lord!" said Victor Astwell. "So Nancy sent for you, after all, did she?"He put a hand on Poirot's shoulder and steered⁹ him into the library.

"So you are the fellow they make such a fuss about," he remarked, looking him up and down.

"Sorry for my language just now. That chauffeur¹⁰ of mine is a damned ass⁸, and Parsons alwaysdoes get on my nerves, blithering old idiot.

"I don't suffer fools gladly, you know," he said, half apologetically, "but by all accounts you arenot a fool, eh, M. Poirot?"He laughed breezily.

"Those who have thought so have been sadly mistaken," said Poirot placidly¹¹.

"Is that so? Well, so Nancy has carted you down here - got a bee in her bonnet¹² about the secretary.

There is nothing in that; Trefusis is as mild as milk - drinks milk, too, I believe. The fellow is ateetotaler. Rather waste of your time, isn't it?""If one has an opportunity to observe human nature, time is never wasted," said Poirot quietly.

"Human nature, eh?"

Victor Astwell stared at him, then he flung himself down in a chair.

"Anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, you can tell me what your quarrel with your brother was about that evening."Victor Astwell shook his head.

"Nothing to do with the case," he said decisively.

"One can never be sure," said Poirot.

"It had nothing to do with Charles Leverson.""Lady Astwell thinks that Charles had nothing to do with the murder.""Oh, Nancy!""Parsons assumes that it was M. Charles Leverson who came in that night, but he didn't see him.

Remember nobody saw him."

"You are wrong there," said Astwell. "I saw him.""You saw him?""It's very simple. Reuben had been pitching into young Charles - not without good reason, I mustsay. Later on he tried to bully¹³ me. I told him a few home truths and, just to annoy him, I made upmy mind to back the boy. I meant to see him that night, so as to tell him how the land lay. When Iwent up to my room I didn't go to bed. Instead, I left the door ajar and sat on a chair smoking. Myroom is on the second floor, M. Poirot, and Charles's room is next to it.""Pardon my interrupting you - Mr Trefusis, he, too, sleeps on that floor?"Astwell nodded.

"Yes, his room is just beyond mine."

"Nearer the stairs?"

"No, the other way."

A curious light came into Poirot's face, but the other didn't notice it and went on:

"As I say, I waited up for Charles. I heard the front door slam, as I thought, about five minutes totwelve, but there was no sign of Charles for about ten minutes. When he did come up the stairs Isaw that it was no good tackling him that night.

He lifted his elbows significantly.

"I see," murmured Poirot.

"Poor devil couldn't walk straight," said Astwell. "He was looking pretty ghastly, too. I put itdown to his condition at the time. Of course, now I realize that he had come straight fromcommitting the crime."Poirot interposed a quick question.

"You heard nothing from the Tower room?"

"No but you must remember that I was right at the other end of the building. The walls are thick,and I don't believe you would even hear a pistol shot fired from there."Poirot nodded.

"I asked if he would like some help getting to bed," continued Astwell. "But he said he was allright and went into his room and banged the door. I undressed and went to bed."Poirot was staring thoughtfully at the carpet.

"You realize, M. Astwell," he said at last, "that your evidence is very important?""I suppose so, at least - what do you mean?""Your evidence that ten minutes elapsed between the slamming of the front door and Leverson'sappearance upstairs. He himself says, so I understand, that he came into the house and wentstraight up to bed. But there is more than that. Lady Astwell's accusation¹⁴ of the secretary isfantastic, I admit, yet up to now it has not been proved impossible. But your evidence creates analibi.""How is that?"

"Lady Astwell says that she left her husband at a quarter to twelve, while the secretary had gone tobed at eleven o'clock. The only time he could have committed the crime was between a quarter totwelve and Charles Leverson's return. Now, if, as you say, you sat with your door open, he couldnot have come down from his room without your seeing him.""That is so," agreed the other.

"There is no other staircase?"

"No, to get down to the Tower room he would have had to pass my door, and he didn't, I am quitesure of that. And, anyway, M. Poirot, as I said just now, the man is as meek¹⁵ as a parson, I assureyou.""But yes, but yes," said Poirot soothingly¹⁶, "I understand all that." He paused. "And you will nottell me the subject of your quarrel with Sir Reuben?"The other's face turned a dark red.

 

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