弱者的愤怒9

"You'll get nothing out of me."

Poirot looked at the ceiling.

"I can always be discreet," he murmured, "where a lady is concerned."Victor Astwell sprang to his feet.

"Damn you, how did you - what do you mean?"

"I was thinking," said Poirot, "of Miss Lily Margrave."Victor Astwell stood undecided for a minute or two then his color subsided¹, and he sat downagain.

"You are too clever for me, M. Poirot. Yes, it was Lily we quarreled about. Reuben had his knifeinto her; he had ferreted out something or other about the girl - false references, something of thatkind. I don't believe a word of it myself.

"And then he went further than he had any right to go, talked about her stealing down at night andgetting out of the house to meet some fellow or other. My God! I gave it to him; I told him thatbetter men than he had been killed for saying less. That shut him up. Reuben was inclined to be abit afraid of me when I got going.""I hardly wonder at it," murmured Poirot politely.

"I think a lot of Lily Margrave," said Victor in another tone. "A nice girl through and through."Poirot did not answer. He was staring in front of him, seemingly lost in abstraction. He came outof his brown study with a jerk.

"I must, I think, promenade² myself a little. There is a hotel here, yes?""Two," said Victor Astwell, "the Golf Hotel up by the links and the Mitre down by the station.""I thank you," said Poirot. "Yes, certainly I must promenade myself a little."The Golf Hotel as befits its name, stands on the golf links almost adjoining the club house. It wasto this hostelry that Poirot repaired first in the course of that "promenade" which he had advertisedhimself as being about to take. The little man had his own way of doing things. Three minutesafter he had entered the Golf Hotel he was in private consultation³ with Miss Langdon, themanageress.

"I regret to incommode you in any way, Mademoiselle," said Poirot, "but you see I am adetective."Simplicity⁴ always appealed to him. In this case the method proved efficacious at once.

"A detective!" exclaimed Miss Langdon, looking at him doubtfully.

"Not from Scotland Yard," Poirot assured her. "In fact - you may have noticed it? I am not anEnglishman. No, I make the private inquiries⁵ into the death of Sir Reuben Astwell.""You don't say, now!" Miss Langdon goggled⁶ at him expectantly.

"Precisely," said Poirot, beaming. "Only to someone of discretion⁷ like yourself would I reveal thefact. I think, Mademoiselle, you may be able to aid me. Can you tell me of any gentleman stayinghere on the night of the murder who was absent from the hotel that evening and returned to itabout twelve or half-past?"Miss Langdon's eyes opened wider than ever.

"You don't think -?" she breathed.

"That yon had the murderer here? No, but I have reason to believe that a guest staying herepromenaded himself in the direction of Mon Repos that night, and if so he may have seensomething which, though conveying no meaning to him, might be very useful to me."The manageress nodded her head sapiently⁸, with an air of one thoroughly⁹ well up in the annals ofdetective law.

"I understand perfectly¹⁰. Now, let me see; who did we have staying here?"She frowned, evidently running over the names in her mind, and helping¹¹ her memory byoccasionally checking them off on her fingertips.

"Captain Swann, Mr Elkins, Major Blunt, old Mr Benson. No, really, sir, I don't believe anyonewent out that evening.""You would have noticed if they had done so, eh?""Oh, yes, sir, it is not very usual, you see. I mean gentlemen go out to dinner and all that, but theydon't go out after dinner, because - well, there is nowhere to go to, is there?"The attractions of Abbots Cross were golf and nothing but golf.

"That is so," agreed Poirot. "Then, as far as you remember, Mademoiselle, nobody from here wasout that night?""Captain England and his wife were out to dinner."Poirot shook his head.

"That is not the kind of thing I mean. I will try the other hotel; the Mitre, is it not?""Oh, the Mitre," said Miss Langdon. "Of course, anyone might have gone out walking from there."The disparagement¹² of her tone, though vague, was evident, and Poirot beat a tactful retreat.

Ten minutes later he was repeating the scene this time with Miss Cole, the brusque manageress ofthe Mitre, a less pretentious¹³ hotel with lower prices, situated¹⁴ close to the station.

"There was one gentleman out late that night, came in about half-past twelve, as far as I canremember. Quite a habit of his it was, to go out for a walk at that time of the evening. He had doneit once or twice before. Let me see now, what was his name? Just for the moment I can't rememberit."She pulled a large ledger¹⁵ toward her and began turning over the pages.

"Nineteenth, twentieth, twenty-first, twenty-second. Ah, here we are. Naylor, Captain HumphreyNaylor.""He had stayed here before? You know him well?""Once before," said Miss Cole, "about a fortnight earlier. He went out then in the evening, Iremember.""He came to play golf, eh?"

"I suppose so," said Miss Cole; "that's what most of the gentlemen come for.""Very true," said Poirot. "Well, Mademoiselle, I thank you infinitely¹⁶, and I wish you good day."He went back to Mon Repos with a very thoughtful face. Once or twice he drew something fromhis pocket and looked at it.

"It must be done," he murmured to himself, "and soon, as soon as I can make the opportunity."His first proceeding¹⁷ on re-entering the house was to ask Parsons where Miss Margrave might befound. He was told that she was in the small study dealing¹⁸ with Lady Astwell's correspondenceand the information seemed to afford Poirot satisfaction.

He found the little study without difficulty. Lily Margrave was seated at a desk by the window,writing. But for her the room was empty. Poirot carefully shut the door behind him and cametoward the girl.

"I may have a little minute of your time, Mademoiselle, you will be so kind?""Certainly."Lily Margrave put the papers aside and turned toward him.

"What can I do for you?"

"On the evening of the tragedy, Mademoiselle, I understand that when Lady Astwell went to herhusband you went straight up to bed. Is that so?"Lily Margrave nodded.

"You did not come down again, by any chance?"The girl shook her head.

"I think you said, Mademoiselle, that you had not at any time that evening been in the Towerroom?""I don't remember saying so, but as a matter of fact that is quite true. I was not in the Tower roomthat evening."Poirot raised his eyebrows¹⁹.

"Curious," he murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"Very curious," murmured Hercule Poirot again. "How do you account, then, for this?"He drew from his pocket a little scrap²⁰ of stained green chiffon and held it up for the girl'sinspection.

Her expression did not change, but he felt rather than heard the sharp intake²¹ of breath.

"I don't understand, M. Poirot."

"You wore, I understand, a green chiffon dress that evening, Mademoiselle. This -" he tapped thescrap in his fingers - "was torn from it.""And you found it in the Tower room?" asked the girl sharply. "Whereabouts?"Hercule Poirot looked at the ceiling.

 

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