弱者的愤怒14

"Well," said Cazalet, "I think this explains things pretty clearly. No doubt when Sir Reuben wasdressing down the secretary, the latter grabbed tight hold on a paper-knife, and had to exercise agood deal of self-control to prevent himself answering back. Lady Astwell's conscious mind waswholly taken up with the problem of Lily Margrave, but her subconscious¹ mind noticed andmisconstrued the action.

"It implanted in her the firm conviction that Trefusis murdered Sir Reuben. Now we come to thebulge in the curtain. That is interesting. I take it from what you have told me of the Tower roomthat the desk was right in the window. There are curtains across that window, of course?""Yes, mon ami, black velvet² curtains.""And there is room in the embrasure of the window for anyone to remain concealed⁴ behind them?""There would be just room, I think.""Then there seems at least a possibility," said the doctor slowly, "that someone was concealed inthe room, but if so it could not be the secretary, since they both saw him leave the room. It couldnot be Victor Astwell, for Trefusis met him going out, and it could not be Lily Margrave. Whoeverit was must have been concealed there before Sir Reuben entered the room that evening. You havetold me pretty well how the land lies. Now what about Captain Naylor? Could it have been he whowas concealed there?""It is always possible," admitted Poirot. "He certainly dined at the hotel, but how soon he went outafterward is difficult to fix exactly. He returned about half-past twelve.""Then it might have been he," said the doctor, "and if so, he committed the crime. He had themotive, and there was a weapon near at hand. You don't seem satisfied with the idea, though?""Me, I have other ideas," confessed Poirot. "Tell me now, M. le Docteur, supposing for one minutethat Lady Astwell herself had committed this crime, would she necessarily betray the fact in thehypnotic state?"The doctor whistled.

"So that's what you are getting at? Lady Astwell is the criminal, eh? Of course - it is possible; Inever thought of it till this minute. She was the last to be with him, and no one saw him aliveafterward. As to your question: I should be inclined to say - No. Lady Astwell would go into thehypnotic state with a strong mental reservation to say nothing of her own part in the crime. Shewould answer my questions truthfully, but she would be dumb on that one point. Yet I shouldhardly have expected her to be so insistent⁵ on Mr Trefusis's guilt⁶.""I comprehend," said Poirot. "But I have not said that I believe Lady Astwell to be the criminal. Itis a suggestion, that is all.""It is an interesting case," said the doctor after a minute or two. "Granting Charles Leverson isinnocent, there are so many possibilities, Humphrey Naylor, Lady Astwell, and even Lily,Margrave.""There is another you have not mentioned," said Poirot quietly, "Victor Astwell. According to hisown story, he sat in his room with the door open waiting for Charles Leverson's return, but wehave only his own word for it, you comprehend?""He is the bad-tempered⁷ fellow, isn't he?" asked the doctor. "The one you told me about?""That is so," agreed Poirot.

The doctor rose to his feet.

"Well, I must be getting back to town. You will let me know how things shape, won't you?"After the doctor had left, Poirot pulled the bell for George.

"A cup of tisane, George. My nerves are much disturbed.""Certainly, sir," said George. "I will prepare it immediately."Ten minutes later he brought a steaming cup to his master. Poirot inhaled⁸ the noxious⁹ fumes¹⁰ withpleasure. As he sipped¹¹ it, he soliloquized aloud.

"The chase is different all over the world. To catch the fox you ride hard with the dogs. You shout,you run, it is a matter of speed. I have not shot the stag myself, but I understand that to do so youcrawl for many long, long hours upon your stomach. My friend Hastings has recounted the affairto me. Our method here, my good George, must be neither of these. Let us reflect upon thehousehold cat. For many long, weary hours, he watches the mouse hole, he makes no movement,he betrays no energy, but - he does not go away."He sighed and put the empty cup down on its saucer.

"I told you to pack for a few days. Tomorrow, my good George, you will go to London and bringdown what is necessary for a fortnight.""Very good, sir," said George. As usual he displayed no emotion.

The apparently¹² permanent presence of Hercule Poirot at Mon Repos was disquieting¹³ to manypeople. Victor Astwell remonstrated¹⁴ with his sister-in-law about it.

"It's all very well, Nancy. You don't know what fellows of that kind are like. He has found jollycomfortable quarters here, and he is evidently going to settle down comfortably for about a month,charging you two guineas a day all the while."Lady Astwell's reply was to the effect that she could manage her own affairs without interference.

Lily Margrave tried earnestly to conceal³ her perturbation. At the time, she had felt sure that Poirotbelieved her story. Now she was not so certain.

Poirot did not play an entirely¹⁵ quiescent¹⁶ game. On the fifth day of his sojourn¹⁷ he brought down asmall thumbograph album to dinner. As a method of getting the thumbprints of the household, itseemed a rather clumsy device, yet not perhaps so clumsy as it seemed, since no one could affordto refuse his thumbprints. Only after the little man had retired¹⁸ to bed did Victor Astwell state hisviews.

"You see what it means, Nancy. He is out after one of us.""Don't be absurd, Victor.""Well, what other meaning could that blinking little book of his have?""M, Poirot knows what he is doing," said Lady Astwell complacently¹⁹, and looked with somemeaning at Owen Trefusis.

On another occasion Poirot introduced the game of tracing footprints on a sheet of paper. Thefollowing morning, going with his soft cat-like tread into the library, the detective startled OwenTrefusis, who leaped from his chair as though he had been shot.

"You must really excuse me, M. Poirot," he said primly²⁰, "but you have us on the jump.""Indeed, how is that?" demanded the little man innocently.

"I will admit," said the secretary, "that I thought the case against Charles Leverson utterlyoverwhelming, You apparently do not find it so."Poirot was standing²¹ looking out of the window. He turned suddenly to the other.

"I shall tell you something, M. Trefusis - in confidence.""Yes?"Poirot seemed in no hurry to begin. He waited a minute, hesitating. When he did speak, hisopening words were coincident with the opening and shutting of the front door. For a man sayingsomething in confidence, he spoke²² rather loudly, his voice drowning the sound of a footstep in thehall outside.

"I shall tell you this in confidence, Mr Trefusis. There is new evidence. It goes to prove that whenCharles Leverson entered the Tower room that night, Sir Reuben was already dead."The secretary stared at him.

"But what evidence? Why have we not heard of it?""You will hear," said the little man mysteriously. "In the meantime, you and I alone know thesecret."He skipped nimbly out of the room, and almost collided with Victor Astwell in the hall outside.

 

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