帷幕8

Chapter 7

IMy narrative of the days spent at Styles must necessarily be somewhatrambling. In my recollection of it, it presents itself to me as a series of con-versations – of suggestive words and phrases that etched themselves intomy consciousness.

First of all, and very early on, there came the realization of HerculePoirot’s infirmity and helplessness. I did believe, as he had said, that hisbrain still functioned with all its old keenness, but the physical envelopehad worn so thin that I realized at once that my part was destined to be afar more active one than usual. I had to be, as it were, Poirot’s eyes andears.

True, every fine day Curtiss would pick up his master and carry himcarefully downstairs to where his chair had been carried down before-hand and was awaiting him. Then he would wheel Poirot out into thegarden and select a spot that was free of draughts. On other days, whenthe weather was not propitious, he would be carried to the drawing-room.

Wherever he might be, someone or other was sure to come and sit withhim and talk, but this was not the same thing as if Poirot could have selec-ted for himself his partner in the tête-à-tête. He could no longer single outthe person he wanted to talk to.

On the day after my arrival I was taken by Franklin to an old studio inthe garden which had been fitted up in a rough and ready fashion for sci-entific purposes.

Let me make clear here and now that I myself have not got the scientificmind. In my account of Dr Franklin’s work I shall probably use all thewrong terms and arouse the scorn of those properly instructed in suchmatters.

As far as I, a mere layman, could make out, Franklin was experimentingwith various alkaloids derived from the Calabar bean, Physostigma ven-enosum. I understood more after a conversation which took place one daybetween Franklin and Poirot. Judith, who tried to instruct me, was, as iscustomary with the earnest young, almost impossibly technical. She re-ferred learnedly to the alkaloids physostigmine, eserine, physoveine andgeneserine, and then proceeded to a most impossible sounding substance,prostigmin or the demethylcarbonic ester of 3 hydroxypheyl trimethyllammonum, etc. etc., and a good deal more which, it appeared, was thesame thing, only differently arrived at! It was all, at any rate, doubleDutch to me, and I aroused Judith’s contempt by asking what good all thiswas likely to do mankind? There is no question that annoys your true sci-entist more. Judith at once threw me a scornful glance and embarked onanother lengthy and learned explanation. The upshot of it was, so Igathered, that certain obscure tribes of West African natives had shown aremarkable immunity to an equally obscure, though deadly disease called,as far as I remember, Jordanitis – a certain enthusiastic Dr Jordan havingoriginally tracked it down. It was an extremely rare tropical ailment,which had been, on one or two occasions, contracted by white people,with fatal results.

I risked inflaming Judith’s rage by remarking that it would be moresensible to find some drug that would counteract the after- effects ofmeasles!

With pity and scorn Judith made it clear to me that it was not the bene-faction of the human race, but the enlargement of human knowledge, thatwas the only goal worthy of attainment.

I looked at some slides through the microscope, studied some photo-graphs of West African natives (really quite entertaining!), caught the eyeof a soporific rat in a cage and hurried out again into the air.

As I say, any interest I could feel was kindled by Franklin’s conversationwith Poirot.

He said: ‘You know, Poirot, the stuff ’s really more up your street thanmine. It’s the ordeal bean – supposed to prove innocence or guilt. TheseWest African tribes believe it implicitly – or did do so – they’re gettingsophisticated nowadays. They’ll solemnly chew it up quite confident that itwill kill them if they’re guilty and not harm them if they’re innocent.’

‘And so, alas, they die?’

‘No, they don’t all die. That’s what has always been overlooked up tonow. There’s a lot behind the whole thing – a medicine man ramp, I ratherfancy. There are two distinct species of this bean – only they look so muchalike that you can hardly spot the difference. But there is a difference.

They both contain physostigmine and geneserine and the rest of it, but inthe second species you can isolate, or I think I can, yet another alkaloid –and the action of that alkaloid neutralizes the effect of the others. What’smore that second species is regularly eaten by a kind of inner ring in asecret ritual – and the people who eat it never go down with Jordanitis.

This third substance has a remarkable effect on the muscular system –without deleterious effects. It’s damned interesting. Unfortunately thepure alkaloid is very unstable. Still, I’m getting results. But what’s wantedis a lot more research out there on the spot. It’s work that ought to be done!

Yes, by heck it is … I’d sell my soul to –’ He broke off abruptly. The grincame again. ‘Forgive the shop. I get too het up over these things!’

‘As you say,’ said Poirot placidly, ‘it would certainly make my professionmuch easier if I could test guilt and innocence so easily. Ah, if there were asubstance that could do what is claimed for the Calabar bean.’

Franklin said: ‘Ah, but your troubles wouldn’t end there. After all, whatis guilt or innocence?’

‘I shouldn’t think there could be any doubt about that,’ I remarked.

He turned to me. ‘What is evil? What is good? Ideas on them vary fromcentury to century. What you would be testing would probably be a senseof guilt or a sense of innocence. In fact no value as a test at all.’

‘I don’t see how you make that out.’

‘My dear fellow, suppose a man thinks he has a divine right to kill a dic-tator or a money-lender or a pimp or whatever arouses his moral indigna-tion. He commits what you consider a guilty deed – but what he considersis an innocent one. What is your poor ordeal bean to do about it?’

‘Surely,’ I said, ‘there must always be a feeling of guilt with murder?’

‘Lots of people I’d like to kill,’ said Dr Franklin cheerfully. ‘Don’t believemy conscience would keep me awake at night afterwards. It’s an idea ofmine, you know, that about eighty per cent of the human race ought to beeliminated. We’d get on much better without them.’

He got up and strolled away, whistling cheerfully to himself.

I looked after him doubtfully. A low chuckle from Poirot recalled me.

‘You look, my friend, like one who has envisaged a nest of serpents. Letus hope that our friend the doctor does not practise what he preaches.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘But supposing he does?’

 

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