帷幕11

Chapter 8

IThe days passed. It was an unsatisfactory time, with its uneasy feeling ofwaiting for something.

Nothing, if I may put it in such a way, actually happened. Yet there wereincidents, scraps of odd conversations, side- lights upon the various in-mates of Styles, elucidating remarks. They all mounted up and, if properlypieced together, could have done a lot towards enlightening me.

It was Poirot who, with a few forceful words, showed me something towhich I had been criminally blind.

I was complaining, for the umpteenth time, of his wilful refusal to admitme to his confidence. It was not fair, I told him. Always he and I had hadequal knowledge – even if I had been dense and he had been astute indrawing the right conclusions from that knowledge.

He waved an impatient hand. ‘Quite so, my friend. It is not fair! It is notsporting! It is not playing the game! Admit all that and pass from it. This isnot a game – it is not le sport. For you, you occupy yourself in guessingwildly at the identity of X. It is not for that that I asked you to come here.

Unnecessary for you to occupy yourself with that. I know the answer tothat question. But what I do not know and what I must know is this: “Whois going to die – very soon?” It is a question, mon vieux, not of you playing aguessing game, but of preventing a human being from dying.’

I was startled. ‘Of course,’ I said slowly. ‘I – well, I did know that youpractically said so once, but I haven’t quite realized it.’

‘Then realize it now – immediately.’

‘Yes, yes, I will – I mean, I do.’

‘Bien! Then tell me, Hastings, who is it who is going to die?’

I stared at him blankly. ‘I have really no idea!’

‘Then you should have an idea! What else are you here for?’

‘Surely,’ I said, going back over my meditations on the subject, ‘theremust be a connection between the victim and X so that if you told me whoX was –’

Poirot shook his head with so much vigour that it was quite painful towatch.

‘Have I not told you that that is the essence of X’s technique? There willbe nothing connecting X with the death. That is certain.’

‘The connection will be hidden, you mean?’

‘It will be so well hidden that neither you nor I will find it.’

‘But surely by studying X’s past –’

‘I tell you, no. Certainly not in the time. Murder may happen any mo-ment, you comprehend?’

‘To someone in this house?’

‘To someone in this house.’

‘And you really do not know who, or how?’

‘Ah! If I did, I should not be urging you to find out for me.’

‘You simply base your assumption on the presence of X?’

I sounded a little doubtful. Poirot, whose self-control had lessened as hislimbs were perforce immobile, fairly howled at me.

‘Ah, ma foi, how many times am I to go over all this? If a lot of war cor-respondents arrive suddenly in a certain spot of Europe, it means what? Itmeans war! If doctors come from all over the world to a certain city, itshows what? That there is to be there a medical conference. Where yousee a vulture hovering, there will be a carcass. If you see beaters walkingup a moor, there will be a shoot. If you see a man stop suddenly, tear offhis coat and plunge into the sea, it means that there, there will be a rescuefrom drowning.

‘If you see ladies of middle age and respectable appearance peeringthrough a hedge, you may deduce that there is there an impropriety ofsome kind! And finally, if you smell a succulent smell and observe severalpeople all walking along a corridor in the same direction you may safelyassume that a meal is about to be served!’

I considered these analogies for a minute or two, then I said, taking thefirst one: ‘All the same, one war correspondent does not make a war!’

‘Certainly not. And one swallow does not make a summer. But one mur-derer, Hastings, does make a murder.’

That, of course, was undeniable. But it still occurred to me, as it did notseem to have occurred to Poirot, that even a murderer has his off times. Xmight be at Styles simply for a holiday with no lethal intent. Poirot was soworked up, however, that I dared not propound this suggestion. I merelysaid that the whole thing seemed to me hopeless. We must wait –‘And see,’ finished Poirot. ‘Like your Mr Asquith in the last war. That,mon cher, is just what we must not do. I do not say, mark you, that we shallsucceed, for as I have told you before, when a killer has determined to kill,it is not easy to circumvent him. But we can at least try. Figure to yourself,Hastings, that you have here the bridge problem in the paper. You can seeall the cards. What you are asked to do is “Forecast the result of the deal”.’

I shook my head. ‘It’s no good, Poirot, I haven’t the least idea. If I knewwho X was –’

Poirot howled at me again. He howled so loud that Curtiss came runningin from the next room looking quite frightened. Poirot waved him awayand when he had gone out again, my friend spoke in a more controlledmanner.

‘Come, Hastings, you are not so stupid as you like to pretend. You havestudied those cases I gave you to read. You may not know who X is, butyou know X’s technique for committing a crime.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I see.’

‘Of course you see. The trouble with you is that you are mentally lazy.

You like to play games and guess. You do not like to work with your head.

What is the essential element of X’s technique? Is it not that the crime,when committed, is complete? That is to say, there is a motive for thecrime, there is an opportunity, there is means and there is, last and mostimportant, the guilty person all ready for the dock.’

At once I grasped the essential point and realized what a fool I had beennot to see it sooner.

‘I see,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to look round for somebody who – who answers tothose requirements – the potential victim.’

Poirot leaned back with a sigh. ‘Enfin! I am very tired. Send Curtiss tome. You understand your job now. You are active, you can get about, youcan follow people about, talk to them, spy upon them unobserved –’ (Inearly uttered an indignant protest, but quelled it. It was too old an argu-ment) – ‘You can listen to conversations, you have knees that will bendand permit you to kneel and look through keyholes –’

‘I will not look through keyholes,’ I interrupted hotly.

Poirot closed his eyes. ‘Very well, then. You will not look through key-holes. You will remain the English gentleman and someone will be killed.

It does not matter, that. Honour comes first with an Englishman. Yourhonour is more important than somebody else’s life. Bien! It is under-stood.’

‘No, but dash it all, Poirot –’

Poirot said coldly: ‘Send Curtiss to me. Go away. You are obstinate andextremely stupid and I wish that there were someone else whom I couldtrust, but I suppose I shall have to put up with you and your absurd ideasof fair play. Since you cannot use your grey cells as you do not possessthem, at any rate use your eyes, your ears and your nose if need be in sofar as the dictates of honour allow.’

 

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