Chapter 22 – The End of the Story

'You want me to explain?'

Poirot looked round with a gratified smile and the air of mock humility I knew so well.

We had moved into the drawing-room and our numbers had lessened. The domestics had withdrawn tactfully, and the Crofts had been asked to accompany the police. Frederica, Lazarus, Challenger, Vyse and I remained.

'Eh bien-I confess it-I was fooled-fooled completely and absolutely. The little Nick, she had me where she wanted me, as your idiom so well expresses it. Ah! Madame, when you said that your friend was a clever little liar-how right you were! How right!'

'Nick always told lies,' said Frederica, composedly. 'That's why I didn't really believe in these marvellous escapes of hers.'

'And I-imbecile that I was-did!'

'Didn't they really happen?' I asked. I was, I admit, still hopelessly confused. 'They were invented-very cleverly-to give just the impression they did.' 'What was that?'

'They gave the impression that Mademoiselle Nick's life was in danger. But I will begin earlier than that. I will tell you the story as I have pieced it out-not as it came to me imperfectly and in flashes.'

'At the beginning of the business then, we have this girl, this Nick Buckley, young and beautiful, unscrupulous, and passionately and fanatically devoted to her home.'

Charles Vyse nodded.

'I told you that.'

'And you were right. Mademoiselle Nick loved End House. But she had no money. The house was mortgaged. She wanted money-she wanted it feverishly-and she could not get it. She meets this young Seton at Le Touquet, he is attracted by her. She knows that in all probability he is his uncle's heir and that that uncle is worth millions. Good, her star is in the ascendant, she thinks. But he is not really seriously attracted. He thinks her good fun, that is all. They meet at Scarborough, he takes her up in his machine and then-the catastrophe occurs. He meets Maggie and falls in love with her at first sight.'

'Mademoiselle Nick is dumbfounded. Her cousin Maggie whom she has never considered pretty! But to young Seton she is "different". The one girl in the world for him. They become secretly engaged. Only one person knows-has to know. That person is Mademoiselle Nick. The poor Maggie-she is glad that there is one person she can talk to. Doubtless she reads to her cousin parts of her fiance's letters. So it is that Mademoiselle gets to hear of the will. She pays no attention to it at the time. But it remains in her mind.'

'Then comes the sudden and unexpected death of Sir Matthew Seton, and hard upon that the rumours of Michael Seton's being missing. And straightaway an outrageous plan comes into our young lady's head. Seton does not know that her name is Magdala also. He only knows her as Nick. His will is clearly quite informal-a mere mention of a name. But in the eyes of the world Seton is her friend! It is with her that his name has been coupled. If she were to claim to be engaged to him, no one would be surprised. But to do that successfully Maggie must be out of the way.'

'Time is short. She arranges for Maggie to come and stay in a few days' time. Then she has her escapes from death. The picture whose cord she cuts through. The brake of the car that she tampers with. The boulder-that perhaps was natural and she merely invented the story of being underneath on the path.'

'And then-she sees my name in the paper. (I told you, Hastings, everyone knew Hercule Poirot!) and she has the audacity to make me an accomplice! The bullet through the hat that falls at my feet. Oh! the pretty comedy. And I am taken in! I believe in the peril that menaces her! Bon! She has got a valuable witness on her side. I play into her hands by asking her to send for a friend.'

'She seizes the chance and sends for Maggie to come a day earlier.'

'How easy the crime is actually! She leaves us at the dinner table and after hearing on the wireless that Seton's death is a fact, she starts to put her plan into action. She has plenty of time, then, to take Seton's letters to Maggie-look through them and select the few that will answer her purpose. These she places in her own room. Then, later, she and Maggie leave the fireworks and go back to the house. She tells her cousin to put on her shawl. Then stealing out after her, she shoots her. Quick, into the house, the pistol concealed in the secret panel (of whose existence she thinks nobody knows). Then upstairs. There she waits till voices are heard. The body is discovered. It is her cue.'

'Down she rushes and out through the window.'

'How well she played her part! Magnificently! Oh, yes, she staged a fine drama here. The maid, Ellen, said this was an evil house. I am inclined to agree with her. It was from the house that Mademoiselle Nick took her inspiration.'

'But those poisoned sweets,' said Frederica. 'I still don't understand about that.'

'It was all part of the same scheme. Do you not see that if Nick's life was attempted after Maggie was dead that absolutely settled the question that Maggie's death had been a mistake.'

'When she thought the time was ripe she rang up Madame Rice and asked her to get her a box of chocolates.'

'Then it was her voice?'

'But, yes! How often the simple explanation is the true one! N'est ce pas? She made her voice sound a little different-that was all. So that you might be in doubt when questioned. Then, when the box arrived-again how simple. She fills three of the chocolates with cocaine (she had cocaine with her, cleverly concealed), eats one of them and is ill-but not too ill. She knows very well how much cocaine to take and just what symptoms to exaggerate.'

'And the card-my card! Ah! Sapristi -she has a nerve! It was my card-the one I sent with the flowers. Simple, was it not? Yes, but it had to be thought of...'

There was a pause and then Frederica asked: 'Why did she put the pistol in my coat?'

'I thought you would ask me that, Madame. It was bound to occur to you in time. Tell me-had it ever entered your head that Mademoiselle Nick no longer liked you? Did you ever feel that she might-hate you?'

'It's difficult to say,' said Frederica, slowly. 'We lived an insincere life. She used to be fond of me.'

'Tell me, M. Lazarus-it is not a time for false modesty, you understand-was there ever anything between you and her?'

'No.' Lazarus shook his head. 'I was attracted to her at one time. And then-I don't know why-I went off her.'

'Ah!' said Poirot, nodding his head sagely. 'That was her tragedy. She attracted people-and then they "went off her". Instead of liking her better and better you fell in love with her friend. She began to hate Madame-Madame who had a rich friend behind her. Last winter when she made a will, she was fond of Madame. Later it was different.'

'She remembered that will. She did not know that Croft had suppressed it-that it had never reached its destination. Madame (or so the world would say) had got a motive for desiring her death. So it was to Madame she telephoned asking her to get the chocolates. Tonight, the will would have been read, naming Madame her residuary legatee-and then the pistol would be found in her coat-the pistol with which Maggie Buckley was shot. If Madame found it, she might incriminate herself by trying to get rid of it.'

'She must have hated me,' murmured Frederica.

'Yes, Madame. You had what she had not-the knack of winning love, and keeping it.'

'I'm rather dense,' said Challenger, 'but I haven't quite fathomed the will business yet.'

'No? That's a different business altogether-a very simple one. The Crofts are lying low down here. Mademoiselle Nick has to have an operation. She has made no will. The Crofts see a chance. They persuade her to make one and take charge of it for the post. Then, if anything happens to her-if she dies-they produce a cleverly forged will-leaving the money to Mrs Croft with a reference to Australia and Philip Buckley whom they know once visited the country.'

'But Mademoiselle Nick has her appendix removed quite satisfactorily so the forged will is no good. For the moment, that is. Then the attempts on her life begin. The Crofts are hopeful once more. Finally, I announce her death. The chance is too good to be missed. The forged will is immediately posted to M. Vyse. Of course, to begin with, they naturally thought her much richer than she is. They knew nothing about the mortgage.'

'What I really want to know, M. Poirot,' said Lazarus, 'is how you actually got wise to all this. When did you begin to suspect?'

'Ah! there I am ashamed. I was so long-so long. There were things that worried me-yes. Things that seemed not quite right. Discrepancies between what Mademoiselle Nick told me and what other people told me. Unfortunately, I always believed Mademoiselle Nick.'

'And then, suddenly, I got a revelation. Mademoiselle Nick made one mistake. She was too clever. When I urged her to send for a friend she promised to do so-and suppressed the fact that she had already sent for Mademoiselle Maggie. It seemed to her less suspicious-but it was a mistake.'

'For Maggie Buckley wrote a letter home immediately on arrival, and in it she used one innocent phrase that puzzled me: "I don't see why Nick should have telegraphed for me the way she did. Tuesday would have done just as well." What did that mention of Tuesday mean? It could only mean one thing. Maggie had been coming to stay on Tuesday anyway. But in that case Mademoiselle Nick had lied-or had at any rate suppressed the truth.'

'And for the first time I looked at her in a different light. I criticized her statements. Instead of believing them, I said, "Suppose this were not true." I remembered the discrepancies. "How would it be if every time it was Mademoiselle Nick who was lying and not the other person?"'

'I said to myself: "Let us be simple. What has really happened?"'

'And I saw that what had really happened was that Maggie Buckley had been killed. Just that! But who could want Maggie Buckley dead?'

'And then I thought of something else-a few foolish remarks that Hastings had made not five minutes before. He had said that there were plenty of abbreviations for Margaret-Maggie, Margot, etc. And it suddenly occurred to me to wonder what was Mademoiselle Maggie's real name?'

'Then, tout d'un coup, it came to me! Supposing her name was Magdala! It was a Buckley name, Mademoiselle Nick had told me so. Two Magadala Buckleys. Supposing...'

'In my mind I ran over the letters of Michael Seton's that I had read. Yes-there was nothing impossible. There was a mention of Scarborough-but Maggie had been in Scarborough with Nick-her mother had told me so.'

'And it explained one thing which had worried me. Why were there so few letters? If a girl keeps her love letters at all, she keeps all of them. Why these select few? Was there any peculiarity about them?'

'And I remembered that there was no name mentioned in them. They all began differently-but they began with a term of endearment. Nowhere in them was there the name-Nick.

'And there was something else, something that I ought to have seen at once-that cried the truth aloud.'

'What was that?'

'Why-this. Mademoiselle Nick underwent an operation for appendicitis on February 27th last. There is a letter of Michael Seton's dated March 2nd, and no mention of anxiety, of illness or anything unusal. That ought to have shown me that the letters were written to a different person altogether.'

'Then I went through a list of questions that I had made. And I answered them in the light of my new idea.'

'In all but a few isolated questions the result was simple and convincing. And I answered, too, another question which I had asked myself earlier. Why did Mademoiselle Nick buy a black dress? The answer was that she and her cousin had to be dressed alike, with the scarlet shawl as an additional touch. That was the true and convincing answer, not the other. A girl would not buy mourning before she knew her lover was dead. She would be unreal-unnatural.'

'And so I, in turn, staged my little drama. And the thing I hoped for happened! Nick Buckley had been very vehement about the question of a secret panel. She had declared there was no such thing. But if there were-and I did not see why Ellen should have invented it-Nick must know of it. Why was she so vehement? Was it possible that she had hidden the pistol there? With the secret intention of using it to throw suspicion on somebody later?'

'I let her see that appearances were very black against Madame. That was as she had planned. As I foresaw, she was unable to resist the crowning proof. Besides it was safer for herself. That secret panel might be found by Ellen and the pistol in it!'

'We are all safely in here. She is waiting outside for her cue. It is absolutely safe, she thinks, to take the pistol from its hiding place and put it in Madame's coat...'

'And so-at the last-she failed...'

Frederica shivered.

'All the same,' she said. 'I'm glad I gave her my watch.'

'Yes, Madame.'

She looked up at him quickly.

'You know about that too?'

'What about Ellen?' I asked, breaking in. 'Did she know or suspect anything?'

'No. I asked her. She told me that she decided to stay in the house that night because in her own phrase she "thought something was up". Apparently Nick urged her to see the fireworks rather too decisively. She had fathomed Nick's dislike of Madame. She told me that "she felt in her bones something was going to happen", but she thought it was going to happen to Madame. She knew Miss Nick's temper, she said, and she was always a queer little girl.'

'Yes,' murmured Frederica. 'Yes, let us think of her like that. A queer little girl. A queer little girl who couldn't help herself... I shall-anyway.'

Poirot took her hand and raised it gently to his lips. Charles Vyse stirred uneasily.

'It's going to be a very unpleasant business,' he said, quietly. 'I must see about some kind of defence for her, I suppose.'

'There will be no need, I think,' said Poirot, gently. 'Not if I am correct in my assumptions.'

He turned suddenly on Challenger.

'That's where you put the stuff, isn't it?' he said. 'In those wrist-watches.'

'I-I-' The sailor stammered-at a loss.

'Do not try and deceive me-with your hearty good-fellow manner. It has deceived Hastings-but it does not deceive me. You make a good thing out of it, do you not-the traffic in drugs-you and your uncle in Harley Street.'

'M. Poirot.'

Challenger rose to his feet.

My little friend blinked up at him placidly.

'You are the useful "boy friend". Deny it, if you like. But I advise you, if you do not want the facts put in the hands of the police-to go.'

And to my utter amazement, Challenger did go. He went from the room like a flash. I stared after him open-mouthed.

Poirot laughed.

'I told you so, mon ami. Your instincts are always wrong. C'est epatant!'

'Cocaine was in the wrist-watch-' I began.

'Yes, yes. That is how Mademoiselle Nick had it with her so conveniently at the nursing home. And having finished her supply in the chocolate box she asked Madame just now for hers which was full.'

'You mean she can't do without it?'

'Non, non. Mademoiselle Nick is not a addict. Sometimes-for fun-that is all. But tonight she needed it for a different purpose. It will be a full dose this time.'

'You mean-?' I gasped.

'It is the best way. Better than the hangman's rope. But pst! we must not say so before M. Vyse who is all for law and order. Officially I know nothing. The contents of the wrist-watch-it is the merest guess on my part.'

'Your guesses are always right, M. Poirot,' said Frederica.

'I must be going,' said Charles Vyse, cold disapproval in his attitude as he left the room.

Poirot looked from Frederica to Lazarus. 'You are going to get married-eh?' 'As soon as we can.'

'And indeed, M. Poirot,' said Frederica. 'I am not the drug-taker you think. I have cut myself down to a tiny dose. I think now-with happiness in front of me-I shall not need a wrist-watch any more.'

'I hope you will have happiness, Madame,' said Poirot. gently. 'You have suffered a great deal. And in spite of everything you have suffered, you have still the quality of mercy in your heart...'

'I will look after her,' said Lazarus. 'My business is in a bad way, but I believe I shall pull through. And if I don't-well, Frederica does not mind being poor-with me.'

She shook her head, smiling.

'It is late,' said Poirot, looking at the clock.

We all rose.

'We have spent a strange night in this strange house,' Poirot went on. 'It is, I think, as Ellen says, an evil house...'

He looked up at the picture of old Sir Nicholas. Then, with a sudden gesture, he drew Lazarus aside.

'I ask your pardon, but, of all my questions, there is one still unanswered. Tell me, why did you offer fifty pounds for that picture? It would give me much pleasure to know-so as, you comprehend, to leave nothing unanswered.'

Lazarus looked at him with an impassive face for a minute or two. Then he smiled.

'You see, M. Poirot,' he said. 'I am a dealer.' 'Exactly.'

'That picture is not worth a penny more than twenty pounds. I knew that if I offered Nick fifty, she would immediately suspect it was worth more and would get it valued elsewhere. Then she would find that I had offered her far more than it was worth. The next time I offered to buy a picture she would not have got it valued.'

'Yes, and then?'

'The picture on the far wall is worth at least five thousand pounds,' said Lazarus drily.

'Ah!' Poirot drew a long breath.

'Now I know everything,' he said happily.

第二十二章　尾声

“你们要我解释一下吗？”

波洛朝大家看了一眼，脸上明明堆满了踌躇满志的笑容，却还尽量装出虚怀若谷的模样。他这一套我最有数了。

我们已经坐到客厅里来，人数也减少了。佣人们识时务地退了出去，克罗夫特夫妇也跟着警察走了。留下的只有我、弗雷德里卡、拉扎勒斯、查林杰和维斯。

“好吧，我得承认，我被愚弄了，被当成一个小丑般的玩具，用你们的话来说，我被尼克小姐这个乳臭未干的黄毛丫头牵着鼻子团团转——我！世界闻名的侦探大师赫尔克里·波洛！啊，太太，你说过你那位朋友是个天才的撒谎专家——你说得多么正确啊！”

“尼克老是说谎，”弗雷德里卡在这种恭维面前无动于衷，“所以我不相信她那些死里逃生的奇闻。”

“但我这个大傻瓜却相信了她。”

“这些事故到底发生过没有呢？”我直到这时还莫名其妙。

“全是假的，但布置得很周密，给人造成了一种印象。”

“什么印象？”

“尼克小姐生活在危险之中的印象。但我还要从更早讲起。让我把这个故事原原本本讲给你们听，因为我已经把各种事实连接在一起，还原了它本来的面目。

“一年多之前，尼克小姐是这么一个人：芳龄正妙，如花似玉，寡廉鲜耻，盲目地眷恋着她的悬崖山庄。”

查尔斯·维斯点点头。

“她眷恋山庄，我对你讲过。”

“你讲得对。尼克小姐热爱她的故居，但她没有钱。房子被抵押出去了，要是赎不回来，她就可能失去她的悬崖山庄。她需要钱——梦寐以求，但无法可想。不久她在托基遇见了年轻的塞顿并吸引了他。她知道不论发生什么情况，塞顿都是他叔叔的继承人，而尤其叫她心动的是那位叔叔富可敌国。好！她审时度势，觉得时来运转，该下手了。她得叫塞顿为她神魂颠倒，然后向她求婚。可是尼克在塞顿周围撒下的情网本身就有一个漏洞，这是她所不知的。尼克的美貌能叫人一见销魂，她的性格只能叫人觉得有趣，至于她的内涵，可就叫人一览无余，不由得情趣索然了。我们说，昙花一现的爱情可以用迷人的外貌赢得，但始终不渝的忠诚却只能靠美好的心灵来保持。尼克从小受她那浪子祖父的栽培，她的德行便可想而知了。所以塞顿虽然被她吸引，却没有被她迷住，他只是觉得尼克很有意思而已。他们在斯卡伯勒相会的时候，他带她坐上那架飞机到处兜风，谁知正当尼克小姐一个劲儿狠下功夫的当口，天不作美，塞顿遇到了马吉，两人一见钟情。

“这下子尼克小姐惊得目瞪口呆。她深自反省也弄不清塞顿为什么会逸出她那张天衣无缝的情网而去爱上一个不具美貌、不善风情的老实姑娘。然而事实毕竟总是事实，塞顿觉得马吉才是世界上惟一值得他追求的姑娘。他们情投意合，秘密订婚了。

“知悉内情的人只有一个，便是尼克小姐。因为可怜的马吉小姐对她毫不提防，什么都告诉了这位表妹。她无疑还把未婚夫的信读过几封给她听，所以尼克小姐便获悉了塞顿遗嘱的内容。当时她并未留意这个遗嘱，可是她记住了遗嘱的内容。

“接着马修爵士突然去世，同时传来迈克尔·塞顿失踪的消息。于是这位年轻女郎心中产生了一个险恶的念头。尼克和马吉这两位小姐同名同姓，都叫玛格黛勒·巴克利，但这点塞顿是不知道的，他以为尼克小姐的名字就叫尼克。所以他在遗嘱里并未特别指明财产留给哪个玛格黛勒·巴克利。可是人人都知道塞顿是尼克的好朋友，都会相信塞顿是和尼克订婚的。如果她宣称说自己是塞顿的未婚妻，谁也不会感到意外。可是要想冒名顶替，就必须把马吉除掉。

“时间很紧。她写信去叫马吉到圣卢来陪伴她。然后着手安排那些使她几乎丧生的事故，为找机会杀掉马吉小姐埋下伏线。图画上的绳子是她自己弄断的，汽车的刹车是她自己搞坏的。有一天峭壁上有块石头偶然滚了下去，她又编出一段惊险遭遇来。

“这时她在报纸上看到了我的名字（我告诉过你，黑斯廷斯，我的大名是妇孺皆知的）。她胆子很大，要想在这件谋杀案中利用我。噢，多妙的喜剧！于是我就被拉进了她所导演的这场戏里，相信她真的大难当头。这一来，她使自己有了一个很有价值的证人，而我要她去接一个朋友来同住这一点正中她的下怀。

“她抓住这个机会叫马吉小姐提早一天到圣卢来。

“作案实际上十分简单。她离开餐厅，从无线电里证实了塞顿的死讯之后，就开始实行她的计划了。她有足够的时间把塞顿写给马吉小姐的信从她衣箱里翻出来一一看过。为了自己的目的她从中选出了几封拿进自己的卧室，其余的付之一炬。下一步，大家在看焰火时，她同马吉离开我们回到屋子里。她叫她表姐围上她的披肩——马吉的外衣已被她事先藏了起来——自己则悄悄尾随她走出屋子，趁焰火的爆发声向她开了枪。然后她迅速跑回屋里，把枪藏进秘密的壁龛里（她以为谁也不知道有这么个壁龛），转身上了楼。当她听到花园里有了响动，说明尸体已经被人发现，这才下来。这就是她作案的经过。

“下楼后她从落地长窗跑进了花园，这里演得多逼真哪！简直了不起！一个人有幸见到了这样空前绝后的表演是永远不会忘记的。那个佣人埃伦说这是一幢不吉祥的房子，我颇有同感。尼克小姐犯罪的灵感就来自这幢鬼气森森的古屋。”

“但那些下了毒的巧克力，”弗雷德里卡说，“我还是弄不懂是怎么回事。”

“这是作案计划中的一环。你难道看不出，如果马吉死了之后尼克的生命仍受威胁的话，就可证明马吉之死纯系误杀？当她认为时机成熟了，就打个电话给赖斯太太，请她送盒巧克力来。”

“那么说，电话里是她的声音？”

“是的。最简单的解释往往是最接近事实的。她稍稍改变了一下自己说话的声音而已。这样，当你被询问的时候就拿不定主意了。你拿不定主意就必然支支吾吾，于是电话的事就会被看成是你在捏造。当巧克力送到之后，又是多简单。她把其中三块下了可卡因（她身边巧妙地藏有这种毒品），把我送花时留下的卡片放进盒子，然后再把盒子包好，当护士再来她身旁时，她当着护士的面拆了包装，掀了盖，发现了卡片，吃了一块下了毒的巧克力，就那样中毒了——但病得不至于无法抢救。她知道得很清楚什么剂量是致命的，什么剂量能显示出中毒症状但是无关大局。

“这件事里使我惊奇的是她会想到用我的卡片，跟花儿一起送去的卡片！啊，活见鬼！这种做法多么简单，但一般人是想不出来的。”

一时谁也不做声。后来弗雷德里卡问道：

“她为什么要把手枪放进我的外衣口袋呢？”

“我就知道你会问这个问题的，太太。你问得正是时候。告诉我，你有没有感觉到尼克小姐不喜欢你了？或者她是否早就对你已经怀恨在心？”

“很难说，”弗雷德里卡迟疑地说，“我们之间并没有真情挚爱。她过去是喜欢我的。”

“告诉我，拉扎勒斯先生——现在不是讲究礼貌和客套的时候了——你和尼克小姐之间可曾有过什么关系？”

“没有，”拉扎勒斯摇摇头，“有一段时间她吸引了我，但后来，不知为什么我跟她疏远了。”

“啊，”波洛用一种“果然不出山人所料”的神情点点头，说：“这是她的不幸之处。她能吸引人，却不能使人一往情深，到头来，人们都会索然离去。你没有对她越来越钟情，倒反爱上了她的朋友，她就开始恨赖斯太太了——身边走着一位有钱朋友的赖斯太太。去年冬天她立遗嘱时还是喜欢太太的，后来就不同了。

“她记得她那个遗嘱，却不知道它已被克罗夫特扣押下来，还以为它已到了该去的地方。这样，谁都看得出赖斯太太希望弄死尼克是有很容易解释的动机的。因此她就把要巧克力的电话打给太太。今天晚上宣读遗嘱，太太被指定为动产继承人——然后又在太太的衣袋里发现用来杀死马吉的手枪！想想吧太太，这一来，就有了充分的理由和证据逮捕你了。如果手枪是你自己在衣袋里发现的而打算把它扔掉，那就更显得可疑了。”

“她一定恨我。”弗雷德里卡嗫嚅着说。

“是的，太太，你拥有她所没有的东西——不但能够得到并且能够保持的爱情。”

“我大概太笨了，”查林杰说，“关于尼克遗嘱的事我还是不大明白。”

“不明白吗？这跟尼克作的案不是一回事，但也很简单。克罗夫特夫妇怕被警察发现，躲藏在这里。他们从尼克小姐动手术这件事里看到一个机会，尼克没立过遗嘱，他们就说服她立了一个遗嘱，并主动把它拿去寄掉——实际上扣了下来。这样，如果她发生了意外，就是说如果她死了，他们就可以伪造一份遗嘱，说是为了在澳大利亚发生的一件牵涉到菲利普·巴克利的神秘事件，尼克把一切都留给他们作为报答——大家都知道尼克的父亲菲利普确实去过澳大利亚。

“但尼克小姐的手术动得很成功，所以他们的希望落了空，伪造一份遗嘱至少在当时失去了意义。但不久就发生了那些致命的事故，尼克的生命受到了威胁。克罗夫特夫妇心中的希望又复燃了。最后我宣布尼克小姐中毒而死。这个机会终于被他们等到了。于是一份伪造的遗嘱马上寄到了维斯先生的手中。当然啰，他们完全不知道尼克的经济情况，还以为她比看上去要富有得多。关于房子抵押一事他们更是一无所闻了。”

“我想知道，波洛先生，”拉扎勒斯说，“你是怎么知道这些的？你从什么时候开始对尼克小姐产生怀疑的？”

“啊，说来惭愧，我被牵着鼻子转得太久了。有些东西使我很困惑，因为我觉得在我的逻辑里总有些什么不对头的地方。尼克小姐对我说的话和别人告诉我的总是有出入，不幸的是我始终相信她。

“后来我突然得到一个启示，尼克小姐犯了一个错误。在我劝她接一个可靠的亲友来陪她同住时，她答应了我，却隐瞒了一个事实，即她已经写了一封信去叫马吉星期二来。在她看来这个秘密在马吉死后便只有她自己知道，因此十分安全。但确实是个失着。

“因为马吉·巴克利一到这里就写了封信回家，信里她天真地写道：‘我看不出她有什么必要十万火急地打电报把我叫来，星期二来其实也未尝不可。’注意这种说法：‘星期二来其实也未尝不可’这句话只能说明一件事，那就是马吉反正星期一不来，星期二也要来的。这一来，我看出尼克小姐说了谎，或者说是隐瞒了真情。

“这时我才第一次用另外一种眼光来看待她。我不再相信她所说的每一句话，而是从截然相反的角度去研究她所提供的情况了。我想起了她的话和别人的说法之间的矛盾。我问自己，如果每次都是尼克小姐而不是别人说了谎，那会是怎样呢？

“我走了一条捷径，向自己提出一个问题：到现在为止，实际上发生的是什么事？

“于是我看到实际上只发生了一件事，那就是马吉·巴克利被杀害了。只发生了这件事，不过谁会因马吉之死而得益呢？

“这时我想起这么一件事——在我考虑这个问题前不久，黑斯廷斯对于人们的名字信口发表了一些高见，说玛格丽特有许多爱称——马吉、马戈特等等。于是我就想马吉小姐的真名是什么呢？

“一下子工夫，一个新的想法震撼了我。我突然想起她叫玛格黛勒！这是巴克利家族常用的名字，尼克小姐这样告诉过我的。两个玛格黛勒·巴克利！如果……”

“我马上想起我看过的那几封迈克尔·塞顿的信。是呀，我这种想法并不是不可能的。信里提到过斯卡伯勒，但尼克和塞顿在斯卡伯勒的时候，马吉也同他们在一起，这是马吉的母亲亲口对我说的。

“这就解释了一个我一直找不到答案的问题：为什么塞顿的信那么少？一个姑娘如果保存情书，她就会把它们全都保存起来，而不会仅仅保存其中几封。那么尼克小姐为什么偏偏保存了这几封呢？是不是这几封信有什么特别的地方？

“我于是记起这些信有一个共同之处，就是信里都没有提及收信人的名字或爱称。开头的称呼不是名字而总是‘亲爱的’之类。信里没有一处提及她的爱称——尼克。

“还有一个破绽——我本应当立即发现的——更进一步泄漏了天机。”

“是什么？”

“啊，是这个。尼克小姐于去年二月二十七日去开刀割盲肠。有封迈克尔·塞顿的信是三月二日写的。信里无一字提及这个手术，连一句表示问候的话都没有。这个情况应当提醒我这一点：这些信本来就是写给另外一个人的。

“然后我把那张嫌疑人物表上的问题又从头到尾看了一遍。我从新的立场出发，用新的观点回答了它们。

“除了几个孤立的问题之外，所有的疑点都被澄清了。同时我也回答了早些时候我百思不得其解的一个问题：尼克小姐为什么买了件黑礼服？答复是，她必须和她的表姐穿得很相像，这样，当马吉披上她的红披肩之后就为‘误杀’提供了必要的条件了。这个答案是令人信服的。答案只能是这样，而不能看成是尼克去买了件黑礼服为未婚夫服丧。因为一个姑娘是不会在她心爱的人的死讯被证实之前就预先订做丧服的——这是不可能的，牵强附会的解释是不通的。

“现在，尼克的戏该由我来导演它的尾声了。当初我问起那个秘密的壁龛时，她矢口否认说根本就没有这么个东西。但如果有的话——我看不出埃伦有什么理由要凭空捏造出这个壁龛——尼克肯定知道。于是我想，她为什么竭力否认呢？她是否有可能把手枪藏在那里边，而为了某种目的以后又好拿出来移花接木、嫁祸于人？

“我让尼克小姐看到我极不信任赖斯太太，她已经陷入了在尼克的计划之中她应当陷入的绝境：一切疑点都指向赖斯太太了。我早就预见到尼克无法抗拒这样一个念头的诱惑：把最关键的物证加到赖斯太太头上去！况且这样做有利于她本人的安全，因为万一埃伦记起那个壁龛的位置就会去打开它，同时也就会发现那枝手枪。

“我们全都聚集在餐厅里，她独自等在外面扮演鬼魂。这种情形下谁也不会被放出我们那个房间的。她认为最安全的时刻到了，就把手枪从暗龛中取了出来放进赖斯太太的外套口袋。

“于是，终于——她落网了。”

弗雷德里卡哆嗦了一下。

“但我还是很高兴我把手表给了她。”

“是的，太太。”

她抬起眼皮朝他闪电般的一瞥。

“你也知道？”

“埃伦怎样呢？”我插了进去，“她知道这件事吗？还是疑心到什么？”

“不，我问过她。她告诉我那天晚上她之所以没有出去看焰火而留在屋里，用她自己的话说，是因为她预感到要出事的。那天晚上尼克小姐极力怂恿她出去看焰火叫她惴惴不安。她知道尼克小姐不喜欢赖斯太太。埃伦对我说，‘我从骨子里预感到一种凶兆。’但她以为遭殃的是太太。她说她知道尼克小姐的脾气——一个不可捉摸的鬼姑娘。”

“是啊，”弗雷德里卡喃喃地说，“我们就这样评价她吧——一个鬼姑娘，一个陷入了绝境的作法自毙的鬼姑娘。不过我使得她体面地解脱了。”

波洛拿起她的手郑重其事地吻了一下。

查尔斯·维斯感到不安了。

“这是一件极不愉快的事，”他冷静地说，“我想，我得准备替她出庭辩护了。”

“恐怕无济于事，”波洛文雅地说，“如果我的推测不错的话。”

他突然转向查林杰。

“你原来把毒品放在这个地方？”他说，“放在那些手表里？”

“我，我——”海员开始结结巴巴了。

“用不着瞒我。你看上去像个正人君子，但你只能骗骗黑斯廷斯，却骗不了我。你们干的好事——走私贩毒——你和你哈利街上的那个舅舅！”

“波洛先生！”

查林杰站了起来。

我那矮小的朋友阴沉地盯着他。

“你就是那有用处的‘男朋友’——你要是高兴的话尽可以否认。凶杀的那天你根本不在德文波特，你在走私！怎么，不服气吗？如果你不想把这件事闹到警察手里，就滚蛋吧！”

使我惊异不已的是他真的一溜烟逃出了房间。我怔怔地看着那扇门，嘴都合不拢了。

波洛仰天大笑起来。

“我对你讲过的，我的朋友。你的直觉只有一种功能，就是颠倒黑白。可真了不起得很哪！”

“可卡因原来在手表里——”我说。

“不错，不错，这就是为什么尼克小姐住在休养所里还能弄到这种麻醉剂的道理。现在她自己的存货用完了，就把赖斯太太新装满的手表讨去了。”

“她瘾头那么大？”

“不，不，她吸毒只是为了好玩，并未上瘾。但今天晚上她要把她那些可卡因另派用途。这次她要用足分量——致命的剂量了。”

“你是说——”我叫了起来。

“这是最好的方法了，比上断头台体面得多。但是，哎，我们怎么可以在忠于法律的维斯先生面前道破天机呢？从官方的立场上说，我什么也不知道。手表里的东西我只是胡乱猜猜罢了。”

“你的猜测总是正确的，波洛先生。”弗雷德里卡说。

“我得走了。”查尔斯·维斯说。他离开我们的时候脸上的表情不以为然，冷若冰霜。

波洛看看弗雷德里卡，又看看拉扎勒斯。

“你们要结婚了，是吗？”

“很快。”

“真的，波洛先生，”弗雷德里卡说，“我并不像你所想象的那样是个吸毒者。我已经戒到极少量了。现在，我想，幸福就在眼前，我永远不再需要这种手表了。”

“我祝你幸福，太太，”波洛温存地说，“你受了许多难言的苦楚，却仍然有一颗仁慈的心。”

“我会照顾她的，”拉扎勒斯说，“我的生意不景气，但我相信我会度过难关的。即使我破了产——啊，弗雷德里卡不在乎穷，她会跟我在一起的。”

她第一次容光焕发地笑了。

“不早啦。”波洛看着钟说。

我们全站了起来。

“我们在这幢不寻常的古屋里消磨了一个不寻常的夜晚。”波洛说，“是啊，一幢不吉祥的老屋，就像埃伦说的那样……”

他抬起头看了看墙上那幅老尼古拉的画像，突然把拉扎勒斯拉到一边。

“请你原谅，但是，在我所有那些问题里只有一个我还不明白。告诉我，你为什么要出五十镑的代价去买那幅图画？要是你不吝赐教，我就不胜感激啦——你明白，这一来，这件案子里我就没有任何不懂的东西了。”

拉扎勒斯毫无反应地看了他一两分钟，然后笑了。

“你瞧，波洛先生，”他说，“我是个买卖人。”

“正是。”

“那幅画最多只值二十镑。我知道如果我出五十镑，她就会疑心这幅画可能不止值这个数。她就会想法子另外请人估价。这一来她就会发觉我出的价钱比它实际所值的钱多得多。下次我再要买她的画，她就不会再请别人估价了。”

“那又怎样呢？”

“墙的那一头挂着一幅不显眼的画，你看见了没有？那幅画至少要值五千镑！”拉扎勒斯不无遗憾地说。

“啊，”波洛舒了一口大气，“现在我全明白啦！”

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