"Poirot, you old villain," I said, "I've half a mind to strangle you! What do you mean by deceiving me as you have done?"

We were sitting in the library. Several hectic days lay behind us. In the room below, John and Mary were together once more, while Alfred Inglethorp and Miss Howard were in custody. Now at last, I had Poirot to myself, and could relieve my still burning curiosity.

Poirot did not answer me for a moment, but at last he said:

"I did not deceive you, mon ami. At most, I permitted you to deceive yourself."

"Yes, but why?"

"Well, it is difficult to explain. You see, my friend, you have a nature so honest, and a countenance so transparent, that--enfin, to conceal your feelings is impossible! If I had told you my ideas, the very first time you saw Mr. Alfred Inglethorp that astute gentleman would have--in your so expressive idiom--'smelt a rat'! And then, bon jour to our chances of catching him!"

"I think that I have more diplomacy than you give me credit for."

"My friend," besought Poirot, "I implore you, do not enrage yourself! Your help has been of the most invaluable. It is but the extremely beautiful nature that you have, which made me pause."

"Well," I grumbled, a little mollified. "I still think you might have given me a hint."

"But I did, my friend. Several hints. You would not take them. Think now, did I ever say to you that I believed John Cavendish guilty? Did I not, on the contrary, tell you that he would almost certainly be acquitted?"

"Yes, but----"

"And did I not immediately afterwards speak of the difficulty of bringing the murderer to justice? Was it not plain to you that I was speaking of two entirely different persons?"

"No," I said, "it was not plain to me!"

"Then again," continued Poirot, "at the beginning, did I not repeat to you several times that I didn't want Mr. Inglethorp arrested _now_? That should have conveyed something to you."

"Do you mean to say you suspected him as long ago as that?"

"Yes. To begin with, whoever else might benefit by Mrs. Inglethorp's death, her husband would benefit the most. There was no getting away from that. When I went up to Styles with you that first day, I had no idea as to how the crime had been committed, but from what I knew of Mr. Inglethorp I fancied that it would be very hard to find anything to connect him with it. When I arrived at the chateau, I realized at once that it was Mrs. Inglethorp who had burnt the will; and there, by the way, you cannot complain, my friend, for I tried my best to force on you the significance of that bedroom fire in midsummer."

"Yes, yes," I said impatiently. "Go on."

"Well, my friend, as I say, my views as to Mr. Inglethorp's guilt were very much shaken. There was, in fact, so much evidence against him that I was inclined to believe that he had not done it."

"When did you change your mind?"

"When I found that the more efforts I made to clear him, the more efforts he made to get himself arrested. Then, when I discovered that Inglethorp had nothing to do with Mrs. Raikes and that in fact it was John Cavendish who was interested in that quarter, I was quite sure."

"But why?"

"Simply this. If it had been Inglethorp who was carrying on an intrigue with Mrs. Raikes, his silence was perfectly comprehensible. But, when I discovered that it was known all over the village that it was John who was attracted by the farmer's pretty wife, his silence bore quite a different interpretation. It was nonsense to pretend that he was afraid of the scandal, as no possible scandal could attach to him. This attitude of his gave me furiously to think, and I was slowly forced to the conclusion that Alfred Inglethorp wanted to be arrested. Eh bien! from that moment, I was equally determined that he should not be arrested."

"Wait a minute. I don't see why he wished to be arrested?"

"Because, mon ami, it is the law of your country that a man once acquitted can never be tried again for the same offence. Aha! but it was clever--his idea! Assuredly, he is a man of method. See here, he knew that in his position he was bound to be suspected, so he conceived the exceedingly clever idea of preparing a lot of manufactured evidence against himself. He wished to be arrested. He would then produce his irreproachable alibi--and, hey presto, he was safe for life!"

"But I still don't see how he managed to prove his alibi, and yet go to the chemist's shop?"

Poirot stared at me in surprise.

"Is it possible? My poor friend! You have not yet realized that it was Miss Howard who went to the chemist's shop?"

"Miss Howard?"

"But, certainly. Who else? It was most easy for her. She is of a good height, her voice is deep and manly; moreover, remember, she and Inglethorp are cousins, and there is a distinct resemblance between them, especially in their gait and bearing. It was simplicity itself. They are a clever pair!"

"I am still a little fogged as to how exactly the bromide business was done," I remarked.

"Bon! I will reconstruct for you as far as possible. I am inclined to think that Miss Howard was the master mind in that affair. You remember her once mentioning that her father was a doctor? Possibly she dispensed his medicines for him, or she may have taken the idea from one of the many books lying about when Mademoiselle Cynthia was studying for her exam. Anyway, she was familiar with the fact that the addition of a bromide to a mixture containing strychnine would cause the precipitation of the latter. Probably the idea came to her quite suddenly. Mrs. Inglethorp had a box of bromide powders, which she occasionally took at night. What could be easier than quietly to dissolve one or more of those powders in Mrs. Inglethorp's large sized bottle of medicine when it came from Coot's? The risk is practically nil. The tragedy will not take place until nearly a fortnight later. If anyone has seen either of them touching the medicine, they will have forgotten it by that time. Miss Howard will have engineered her quarrel, and departed from the house. The lapse of time, and her absence, will defeat all suspicion. Yes, it was a clever idea! If they had left it alone, it is possible the crime might never have been brought home to them. But they were not satisfied. They tried to be too clever--and that was their undoing."

Poirot puffed at his tiny cigarette, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"They arranged a plan to throw suspicion on John Cavendish, by buying strychnine at the village chemist's, and signing the register in his hand-writing.

"On Monday Mrs. Inglethorp will take the last dose of her medicine. On Monday, therefore, at six o'clock, Alfred Inglethorp arranges to be seen by a number of people at a spot far removed from the village. Miss Howard has previously made up a cock and bull story about him and Mrs. Raikes to account for his holding his tongue afterwards. At six o'clock, Miss Howard, disguised as Alfred Inglethorp, enters the chemist's shop, with her story about a dog, obtains the strychnine, and writes the name of Alfred Inglethorp in John's handwriting, which she had previously studied carefully.

"But, as it will never do if John, too, can prove an alibi, she writes him an anonymous note--still copying his hand-writing --which takes him to a remote spot where it is exceedingly unlikely that anyone will see him.

"So far, all goes well. Miss Howard goes back to Middlingham. Alfred Inglethorp returns to Styles. There is nothing that can compromise him in any way, since it is Miss Howard who has the strychnine, which, after all, is only wanted as a blind to throw suspicion on John Cavendish.

"But now a hitch occurs. Mrs. Inglethorp does not take her medicine that night. The broken bell, Cynthia's absence-- arranged by Inglethorp through his wife--all these are wasted. And then--he makes his slip.

"Mrs. Inglethorp is out, and he sits down to write to his accomplice, who, he fears, may be in a panic at the nonsuccess of their plan. It is probable that Mrs. Inglethorp returned earlier than he expected. Caught in the act, and somewhat flurried he hastily shuts and locks his desk. He fears that if he remains in the room he may have to open it again, and that Mrs. Inglethorp might catch sight of the letter before he could snatch it up. So he goes out and walks in the woods, little dreaming that Mrs. Inglethorp will open his desk, and discover the incriminating document.

"But this, as we know, is what happened. Mrs. Inglethorp reads it, and becomes aware of the perfidy of her husband and Evelyn Howard, though, unfortunately, the sentence about the bromides conveys no warning to her mind. She knows that she is in danger--but is ignorant of where the danger lies. She decides to say nothing to her husband, but sits down and writes to her solicitor, asking him to come on the morrow, and she also determines to destroy immediately the will which she has just made. She keeps the fatal letter."

"It was to discover that letter, then, that her husband forced the lock of the despatch-case?"

"Yes, and from the enormous risk he ran we can see how fully he realized its importance. That letter excepted, there was absolutely nothing to connect him with the crime."

"There's only one thing I can't make out, why didn't he destroy it at once when he got hold of it?"

"Because he did not dare take the biggest risk of all--that of keeping it on his own person."

"I don't understand."

"Look at it from his point of view. I have discovered that there were only five short minutes in which he could have taken it--the five minutes immediately before our own arrival on the scene, for before that time Annie was brushing the stairs, and would have seen anyone who passed going to the right wing. Figure to yourself the scene! He enters the room, unlocking the door by means of one of the other doorkeys--they were all much alike. He hurries to the despatch-case--it is locked, and the keys are nowhere to be seen. That is a terrible blow to him, for it means that his presence in the room cannot be concealed as he had hoped. But he sees clearly that everything must be risked for the sake of that damning piece of evidence. Quickly, he forces the lock with a penknife, and turns over the papers until he finds what he is looking for.

"But now a fresh dilemma arises: he dare not keep that piece of paper on him. He may be seen leaving the room--he may be searched. If the paper is found on him, it is certain doom. Probably, at this minute, too, he hears the sounds below of Mr. Wells and John leaving the boudoir. He must act quickly. Where can he hide this terrible slip of paper? The contents of the waste-paper-basket are kept and in any case, are sure to be examined. There are no means of destroying it; and he dare not keep it. He looks round, and he sees--what do you think, mon ami?"

I shook my head.

"In a moment, he has torn the letter into long thin strips, and rolling them up into spills he thrusts them hurriedly in amongst the other spills in the vase on the mantle-piece."

I uttered an exclamation.

"No one would think of looking there," Poirot continued. "And he will be able, at his leisure, to come back and destroy this solitary piece of evidence against him."

"Then, all the time, it was in the spill vase in Mrs. Inglethorp's bedroom, under our very noses?" I cried.

Poirot nodded.

"Yes, my friend. That is where I discovered my 'last link,' and I owe that very fortunate discovery to you."

"To me?"

"Yes. Do you remember telling me that my hand shook as I was straightening the ornaments on the mantel-piece?"

"Yes, but I don't see----"

"No, but I saw. Do you know, my friend, I remembered that earlier in the morning, when we had been there together, I had straightened all the objects on the mantel-piece. And, if they were already straightened, there would be no need to straighten them again, unless, in the meantime, some one else had touched them."

"Dear me," I murmured, "so that is the explanation of your extraordinary behaviour. You rushed down to Styles, and found it still there?"

"Yes, and it was a race for time."

"But I still can't understand why Inglethorp was such a fool as to leave it there when he had plenty of opportunity to destroy it."

"Ah, but he had no opportunity. I saw to that."

"You?"

"Yes. Do you remember reproving me for taking the household into my confidence on the subject?"

"Yes."

"Well, my friend, I saw there was just one chance. I was not sure then if Inglethorp was the criminal or not, but if he was I reasoned that he would not have the paper on him, but would have hidden it somewhere, and by enlisting the sympathy of the household I could effectually prevent his destroying it. He was already under suspicion, and by making 190> the matter public I secured the services of about ten amateur detectives, who would be watching him unceasingly, and being himself aware of their watchfulness he would not dare seek further to destroy the document. He was therefore forced to depart from the house, leaving it in the spill vase."

"But surely Miss Howard had ample opportunities of aiding him."

"Yes, but Miss Howard did not know of the paper's existence. In accordance with their prearranged plan, she never spoke to Alfred Inglethorp. They were supposed to be deadly enemies, and until John Cavendish was safely convicted they neither of them dared risk a meeting. Of course I had a watch kept on Mr. Inglethorp, hoping that sooner or later he would lead me to the hiding-place. But he was too clever to take any chances. The paper was safe where it was; since no one had thought of looking there in the first week, it was not likely they would do so afterwards. But for your lucky remark, we might never have been able to bring him to justice."

"I understand that now; but when did you first begin to suspect Miss Howard?"

"When I discovered that she had told a lie at the inquest about the letter she had received from Mrs. Inglethorp."

"Why, what was there to lie about?"

"You saw that letter? Do you recall its general appearance?"

"Yes--more or less."

"You will recollect, then, that Mrs. Inglethorp wrote a very distinctive hand, and left large clear spaces between her words. But if you look at the date at the top of the letter you will notice that 'July 17th' is quite different in this respect. Do you see what I mean?"

"No," I confessed, "I don't."

"You do not see that that letter was not written on the 17th, but on the 7th--the day after Miss Howard's departure? The '1' was written in before the '7' to turn it into the '17th'."

"But why?"

"That is exactly what I asked myself. Why does Miss Howard suppress the letter written on the 17th, and produce this faked one instead? Because she did not wish to show the letter of the 17th. Why, again? And at once a suspicion dawned in my mind. You will remember my saying that it was wise to beware of people who were not telling you the truth."

"And yet," I cried indignantly, "after that, you gave me two reasons why Miss Howard could not have committed the crime!"

"And very good reasons too," replied Poirot. "For a long time they were a stumbling-block to me until I remembered a very significant fact: that she and Alfred Inglethorp were cousins. She could not have committed the crime single-handed, but the reasons against that did not debar her from being an accomplice. And, then, there was that rather over-vehement hatred of hers! It concealed a very opposite emotion. There was, undoubtedly, a tie of passion between them long before he came to Styles. They had already arranged their infamous plot--that he should marry this rich, but rather foolish old lady, induce her to make a will leaving her money to him, and then gain their ends by a very cleverly conceived crime. If all had gone as they planned, they would probably have left England, and lived together on their poor victim's money.

"They are a very astute and unscrupulous pair. While suspicion was to be directed against him, she would be making quiet preparations for a very different denouement. She arrives from Middlingham with all the compromising items in her possession. No suspicion attaches to her. No notice is paid to her coming and going in the house. She hides the strychnine and glasses in John's room. She puts the beard in the attic. She will see to it that sooner or later they are duly discovered."

"I don't quite see why they tried to fix the blame on John," I remarked. "It would have been much easier for them to bring the crime home to Lawrence."

"Yes, but that was mere chance. All the evidence against him arose out of pure accident. It must, in fact, have been distinctly annoying to the pair of schemers."

"His manner was unfortunate," I observed thoughtfully.

"Yes. You realize, of course, what was at the back of that?"

"No."

"You did not understand that he believed Mademoiselle Cynthia guilty of the crime?"

"No," I exclaimed, astonished. "Impossible!"

"Not at all. I myself nearly had the same idea. It was in my mind when I asked Mr. Wells that first question about the will. Then there were the bromide powders which she had made up, and her clever male impersonations, as Dorcas recounted them to us. There was really more evidence against her than anyone else."

"You are joking, Poirot!"

"No. Shall I tell you what made Monsieur Lawrence turn so pale when he first entered his mother's room on the fatal night? It was because, whilst his mother lay there, obviously poisoned, he saw, over your shoulder, that the door into Mademoiselle Cynthia's room was unbolted."

"But he declared that he saw it bolted!" I cried.

"Exactly," said Poirot dryly. "And that was just what confirmed my suspicion that it was not. He was shielding Mademoiselle Cynthia."

"But why should he shield her?"

"Because he is in love with her."

I laughed.

"There, Poirot, you are quite wrong! I happen to know for a fact that, far from being in love with her, he positively dislikes her."

"Who told you that, mon ami?"

"Cynthia herself."

"La pauvre petite! And she was concerned?"

"She said that she did not mind at all."

"Then she certainly did mind very much," remarked Poirot. "They are like that--les femmes!"

"What you say about Lawrence is a great surprise to me," I said.

"But why? It was most obvious. Did not Monsieur Lawrence make the sour face every time Mademoiselle Cynthia spoke and laughed with his brother? He had taken it into his long head that Mademoiselle Cynthia was in love with Monsieur John. When he entered his mother's room, and saw her obviously poisoned, he jumped to the conclusion that Mademoiselle Cynthia knew something about the matter. He was nearly driven desperate. First he crushed the coffee-cup to powder under his feet, remembering that _she_ had gone up with his mother the night before, and he determined that there should be no chance of testing its contents. Thenceforward, he strenuously, and quite uselessly, upheld the theory of 'Death from natural causes'."

"And what about the 'extra coffee-cup'?"

"I was fairly certain that it was Mrs. Cavendish who had hidden it, but I had to make sure. Monsieur Lawrence did not know at all what I meant; but, on reflection, he came to the conclusion that if he could find an extra coffee-cup anywhere his lady love would be cleared of suspicion. And he was perfectly right."

"One thing more. What did Mrs. Inglethorp mean by her dying words?"

"They were, of course, an accusation against her husband."

"Dear me, Poirot," I said with a sigh, "I think you have explained everything. I am glad it has all ended so happily. Even John and his wife are reconciled."

"Thanks to me."

"How do you mean--thanks to you?"

"My dear friend, do you not realize that it was simply and solely the trial which has brought them together again? That John Cavendish still loved his wife, I was convinced. Also, that she was equally in love with him. But they had drifted very far apart. It all arose from a misunderstanding. She married him without love. He knew it. He is a sensitive man in his way, he would not force himself upon her if she did not want him. And, as he withdrew, her love awoke. But they are both unusually proud, and their pride held them inexorably apart. He drifted into an entanglement with Mrs. Raikes, and she deliberately cultivated the friendship of Dr. Bauerstein. Do you remember the day of John Cavendish's arrest, when you found me deliberating over a big decision?"

"Yes, I quite understood your distress."

"Pardon me, mon ami, but you did not understand it in the least. I was trying to decide whether or not I would clear John Cavendish at once. I could have cleared him--though it might have meant a failure to convict the real criminals. They were entirely in the dark as to my real attitude up to the very last moment--which partly accounts for my success."

"Do you mean that you could have saved John Cavendish from being brought to trial?"

"Yes, my friend. But I eventually decided in favour of 'a woman's happiness'. Nothing but the great danger through which they have passed could have brought these two proud souls together again."

I looked at Poirot in silent amazement. The colossal cheek of the little man! Who on earth but Poirot would have thought of a trial for murder as a restorer of conjugal happiness!

"I perceive your thoughts, mon ami," said Poirot, smiling at me. "No one but Hercule Poirot would have attempted such a thing! And you are wrong in condemning it. The happiness of one man and one woman is the greatest thing in all the world."

His words took me back to earlier events. I remembered Mary as she lay white and exhausted on the sofa, listening, listening. There had come the sound of the bell below. She had started up. Poirot had opened the door, and meeting her agonized eyes had nodded gently. "Yes, madame," he said. "I have brought him back to you." He had stood aside, and as I went out I had seen the look in Mary's eyes, as John Cavendish had caught his wife in his arms.

"Perhaps you are right, Poirot," I said gently. "Yes, it is the greatest thing in the world."

Suddenly, there was a tap at the door, and Cynthia peeped in.

"I--I only----"

"Come in," I said, springing up.

She came in, but did not sit down.

"I--only wanted to tell you something----"

"Yes?"

Cynthia fidgeted with a little tassel for some moments, then, suddenly exclaiming: "You dears!" kissed first me and then Poirot, and rushed out of the room again.

"What on earth does this mean?" I asked, surprised.

It was very nice to be kissed by Cynthia, but the publicity of the salute rather impaired the pleasure.

"It means that she has discovered Monsieur Lawrence does not dislike her as much as she thought," replied Poirot philosophically.

"But----"

"Here he is."

Lawrence at that moment passed the door.

"Eh! Monsieur Lawrence," called Poirot. "We must congratulate you, is it not so?"

Lawrence blushed, and then smiled awkwardly. A man in love is a sorry spectacle. Now Cynthia had looked charming.

I sighed.

"What is it, mon ami?"

"Nothing," I said sadly. "They are two delightful women!"

"And neither of them is for you?" finished Poirot. "Never mind. Console yourself, my friend. We may hunt together again, who knows? And then----"

“波洛，你这个老家伙，”我说，“我真有点想扼杀你！你已经做了，为什么竟然还骗我？”

我们正坐在藏书室里。令人激动的几天已经过去。在下面的房间里，约翰和玛丽重又相聚了，而阿弗雷德·英格里桑和霍华德小姐则已被拘留。现在，我终于要波洛对我说一说了，以便能消除仍在烧灼着我的好奇心。

波洛没有马上给我回答，但后来他终于开了口：

“我并没有骗你，我的朋友，至多是我容许你骗了你自己。”

“是吗？为什么这么说？”

“嗯，这很难解释。你看，我的朋友，你有一个这么诚实的性格，又有一张如此坦率的面容，以致于——要想隐藏住你的感情终究是不可能的！假如我把我的想法都告诉给你，在你第一眼见到阿弗雷德·英格里桑先生时，那位狡猾的绅土就会——在你的如此富有表情的风度中——‘嗅到秘密’！然后，对我们要逮住他的打算说声‘再见’！”

“我认为我有比你对我的称赞更多的外交手腕。”

“我的朋友，”波洛恳求说，“我求求你，不要发火！你的帮助是最最宝贵的。只是因为你的这种极为美好的性格使得我有所踌躇。”

“嗯，”我咕哝着，稍为平静了一点。“可我仍认为，你可以给我一点暗示呀。”

“我给了，朋友。给了几个。你没能领会呀。你现在想想，我对你说过我相信约翰·卡文迪什是有罪的吗？恰恰相反，我不是告诉过你他一定会被宣判无罪吗？”

“是的，但是——”

“而且，我接下去不是马上就谈到要把凶手缉拿归案是困难的吗？我说的是两个完全不同的人，这你还不明白？”

“不，”我说，“我不明白！”

“还有，”波洛继续说，“一开始，我不是就反复说过好几次，现在我不要让英格里桑先生被捕？那应该说已经把某种信息传递给你了。”

“你的意思是说早在那个时候你就怀疑他了？”

“是的。首先，英格里桑太太的死对其它人都有好处，而她的丈夫受益最大。这是逃脱不了的。当我和你第一天到斯泰尔斯去时，这个罪是怎么犯的，我并无想法，但是从我对英格里桑先生的了解中，我认识到要找到把他和这一罪行联系起来的任何证据都是很困难的。当时，一到大庄园，我就马上知道，烧毁遗嘱的是英格里桑太太；瞧，顺便说一句，这你不能抱怨了，朋友，因为我已经竭尽所能来迫使你认清盛夏季节在卧室里生火这件事的重要性了。”

“是的，是的，”我急切地说。“快说下去。”

“好吧，我的朋友，正象我所说的，我的认为英格里桑先生是有罪的看法是非常动摇不定的。实际上，告发他的证据是这么多，以致使得我倾向于相信他并没有干过这些事。”

“你的看法是什么时候改变的？”

“当时，我感到我越是作出努力设法宣布他无罪，他却越是千方百计想使自己被捕。后来，当我发现英格里桑和雷克斯太太并无不正当关系。事实上是约翰·卡文迪什对那个女人发生兴趣时，我就完全有把握了。”

“为什么？”

“这很简单。要是英格里桑和雷克斯太太有不正当关系的话，他的沉默是完全可以理解的。可是，当我发现传遍整个村子的是说约翰被农场主的那个漂亮妻子吸引时，他的沉默就有完全不同的解释。借口说他害伯流言蜚语，这是胡说，因为不可能有流言蜚语能缚住他的手脚。他的这种态度强烈地促使我去思索，我渐渐地被迫作出这样的推论，阿弗雷德·英格里桑希望自己被捕。好吧！从那时候起，我就相应地作出决定，他不应当被捕。”

“等一等。我不懂，为什么他希望被捕呢？”

“因为，我的朋友，你们国家的法律规定，一个已被宣判无罪的人决不能因同一罪行而再次受审判，啊哈！他的主意——确实不错！毫无疑问，他是个有办法的人。你瞧，他知道，处于他的地位，他必定要受到怀疑，因此他构想出这个十分巧妙的主意，准备了一大堆捏造的证据来控告自己。他希望被捕。到时候，他可以提出他的无假可击的不在犯罪现场的证据——于是，嗨，说变就变，他的老命就平安无事了！”

“可是我仍然不明白他用什么办法来证明自己不在犯罪现场，他可是去过药店的？”

波洛诧异地注视着我。

“这可能吗？我可怜的朋友啊！你还不知道去药店的是霍华德小姐？”

“霍华德小姐？”

“当然是她。还会有别人？对她来说这是轻而易举的。她的身材很高，声音低沉，象个男人；而且，别忘记，她和英格里桑是表兄妹，他们两人之间有明显的相似之处，特别是在他们的走路姿势和举止风度方面。这是再简单也没有了。他们真是机灵的一对！”

“关于溴化物的事究竟是怎么搞的，我还是有点模糊，”我说。

“好！我将尽可能地为你描述出整个经过。我倾向于认为霍华德小姐是这一事件的主使者。你还记得吗，她曾经说起她的父亲是个医生？可能是她给他配过药，或者是她从手边的一本书上得到了这个主意，辛西娅在准备考试时就放着许多这样的医学书。不管怎样，她是熟悉把溴化剂加到含有士的宁的混合剂中能引起后者沉淀这件事的。很有可能她产生这个主意非常突然。英格里桑太太有一盒溴化剂药粉，她晚上偶尔服用。还有什么能比暗中拿一、两包这种药粉，溶解到英格里桑太太刚从库特药店买来的大瓶补药中来得容易呢？危险实际上等于零。惨案几乎要到两个星期以后才会发生。即使有人看到他们两人中无论哪一个接触过这种补药，到那时候他们也会把这忘记了。霍华德小姐策划了自己那次争吵，并且离开了这个家。时间上的间隔，以及她的不在，将会击败一切怀疑。是的，这是一个绝妙的主意！要是他们就这么干，也许永远不能确实证明罪行是他们所犯。可是他们没有以此满足。他们试图成为更机灵的人——这就导致了他们的毁灭。”

波洛喷着细小的雪前烟，他的两眼凝视着天花板。

“他们安排了一个计划，通过到村子药店买上的宁，并模仿他的笔迹在登记簿上签名，把怀疑都抛到约翰·卡文迪什身上。

“星期一，英格里桑太太将要服最后一剂补药。因此，星期一下午六点钟，阿弗雷德·英格里桑有意作了安排，让许多人看到他到一个远离村子的地方去。霍华德小姐事先还捏造了一个他和雷克斯大太胡搞的荒诞故事，以说明后来他保持缄默的原因。六点钟时，霍华德小姐乔装成阿弗雷德·英格里桑，到了药店里，以毒狗的名义买了士的宁，并且用预先仔细学会的约翰的笔迹，签上阿弗雷德·英格里桑的名字。

“可是，要是约翰也能提出不在犯罪现场的证据，这就毫无用处了，于是她又给他写了一张匿名条子——还是模仿他的笔迹——把他弄到一个偏僻的地方，在那儿极不可能会有人看到他。

“到此为上，一切都进行得很顺利。霍华德小姐回到米德林海姆，阿弗雷德·英格里桑返回斯泰尔斯。没有什么会使他遭致损害，因为霍华德小姐手上有士的宁，事后只需把这作为诱饵，就可把怀疑抛到约翰·卡文迪什身上了。

“但是，现在发生了故障。那天晚上英格里桑太太没有服药。割断电铃线，辛西娅的不在——这是英格里桑通过妻子安排的——这些全都白费了。于是，接着——他就犯了错误。

“英格里桑太太出去了，他坐下来给他的同谋写信。他怕她因为他们的计划没有成功而可能惊慌失措。也许是英格里桑太太回来得比他预计的要早。突然听到声音后，他显得有点慌张，急忙就关锁上自己的写字台。他害怕，假如他留在房间里，也许会不得不再次打开它，英格里桑太太可能会在他把这封信抓在手中之前，就看到它。因此，他就走了出去，到林子里转了一通，他几乎做梦也没有想到英格里桑太太会打开他的写字台，发现这一件证明有罪的证据。

“而正如我们所知道的，就发生了下面所说的事。英格里桑太太看了这封未写完的信，发觉到自己的丈夫和伊夫琳·霍华德小姐的背信弃义，虽然不幸的是有关溴化物的那句话没有在她思想上引起警惕。她知道，她正处于危险之中——但是不知道危险在哪儿。她决定对她的丈夫只字不提，而是坐下来给她的律师写信，请他第二天就来一趟，而且她还决定立即烧毁刚刚立下的遗嘱。她保存起这封致命的信件。”

“那未她的丈夫强行撬开公文箱的锁是为了找那封信了？”

“是的，从他冒那么大的风险，我们可以看出他完全意识到它的重要性。除了那封信之外，绝对没有什么可以把他和这一罪行联系在一起。”

“可是还有一件事情我不理解，他拿到这封信后为什么不马上烧毁呢？”

“因为他不敢冒最大的风险——把它保存在自己那里。”

“我不懂。”

“要从他的观点来看。我发现他只有短短的五分钟时间来处理它——五分钟后我们就立即到达了现场，因为在这之前，安妮在掸刷楼梯，凡是有人经过走向右侧，她都会看到。你自己想象一下那情景吧！他用另一间房间的钥匙打开了房间——它们全都相象——走进了房间。他急忙奔向公文箱——它是锁着的，钥匙又不知道在哪儿，这对他来说是当头一棒，因为这意味着他到这房间里来的事不能象他原来希望的那样隐瞒住了。但是他清楚地知道，为了这张该死的证据，必须冒一切风险。快，他用随身小刀撬开了锁，翻查了里面的文件，直到找到了他要找的东西。

“可是现在出现了一个新的窘境：他不敢把这张东西留在身边。说不定已经有人看到他离开这个房间，他也许会受到搜查。要是在他身上发现了这张东西，那就全完了。很可能，也就在这个时候，他听到了楼下韦尔斯先生和约翰离开闺房的声音。他必须迅速行动。他能把这张可怕的东西藏到哪儿去呢？废纸篓里的东西都被保存起来了，总之肯定会受到检查。既没法烧毁它，又不敢保存它。他朝四周打量了一下，于是看到了——你想是什么，朋友？”

我摇摇头。

“他立刻把信撕成细条条，又卷成几只纸捻，然后把它们插到壁炉架上那只瓶子里的其它点火纸捻中间。”

我发出了一声惊叫。

“没有一个人会想到去那儿看看。”波洛继续说。

“在他有空时，他可以回来烧毁这唯一的一份告发他的证据。”

“那么，它一直就在英格里桑太太卧室里的纸捻瓶里，就在我们的鼻子底下？”我大声说。

波洛点点头。

“是的，我的朋友。那就是我发现我的‘最后一环’的地方，而且我应该把这一非常侥幸的发现归功于你。”

“归功于我？”

“是的。你还记得吗，你告诉我说，我在摆弄壁炉架上的礼拜用品时，我的手在颤抖？”

“是的，可是我没有看出——”

“不，可是我看出了。你一定知道，我的朋友，我记得那天一大早，我们一起在那儿时，我已经整理好壁炉架上的全部东西。而且，如果它们已经被整理好了，也就不需要再整理了，否则，在此期间一定有别的什么人动过它们。”

“呵，”我咕哝道，“这也就为你的举止反常作了说明了。你飞快地赶到斯泰尔斯，发现它仍在那儿？”

“是的，这是一场时间上的竞赛。”

“可是，我还是搞不懂，为什么英格里桑这么傻，还让它留在那儿，他有许多机会可以烧毁它呀。”

“啊，他没有机会。我看住的。”

“你？”

“是呀，你记得吧，你不是还责备我，说我在这件事情上把这一家人都当作知心吗？”

“是的。”

“噢，我的朋友，我看到只有一个机会。当时，我没有把握，英格里桑到底是否犯了罪，而要是他犯了，我推想他身边不会有这张东西，而会把它藏到某个地方，依靠全家人的帮助，我就能够有效地防止他把它烧毁。他已经受到了怀疑，而通过把这件事公开化，我就有了十来名业余侦探为我服务了，他们会一直监视着他，正由于他本人意识到他们的监视，他不敢进一步去烧毁这一证据。因而他被迫离开了庄园，把它留在了纸捻瓶子里。”

“但是霍华德小姐无疑有足够的机会帮他忙的。”

“是的，可是霍华德小姐并不知道有这张东西存在。按照他们原定的计划，她决不能和阿弗雷德·英格里桑说话。他们应该成为死对头，因此在约翰·卡文迪什有把握被宣判有罪之前，他们当中的任何一个都不敢冒险去会面的。当然，我也安排了一个监视人员，一直看着英格里桑先生，希望他迟早会把我领到藏东西的地方。可是他太狡滑了，并没有去冒任何险。那张信藏在那儿很安全，因为在第一个星期内没有一个人想到要丢那儿看看，在那以后要想这么做，就不可能了。不过，照你说的这么侥幸的话，我们也许就永远不能把他缉拿归案了。”

“现在我懂了；可是你是什么时候开始怀疑霍华德小姐的？”

“从我发现她审讯时在她收到英格里桑太太的那封信的问题上撒了一个谎之后。”

“唷，撤了什么谎？”

“你看过那封信吧？你还记得大体的样子吗？”

“多少还有点记得。”

“那你一定想得起来，英格里桑太太写字有一个与众不同的地方，她在字和字之间留下了很大的空隙。可是，要是你看着那封信头上的日子，你就会发现，7月17日，这几个字在这方面完全不同。你明白我的意思吗？”

“不，”我承认说，“我不明白。”

“那封信不是17日写的，而是7日写的——也就是霍华德小姐离开之后那天，你还不明白吗？在‘7’的前面写上一个‘1’，使它变成了‘17日’。”

“可是为什么？”

“这正是我问过自己的问题。为什么霍华德小姐要隐瞒17日写的那封信，而交出这封假的来代替呢？因为她不想拿出17日的那一封。又是为什么？我的脑子里立刻产生了怀疑。你一定还记得，我曾说过，对一个对你不说实话的人多加提防是明智的。”

“可是，”我愤慨地大声说，“在那以后，你给我说了霍华德小姐不可能犯罪的两个理由！”

“而且也是非常正确的理由，”波洛说。“因为很长一段时间来它们对我来说都是一块绊脚石，直到我想到一个非常重要的事实：她和阿弗雷德是表兄妹。她不可能单枪匹马地去犯罪，但是与此相反的理由是并不能排除她成为一个同谋。而且，她的仇恨实在过于激烈了！它隐蔽着一种完全相反的感情。毫无疑问，远在他来斯泰尔斯之前，他们之间就有一种暧昧关系。他们早就策划了他们的罪恶计划——他应当和这个富有然而相当愚蠢的老太太结婚，劝诱她立一张遗嘱，把她的财产都留给他，然后通过一个设想得极为巧妙的犯罪行为来达到他们的目的。要是全都按他们的计划完成，事成之后他们很可能就离开英国，靠他们的可怜的受害者的钱在一起过活了。

“他们是非常狡猾，无耻的一对。当怀疑直接对准他的时候，她为一个完全不同的结局暗中做了许多准备。她从米德林海姆来到时带来了她拥有的全部害人项目。怀疑不会落到她身上，”她进出这幢房子没有人会引起注意。她把士的宁和眼镜藏到了约翰的房里。她把胡子放到了阁楼上。她一定要使这些东西早晚被及时发现。”

“我不很明白，为什么他们要千方百计把罪名栽到约翰身上，”我说。“对他们来说，把这归罪于劳伦斯要容易得多。”

“是呀，可是那纯粹是偶然。所有控告劳伦斯的证据，完全由于偶然事件所引起。事实上，这显然也使这对阴谋家感到烦恼。”

“劳伦斯的态度实在令人遗憾，”我若有所思地说。

“是的。你当然知道在那后面是什么了？”

“不知道。”

“他认为辛西娅小姐在这桩案子中是有罪的，这你不了解吗？”

“不了解，”我喊了起来，感到大为惊讶。“这不可能！”

“一点不错。我自己差不多也有过同样的想法。当我向韦尔斯先生问到有关遗嘱的第一个问题时，我脑子里有了这个想法。后来，又有了她配制的溴化剂药粉，象多卡斯说的那样，她还能维妙维肖地扮演男人。说实在，可以控告她的证据要比对任何人的多。”

“你在开玩笑吧，波洛！”

“不。我要告诉你吗，在那个不幸的晚上，劳伦斯先生最初走进母亲的房间时，是什么使得他的脸色变得这么苍白？这是因为，当他的母亲显然是中毒躺在那儿时，他扭头看到通向辛西娅小姐房间的那道门并没有闩上。”

“可是他公开说他看到它是闩上的！”我喊了起来。

“确实如此，”波洛干巴巴地说。“这恰恰加深了我的怀疑，事实并非如此。他在包庇辛西娅小姐。”

“可是他为什么要包庇她？”

“因为他和她相爱。”

我笑了起来。

“波洛，这你可完全错了！我曾偶尔了解到一个事实，他不仅没有和她相爱，而且他肯定不喜欢她。”

“这是谁告诉你的，朋友？”

“辛西娅本人。”

“这可怜的孩子！她忧心重重了吧？”

“她说她根本就不在乎。”

“那就是说她必定非常在乎了，”波洛说。”他们完全象——一对恋人！”

“你说的有关劳伦斯的情况，使我大为惊诧。”我说。

“为什么？这是一清二楚的呀。每一次辛西娅小姐和他的哥哥交谈或者说笑时，他不是都摆出一张愠怒的面孔吗？他那只过于聪明的脑袋认为辛西娅小姐爱上约翰先生了。当他走进他母亲的房间时，他着出她显然是中了毒。子是就匆匆作出结论，认为在这件事情上辛西娅小姐一定了解一些内情。他几乎因绝望而弄得不顾一切了。首先，他用脚把那只咖啡杯踩碎，他记得头天晚上是她陪他母亲上楼的，他决意不让人有机会化验这只杯子里的东西。在那以后，他又使劲地，毫无用处地坚持‘自然死亡’的论点。

“还有‘特大号咖啡杯’是怎么一回事？”

“我确信杯子是卡文迪什太太藏起来的，但是我必须查清楚。劳伦斯先生根本不知道我的意思；不过，经过考虑，他得出结论，要是他不管在哪儿能找到一只特大号咖啡杯，他的意中人就可摆脱怀疑。因此他完全明白了。”

“还有一件事。英格里桑太太临终时说的话是什意思呀？”

“当然是告发她的丈夫了。”

“呵，波洛，”我叹了一口气说，“我想你已经把全部事情解释清楚了。我很高兴这整个案子有了这么一个圆满的结局。连约翰和玛丽也言归于好了。”

“多亏我。”

“你这话什么意思——多亏你？”

“我亲爱的朋友，你没意识到这纯粹是使他们俩重新和好的一种审判么？我相信，约翰·卡文迪什仍然爱着他的妻子，而他的妻子同样也爱着他。可是原来他们俩已经非常疏远了。一切全由误会引起。她和他结婚缺乏爱情。他也知道这一点。他是个性情方面比较敏感的人，要是她不大理他，他不会强迫自己去讨好她的。由于他的撤退，她的爱情唤醒了。而他们俩又都异常骄傲，因而他们的自尊心使得他们始终顽固地保持着一定的距离。他不知不觉地被雷克斯太太缠住了，她也蓄意培植和鲍斯坦医生之间的友谊，约翰·卡文迪什被捕那天，你发现我在考虑一个重大决定，这你还记得吧？”

“记得，当时我非常理解你的苦恼。”

“请原谅，我的朋友，可是对此你一点也不理解。我当时正在试图作出决定，是否要马上开脱约翰·卡文迪什。我本来可以为他开脱——虽然这也许会使证明真正的罪犯有罪遭到失败。直到最后一刻，有关我的真正态度，他们都完全蒙在鼓里——这在一定程度上说明了我的成功。”

“你的意思是说你本来可以搭救约翰·卡文迪什，使他免受审判的？”

“是的，我的朋友。可是我最后还是决定支持‘一个女人的幸福’。只有让他们通过急流险滩，才能使这两个骄傲的人物重新和好。”

我默不作声，惊愕地注视着波洛。这个小个子的话多么不近人情！世界上，除了这个波洛，谁会想到用谋杀审判来恢复夫妇之间的幸福的！

“我看出了你的想法，朋友，”波洛朝我微笑着说。“除了赫卡尔·波洛，没有一个人会试图做这样的事情！可是，谴责这件事你可是错了。一个男人和一个女人的幸福，是整个世界上最大的大事。”

他的话使我想起了早些时候的事。我回忆起玛丽，当时她脸色苍白，精疲力尽地躺坐在沙发上，留神地听着，听着。下面传来了铃声。她蓦地站了起来。波洛已经推开了门，迎着她那极度痛苦的眼睛，有礼貌地点点头：“好了，太太，”他说。“我已经把他带回来给你了。”他站到一边，而当我走到门外时，我看到了玛丽眼中的神情，这时，约翰·卡文迪什已经把自己的妻子搂在怀中了。

“也许你是对的，波洛，”我轻声地说。“是的，这是世界上最大的大事。”

突然，响起了叩门声，辛西娅往里面探进头来。

“我——我只是——”

“请进来，”我说着，跳起身来。

她走了进来，然而没有坐下。

“我——只是想对你们说件事情——”

“是吗？”

辛西娅站了一会，不安地玩弄着一条小流苏，接着，她突然大声喊道：“你们真好！”她先吻了我，又吻了波洛，然后奔出了房间。

“这究竟是什么意思？”我吃惊地问道。

受辛西娅一吻是非常愉快的，但是这种公开的接吻有点减弱了乐趣。

“这是说，她已经发现芳伦斯先生并不象她原来想的那样不喜欢她。”波洛富有哲理地回答说。

“可是——”

“他来了。”

就在这时候，劳伦斯跨进了房门。

“啊！劳伦斯先生，”波洛叫道。“我们得向你道喜了，是这样吧？”

劳伦斯的脸红了，然后尴尬地微笑着。一个在恋爱的男人总是一副不好意思的样子。这时辛西娅看上去真是媚人极了。

我叹了一口气。

“这是怎么啦，朋友？”

“没什么，”我伤心地说。“她们是两个讨人喜欢的女人！”

“她们两人中没一个供你喜欢吧？”波洛最后说。“没关系。自我安慰一下吧，我的朋友。我们可以一块儿再追猎，谁知道呀？以后——”（完）

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