Five

The sequence of events on the night of October the twenty-ninth was perfectly¹ clear.

To begin with, there was a scene between the two men—Gold and Chantry. Chantry’s voicerose louder and louder and his last words were overheard by four persons—the cashier at the desk,the manager, General Barnes and Pamela Lyall.

“You goddamned swine! If you and my wife think you can put this over on me, you’remistaken! As long as I’m alive, Valentine will remain my wife.”

Then he had flung out of the hotel, his face livid with rage.

That was before dinner. After dinner (how arranged no one knew) a reconciliation² took place.

Valentine asked Marjorie Gold to come out for a moonlight drive. Pamela and Sarah went withthem. Gold and Chantry played billiards³ together. Afterwards they joined Hercule Poirot andGeneral Barnes in the lounge.

For the first time almost, Chantry’s face was smiling and good-tempered.

“Have a good game?” asked the General.

The Commander said:

“This fellow’s too good for me! Ran out with a break of forty-six.”

Douglas Gold deprecated this modestly.

“Pure fluke. I assure you it was. What’ll you have? I’ll go and get hold of a waiter.”

“Pink gin for me, thanks.”

“Right. General?”

“Thanks. I’ll have a whisky and soda⁴.”

“Same for me. What about you, M. Poirot?”

“You are most amiable⁵. I should like a sirop de cassis.”

“A sirop—excuse me?”

“Sirop de cassis. The syrup⁶ of blackcurrants.”

“Oh, a liqueur! I see. I suppose they have it here? I never heard of it.”

“They have it, yes. But it is not a liqueur.”

Douglas Gold said, laughing:

“Sounds a funny taste to me—but every man his own poison! I’ll go and order them.”

Commander Chantry sat down. Though not by nature a talkative or a social man, he wasclearly doing his best to be genial⁷.

“Odd how one gets used to doing without any news,” he remarked.

The General grunted⁸.

“Can’t say the Continental⁹ Daily Mail four days old is much use to me. Of course I get TheTimes sent to me and Punch every week, but they’re a devilish long time in coming.”

“Wonder if we’ll have a general election over this Palestine business?”

“Whole thing’s been badly mismanaged,” declared the General just as Douglas Goldreappeared followed by a waiter with the drinks.

The General had just begun on an anecdote¹⁰ of his military career in India in the year 1905.

The two Englishmen were listening politely, if without great interest. Hercule Poirot was sippinghis sirop de cassis.

The General reached the point of his narrative¹¹ and there was dutiful laughter all round.

Then the women appeared at the doorway¹² of the lounge. They all four seemed in the best ofspirits and were talking and laughing.

“Tony, darling, it was too divine,” cried Valentine as she dropped into a chair by his side.

“The most marvellous idea of Mrs.?Gold’s. You all ought to have come!”

Her husband said:

“What about a drink?”

He looked inquiringly at the others.

“Pink gin for me, darling,” said Valentine.

“Gin and gingerbeer,” said Pamela.

“Sidecar,” said Sarah.

“Right.” Chantry stood up. He pushed his own untouched pink gin over to his wife. “Youhave this. I’ll order another for myself. What’s yours, Mrs.?Gold?”

Mrs.?Gold was being helped out of her coat by her husband. She turned smiling:

“Can I have an orangeade, please?”

“Right you are. Orangeade.”

He went towards the door. Mrs.?Gold smiled up in her husband’s face.

“It was so lovely, Douglas. I wish you had come.”

“I wish I had too. We’ll go another night, shall we?” They smiled at each other.

Valentine Chantry picked up the pink gin and drained it.

“Oo! I needed that,” she sighed.

Douglas Gold took Marjorie’s coat and laid it on a settee.

As he strolled back to the others he said sharply:

“Hallo, what’s the matter?”

Valentine Chantry was leaning back in her chair. Her lips were blue and her hand had gone toher heart.

“I feel—rather queer. . . .”

She gasped¹³, fighting for breath.

Chantry came back into the room. He quickened his step.

“Hallo, Val, what’s the matter?”

“I—I don’t know . . . That drink—it tasted queer. . . .”

“The pink gin?”

Chantry swung round his face worked. He caught Douglas Gold by the shoulder.

“That was my drink . . . Gold, what the hell did you put in it?”

Douglas Gold was staring at the convulsed face of the woman in the chair. He had gone deadwhite.

“I—I—never—”

Valentine Chantry slipped down in her chair.

General Barnes cried out:

“Get a doctor—quick. . . .”

Five minutes later Valentine Chantry died. . . .

 

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