Carelli. They cannot keep their heads. So curious, is it not?'
Looking distinctly on edge, Carelli replied offhandedly, 'Very curious.' He glanced at the telephone.
Miss Amory began to knit, keeping up a flow of aimless conversation as she did so. 'I suppose you are catching the twelve-fifteen. You mustn't run it too fine. Not that I want to fuss, of course. I always say that fussing over -'
'Yes, indeed,' Dr Carelli interrupted peremptorily, 'but there is plenty of time, I think. I – I wondered if I might use the telephone?'
Miss Amory looked up momentarily. 'Oh, yes, of course,' she said, as she continued to knit. It seemed not to have occurred to her that Dr Carelli might have wanted to make his telephone call in private.
'Thank you,' murmured Carelli, moving to the desk and making a pretence of looking up a number in the telephone directory. He glanced across impatiently at Miss Amory. 'I think your niece was looking for you,' he remarked.
Miss Amory's only reaction to this information was to talk about her niece while continuing with her knitting undisturbed.
'Dear Barbara!' she exclaimed. 'Such a sweet creature. You know, she leads rather a sad life here, far too dull for a young girl. Well, well, things will be different now, I dare say.' She dwelt pleasurably on this thought for a moment, before continuing, 'Not that I haven't done all I could. But what a girl needs is a little gaiety. All the Beeswax in the world won't make up for that.'
Dr Carelli's face was a study in incomprehension, mixed with more than a little irritation. 'Beeswax?' he felt obliged to ask.
'Yes, Beeswax – or is it Beemax? Vitamins, you know, or at least that's what it says on the tin. A and B and C and D. All of them, except the one that keeps you from having beriberi. And I really think there's no need for that, if one is living in England. It's not a disease one encounters here. It comes, I believe, from polishing the rice in native countries. So interesting. I made Mr Raynor take it – Beeswax, I mean – after breakfast every day. He was looking pale, poor young fellow. I tried to make Lucia take it, too, but she wouldn't.' Miss Amory shook her head disapprovingly.
'And to think, when I was a girl, I was strictly forbidden to eat caramels because of the Beeswax – I mean Beemax. Times change, you know. Times do change.'
Though he attempted to disguise the fact, by now Dr Carelli was positively fuming. 'Yes, yes, Miss Amory,' he replied as politely as he could manage. Moving towards her, he tried a somewhat more direct approach. 'I think your niece is calling you.'
'Calling me?'
'Yes. Do you not hear?'
Miss Amory listened. 'No – no,' she confessed. 'How curious.' She rolled up her knitting. 'You must have keen ears, Dr Carelli. Not that my hearing is bad. Indeed, I've been told that -'
She dropped her ball of wool, and Carelli picked it up for her. 'Thank you so much,' she said. 'All the Amorys have keen hearing, you know.' She rose from the settee. 'My father kept his faculties in the most remarkable way. He could read without glasses when he was eighty.' She dropped the ball of wool again, and again Carelli stooped to retrieve it for her.
'Oh, thank you so much,' Miss Amory continued. 'A remarkable man, Dr Carelli. My father, I mean. Such a remarkable man. He always slept in a four-poster featherbed; and the windows of his bedroom were never opened. The night air, he used to say, was most injurious. Unfortunately, when he had an attack of gout he was nursed by a young woman who insisted on the window being opened at the top, and my poor father died of it.'
She dropped the ball of wool yet again. This time, after picking it up, Carelli planted it firmly in her hand and led her to the door. Miss Amory moved slowly, talking all the time. 'I do not care at all for hospital nurses, Dr Carelli,' she informed him. 'They gossip about their cases, they drink far too much tea, and they always upset the servants.'
'Very true, dear lady, very true,' Carelli agreed hastily, opening the door for her.
'Thank you so much,' Miss Amory said as he propelled her out of the room. Shutting the door after her, Carelli moved quickly to the desk and lifted the telephone receiver. After a pause, he spoke into it softly but urgently. 'This is Market Cleve three-oh-four. I want London… Soho double-eight-five-three… no, five-three, that's right… Eh?… Will you call me?… Right.'
He replaced the receiver and then stood biting his nails impatiently. After a moment he crossed to the door of the study, opened it, and entered the room. Hardly had he done so, when Edward Raynor came into the library from the hall. Glancing around the room, Raynor strolled casually to the fireplace. He touched the vase of spills on the mantelpiece, and as he did so, Carelli strolled into the room again from the study. As Carelli closed the study door, Raynor turned and saw him.
'I didn't know you were in here,' said the secretary.
'I'm waiting for a phone call,' Carelli explained.
'Oh!'
After a pause, Carelli spoke again. 'When did the police inspector come?'
'About twenty minutes ago, I believe. Have you seen him?'
'Only in the distance,' replied Carelli.
'He's a Scotland Yard man,' Raynor informed him. 'Apparently, he happened to be down in the neighbourhood clearing up some other case, so he was called in by the local police.'
'That was a piece of luck, eh?' observed Carelli.
'Wasn't it?' The telephone rang, and Raynor moved towards it. Walking quickly ahead of him to the phone, Carelli said, 'I think that will be my call.' He looked at Raynor. 'I wonder if you'd mind -'
'Certainly, my dear fellow,' the secretary assured him. 'I'll clear out.'
Raynor left the room, and Carelli lifted the receiver. He spoke quietly. 'Hello?… Is that Miguel?… Yes?… No, damn it, I haven't. It's been impossible… No, you don't understand, the old gentleman died last night… I'm leaving at once… Japp's here… Japp. You know, the Scotland Yard man… No, I've not met him yet… I hope so, too… At the usual place, nine-thirty tonight… Right.'
Replacing the receiver, Carelli moved to the recess, picked up his suitcase, put on his hat, and went towards the French windows. At that moment, Hercule Poirot entered from the garden, and he and Carelli collided. 'I beg your pardon,' said the Italian.
'Not at all,' replied Poirot politely, continuing to block the way out.
'If you would allow me to pass -'
'Impossible,' said Poirot mildly. 'Quite impossible.'
'I insist.'
'I shouldn't,' murmured Poirot with a friendly smile.
Suddenly, Carelli charged at Poirot. The little detective stepped briskly aside, tripping Carelli up neatly with an unexpected movement, and taking the Italian doctor's suitcase from him at the same time. At that moment, Japp slid into the room behind Poirot, and Carelli fell into the Inspector's arms.
'Hello, what's all this?' exclaimed Inspector Japp, 'Why, bless me if it isn't Tonio!'
'Ah!' Poirot gave a little laugh as he moved away from them both. 'I thought, my dear Japp, that you would probably be able to give a name to this gentleman.'
'Oh, I know all about him,' Japp affirmed. 'Tonio's quite a public character. Aren't you, Tonio? I'll bet you were surprised at Monsieur Poirot's move just then. What do you call that stuff, Poirot? Ju-jitsu or such-like, isn't it? Poor old Tonio!'
As Poirot placed the Italian's suitcase on the table and opened it, Carelli growled at Japp, 'You've got nothing against me. You can't hold me.'
'I wonder,' said the Inspector. 'I'll bet we won't have far to look for the man who stole that formula, and did in the old gentleman.' Turning to Poirot, he added, 'That formula is absolutely bang in Tonio's line, and since we've found him trying to make a getaway, I shouldn't be surprised if he's got the goods on him this minute.'
'I agree with you,' declared Poirot.
Japp ran his hands over Carelli, while Poirot went through the suitcase.
'Well?' Japp asked Poirot.
'Nothing,' the detective replied, closing the suitcase. 'Nothing. I am disappointed.'
