I paused for a moment in the corridor. It was quite quiet. There was no one about. The beds had been all turned down ready for the night. Norton, who had a room on this side, I had left downstairs. Elizabeth Cole was playing bridge. Curtiss, I knew, would be downstairs having his supper. I had the place to myself.
I flatter myself that I have not worked with Poirot for so many years in vain. I knew just what precautions to take.
Allerton was not going to meet Judith in London tomorrow.
Allerton was not going anywhere tomorrow…
The whole thing was really so ridiculously simple.
I went to my own room and picked up my bottle of aspirins. Then I went into Allerton's room and into the bathroom. The tablets of Slumberyl were in the cupboard. Eight, I considered, ought to do the trick. One or two was the stated dose. Eight, therefore, ought to be ample. Allerton himself had said the toxic dose was not high. I read the label: 'It is dangerous to exceed the prescribed dose.'
I smiled to myself.
I wrapped a silk handkerchief round my hand and unscrewed the bottle carefully. There must be no fingerprints on it.
I emptied out the tablets. Yes, they were almost exactly the same size as the aspirins. I put eight aspirins in the bottle, then filled up with the Slumberyls, leaving out eight of them. The bottle now looked exactly as it had before. Allerton would notice no difference.
I went back to my room. I had a bottle of whisky there – most of us had at Styles. I got out two glasses and a siphon. I'd never known Allerton refuse a drink yet. When he came up, I'd ask him in for a nightcap.
I tried the tablets in a little of the spirit. They dissolved easily enough. I tasted the mixture gingerly. A shade bitter perhaps, but hardly noticeable. I had my plan. I should be just pouring myself out a drink when Allerton came up. I would hand that to him and pour myself out another. All quite easy and natural.
He could have no idea of my feelings – unless of course Judith had told him. I considered this for a moment, but decided that I was quite safe here. Judith never told anyone anything.
He would probably believe me to be quite unsuspicious of their plans.
I had nothing to do but to wait. It would be a long time, probably an hour or two before Allerton came up to bed. He was always a late bird.
I sat there quietly waiting.
A sudden knock on the door made me start. It was only Curtiss, however. Poirot was asking for me.
I came to myself with a shock. Poirot! I had never once thought of him all evening. He must have wondered what had become of me. It worried me a little. First of all because I was ashamed of never having been near him, and secondly I did not want him to suspect that anything out of the way had happened.
I followed Curtiss across the passage.
'Eh bien,' exclaimed Poirot. 'So you desert me, hein?'
I forced a yawn and an apologetic smile.
'Awfully sorry, old boy,' I said. 'But to tell the truth, I've got such a blinding headache I can hardly see out of my eyes. It's the thunder in the air, I suppose. I really have been feeling quite muzzy with it – in fact so much so, I entirely forgot I hadn't been in to say good night to you.'
As I had hoped, Poirot was immediately solicitous. He offered remedies. He fussed. He accused me of having sat about in the open air in a draught. (On the hottest day of the summer!) I refused aspirin on the grounds that I had already taken some, but I was not able to avoid being given a cup of sweet and wholly disgusting chocolate!
'It nourishes the nerves, you comprehend,' Poirot explained.
I drank it to avoid argument and then, with Poirot's anxious and affectionate exclamations still ringing in my ears, I bade him good night.
I returned to my own room and shut the door ostentatiously. Later, I opened it a crack with the utmost caution. I could not fail now to hear Allerton when he came. But it would be some time yet.
I sat there waiting. I thought of my dead wife. Once, under my breath, I murmured:
'You understand, darling, I'm going to save her.'
She had left Judith in my care. I was not going to fail her.
In the quiet and the stillness I suddenly felt that Cinders was very near to me.
I felt almost as though she were in the room.
And still I sat on, grimly waiting.
Chapter 13
I
There is something about writing down an anti-climax in cold blood that is somewhat shattering to one's self-esteem.
For the truth of the matter is, you see, that I sat there waiting for Allerton and that I fell asleep!
Not so surprising, really, I suppose. I had slept very badly the night before. I had been out in the air the whole day. I was worn out with worry and the strain of nerving myself for doing what I had decided to do. On top of all that was the heavy thundery weather. Possibly even the fierce effort of concentration I was making helped.
Anyway, it happened. I fell asleep there in my chair, and when I woke, birds were twittering outside, the sun was up and there was I cramped and uncomfortable, slipped down in my chair in my evening dress, with a foul taste in the mouth and a splitting head.
I was bewildered, incredulous, disgusted, and finally immeasurably and overwhelmingly relieved.
Who was it who wrote: 'The darkest day (Live till tomorrow) will have pass'd away'? And how true it is. I saw now, clearly and sanely, how overwrought and wrong-headed I had been. Melodramatic, lost to all sense of proportion. I had actually made up my mind to kill another human being.
At this moment my eyes fell on the glass of whisky in front of me. With a shudder I got up, drew the curtains and poured it out of the window. I must have been mad last night!
I shaved, had a bath and dressed. Then, feeling very much better, I went across to Poirot. He always woke very early, I knew. I sat down and made a clean breast of the whole thing to him.
I may say it was a great relief.
He shook his head gently at me.
'Ah, but what follies it is you contemplate. I am glad you came to confess your sins to me. But why, my dear friend, did you not come to me last night and tell me what was in your mind?'
I said shamefacedly:
'I was afraid, I suppose, that you would have tried to stop me.'
'Assuredly I would have stopped you. Ah, that, certainly. Do you think I want to see you hanged by the neck, all on account of a very unpleasant scoundrel called Major Allerton?'
'I shouldn't have been caught,' I said. 'I'd taken every precaution.'
'That is what all murderers think. You had the true mentality! But let me tell you, mon ami, you were not as clever as you thought yourself.'
'I took every precaution. I wiped my fingerprints off the bottle.'
'Exactly. You also wiped Allerton's fingerprints off. And when he is found dead – what happens? They perform the autopsy and it is established that he died of an overdose of Slumberyl. Did he take it by accident or intention? Tiens, his fingerprints are not on the bottle. But why not? Whether accident or suicide, he would have no reason to wipe them off. And then they analyze the remaining tablets and find nearly half of them have been replaced by aspirin.'
'Well, practically everyone has aspirin tablets,' I murmured weakly.
