read anything – that you'd discovered your mistake in time.'
'Yes.' Norton said it after a moment's pause, and he did not seem to feel that be had yet arrived at a satisfactory solution.
He said rather wistfully:
'I wish I did know what I ought to do.'
I said that I couldn't see that there was anything else he could do.
Norton said, the perplexed frown still on his forehead:
'You see, Hastings, there's rather more to it than that. Supposing that what you read was – well, rather important to someone else again, I mean.'
I lost patience.
'Really, Norton, I don't see what you do mean. You can't go about reading other people's private letters, can you -'
'No no of course not. I didn't mean that. And anyway, it wasn't a letter at all. I only said that to try and explain the sort of thing. Naturally anything you saw or heard or read – by accident – you'd keep to yourself, unless -'
'Unless what?'
Norton said slowly:
'Unless it was something you ought to speak about.'
I looked at him with suddenly awakened interest. He went on:
'Look here, think of it this way – supposing you saw something through a – a keyhole -'
Keyholes made me think of Poirot! Norton was stumbling on:
'What I mean is, you'd got a perfectly good reason for looking through the keyhole – the key might have stuck and you just looked to see if it was clear – or – or some quite good reason – and you never for one minute expected to see what you did see…'
For a moment or two I lost the thread of his stumbling sentences, for enlightenment had come to me. I remembered a day on a grassy knoll and Norton swinging up his glasses to see a speckled woodpecker, I remembered his immediate distress and embarrassment, his endeavours to prevent me from looking through the glasses in my turn, At the moment I had leaped to the conclusion that what he had seen was something to do with me – in fact that it was Allerton and Judith. But supposing that that was not the case? That he had seen something quite different? I had assumed that it was something to do with Allerton and Judith because I was so obsessed by them at that time that I could think of nothing else.
I said abruptly:
'Was it something you saw through those glasses of yours?'
Norton was both startled and relieved.
'I say, Hastings, how did you guess?'
'It was that day when you and I and Elizabeth Cole were up on that knoll, wasn't it?'
'Yes, that's right.'
'And you didn't want me to see?'
'No. It wasn't – well, I mean it wasn't meant for any of us to see.'
'What was it?'
Norton frowned again.
'That's just it. Ought I to say? I mean it was – well, it was spying. I saw something I wasn't meant to see. I wasn't looking for it – there really was a speckled woodpecker – a lovely fellow, and then I saw the other thing.'
He stopped. I was curious, intensely curious, yet I respected his scruples.
I asked:
'Was it – something that mattered?'
He said slowly:
'It might matter. That's just it. I don't know.'
I asked then:
'Has it something to do with Mrs Franklin's death?'
He started.
'It's queer you should say that.'
'Then it has?'
'No – no, not directly. But it might have.' He said slowly: 'It would throw a different light on, certain things. It would mean that – Oh, damn it all, I don't know what to do!'
I was in a dilemma. I was agog with curiosity, yet I felt that Norton was very reluctant to say what he had seen. I could understand that. I should have felt the same myself. It is always unpleasant to come into possession of a piece of information that has been acquired in what the outside world would consider a dubious manner.
Then an idea struck me.
'Why not consult Poirot?'
'Poirot?' Norton seemed a little doubtful.
'Yes, ask his advice.'
'Well,' said Norton slowly, 'it's an idea. Only, of course, he's a foreigner -' He stopped, rather embarrassed.
I knew what he meant. Poirot's scathing remarks on the subject of 'playing the game' were only too familiar to me. I only wondered that Poirot had never thought of taking to bird glasses himself! He would have done it if he had thought of it.
'He'd respect your confidence,' I urged. 'And you needn't act upon his advice if you don't like it.'
'That's true,' said Norton, his brow clearing. 'You know, Hastings, I think that's just what I will do.'
IV
I was astonished at Poirot's instant reaction to my piece of information.
'What is that you say, Hastings?'
He dropped the piece of thin toast he had been raising to his lips. He poked his head forward.
'Tell me. Tell me quickly.'
I repeated the story.
'He saw something through the glasses that day,' repeated Poirot thoughtfully. 'Something that he will not tell you.' His hand shot out and gripped my arm. 'He has not told anyone else of this?'
'I don't think so. No, I'm sure he hasn't.'
'Be very careful, Hastings. It is urgent that he should not tell anyone – he must not even hint. To do so might be dangerous.'
'Dangerous?'
'Very dangerous.'
Poirot's face was grave.
'Arrange with him, mon ami, to come up and see me this evening. Just an ordinary friendly little visit, you understand. Do not let anyone else suspect that there is any special reason for his coming. And be careful, Hastings; be very, very careful. Who else did you say was with you at the time?'
'Elizabeth Cole.'
'Did she notice anything odd about his manner?'
I tried to recollect.
'I don't know. She may have. Shall I ask her if -'
'You will say nothing, Hastings – absolutely nothing.'
