After dinner Mrs Luttrell suggested bridge, but in the end some round games were started. About half-past nine Norton declared his intention of going up to see Poirot.
'Good idea.' said Boyd Carrington. 'Sorry he's been under the weather lately. I'll come up too.'
I had to act quickly.
'Look here.' I said. 'do you mind – it really tires him too much to talk to more than one person at a time.'
Norton took the cue and said quickly:
'I promised to lend him a book on birds.'
Boyd Carrington said:
'All right. You coming back again, Hastings?'
'Yes.'
I went up with Norton. Poirot was waiting. After a word or two I came down again. We began playing rummy.
Boyd Carrington, I think, resented the carefree atmosphere of Styles tonight. He thought, perhaps, that it was too soon after the tragedy for everyone to forget. He was absent-minded, forgot frequently what he was doing, and at last excused himself from further play.
He went to the window and opened it. The sound of thunder could be heard in the distance. There was a storm about, although it had not yet reached us. He closed the window again and came back. He stood for a minute or two watching us play. Then he went out of the room.
I went up to bed at a quarter to eleven. I did not go in to Poirot. He might be asleep. Moreover I felt a reluctance to think any more about Styles and its problems. I wanted to sleep – to sleep and forget.
I was just dropping off when a sound wakened me. I thought it might have been a tap on my door. I called 'Come in,' but as there was no response, I switched the light on and, getting up, looked out into the corridor.
I saw Norton just coming from the bathroom and going into his own room. He wore a checked dressing gown of particularly hideous colouring and his hair was sticking up on end as usual. He went into his room and shut the door, and immediately afterwards I heard him turn the key in the lock.
Overhead there was a low rumbling of thunder. The storm was coming nearer.
I went back to bed with a slightly uneasy feeling induced by the sound of that turning key.
It suggested, very faintly, sinister possibilities. Did Norton usually lock his door at night? I wondered. Had Poirot warned him to do so? I remembered with sudden uneasiness how Poirot's door key had mysteriously disappeared.
I lay in bed and my uneasiness grew while the storm overhead added to my feeling of nerviness. I got up at last and locked my own door. Then I went back to bed and slept.
II
I went in to Poirot before going down to breakfast.
He was in bed and I was struck again by how ill he looked. Deep lines of weariness and fatigue were on his face.
'How are you, old boy?'
He smiled patiently at me.
'I exist, my friend. I still exist.'
'Not in pain?'
'No – just tired,' he sighed, 'very tired.'
I nodded.
'What about last night? Did Norton tell you what he saw that day?'
'He told me, yes.'
'What was it?'
Poirot looked at me long and thoughtfully before he replied:
'I am not sure, Hastings, that I had better tell you. You might misunderstand.'
'What are you talking about?'
'Norton,' said Poirot, 'tells me he saw two people -'
'Judith and Allerton,' I cried. 'I thought so at the time.'
'Eh bien, non. Not Judith and Allerton. Did I not tell you you would misunderstand? You are a man of one idea!'
'Sorry,' I said, a little abashed. 'Tell me.'
'I will tell you tomorrow. I have much on which I wish to reflect.'
'Does it – does it help with the case?'
Poirot nodded. He closed his eyes, leaning back in his pillows.
'The case is ended. Yes, it is ended. There are only some loose ends to be tied. Go down to breakfast, my friend. And as you go, send Curtiss to me.'
I did so and went downstairs. I wanted to see Norton. I was deeply curious to know what it was that he had told Poirot.
Subconsciously I was still not happy. The lack of elation in Poirot's manner struck me disagreeably. Why this persistent secrecy? Why that deep inexplicable sadness? What was the truth of all this?
Norton was not at breakfast.
I strolled out into the garden afterwards. The air was fresh and cool after the storm. I noticed that it had rained heavily. Boyd Carrington was on the lawn. I felt pleased to see him and wished that I could take him into my confidence. I had wanted to all along. I was very tempted to do so now. Poirot was really unfit to carry on by himself.
This morning Boyd Carrington looked so vital, so sure of himself, that I felt a wave of warmth and reassurance.
'You're up late this morning,' he said.
I nodded.
'I slept late.'
'Bit of a thunderstorm last night. Hear it?'
I remembered now that I had been conscious of the rolling of thunder through my sleep.
'I felt a bit under the weather last night,' said Boyd Carrington. 'I feel a lot better today.' He stretched his arms out and yawned.
'Where's Norton?' I asked.
'Don't think he's up yet. Lazy devil.'
With common accord we raised our eyes. Where we were standing, the windows of Norton's room were just above us. I started. For alone in the facade of windows, Norton's were still shuttered.
I said: 'That's odd. Do you think they've forgotten to call him?'
'Funny. Hope he's not ill. Let's go up and see.'
We went up together. The housemaid, a rather stupid-looking girl, was in the passage. In answer to a question she replied that Mr Norton hadn't answered when she knocked. She'd knocked once or twice but he hadn't seemed to hear. His door was locked,
A nasty foreboding swept over me. I rapped loudly on the door, calling as I did so:
'Norton – Norton. Wake up!'
And again with growing uneasiness:
'Wake up…'
III
