'But you don't suspect him to have anything to do with it?'
'I do not make the exceptions.'
'Think how he must be suffering.'
'On the contrary, I prefer to think of what a joyful surprise I prepare for him. To think the loved one dead-and find her alive! It is a sensation unique-stupendous.'
'What a pig-headed old devil you are. He'd keep the secret all right.'
'I am not so sure.'
'He's the soul of honour. I'm certain of it.'
'That makes it all the more difficult to keep a secret. Keeping a secret is an art that requires many lies magnificently told, and a great aptitude for playing the comedy and enjoying it. Could he dissemble, the Commander Challenger? If he is what you say he is, he certainly could not.'
'Then you won't tell him?'
'I certainly refuse to imperil my little idea for the sake of the sentiment. It is life and death we play with, mon cher. Anyway, the suffering, it is good for the character. Many of your famous clergymen have said so-even a Bishop if I am not mistaken.'
I made no further attempt to shake his decision. His mind, I could see, was made up.
'I shall not dress for dinner,' he murmured. 'I am too much the broken old man. That is my part, you understand. All my self-confidence has crashed-I am broken. I have failed. I shall eat hardly any dinner-the food untasted on the plate. That is the attitude, I think. In my own apartment I will consume some brioches and some chocolate eclairs (so called) which I had the foresight to buy at a confectioners. Et vous?'
'Some more quinine, I think,' I said, sadly.
'Alas, my poor Hastings. But courage, all will be well to-morrow.’
‘Very likely. These attacks often last only twenty-four hours.' I did not hear him return to the room. I must have been asleep.
When I awoke, he was sitting at the table writing. In front of him was a crumpled sheet of paper smoothed out. I recognized it for the paper on which he had written that list of people-A. to J.-which he had afterwards crumpled up and thrown away.
He nodded in answer to my unspoken thought.
'Yes, my friend. I have resurrected it. I am at work upon it from a different angle. I compile a list of questions concerning each person. The questions may have no bearing on the crime-they are just things that I do not know- things that remain unexplained, and for which I seek to supply the answer from my own brain.'
'How far have you got?'
'I have finished. You would like to hear? You are strong enough?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I am feeling a great deal better.'
' Ala bonne heure! Very well, I will read them to you. Some of them, no doubt, you will consider puerile.'
He cleared his throat.
'A. Ellen.-Why did she remain in the house and not go out to see fireworks? (Unusual, as Mademoiselle's evidence and surprise make clear.) What did she think or suspect might happen? Did she admit anyone (J. for instance) to the house? Is she speaking the truth about the secret panel? If there is such a thing why is she unable to remember where it is? (Mademoiselle seems very certain there is no such thing-and she would surely know.) If she invented it, why did she invent it? Had she read Michael Seton's love letters or was her surprise at Mademoiselle Nick's engagement genuine?'
'B. Her Husband.-Is he as stupid as he seems? Does he share Ellen's knowledge, whatever it is, or does he not? Is he, in any respect, a mental case?'
'C. The Child.-Is his delight in blood a natural instinct common to his age and development, or is it morbid, and is that morbidity inherited from either parent? Has he ever shot with a toy pistol?'
'D. Who is Mr Croft? -Where does he really come from? Did he post the will as he swears he did? What motive could he have in not posting it?'
'E. Mrs Croft. Same as above.-Who are Mr and Mrs Croft? Are they in hiding for some reason-and if so, what reason? Have they any connection with the Buckley family?'
'F. Mrs Rice.-Was she really aware of the engagement between Nick and Michael Seton? Did she merely guess it, or had she actually read the letters which passed between them? (In that case she would know Mademoiselle was Seton's heir.) Did she know that she herself was Mademoiselle's residuary legatee? (This, I think, is likely. Mademoiselle would probably tell her so, adding perhaps that she would not get much out of it.) Is there any truth in Commander Challenger's suggestion that Lazarus was attracted by Mademoiselle Nick? (This might explain a certain lack of cordiality between the two friends which seems to have shown itself in the last few months.) Who is the 'boy friend' mentioned in her note as supplying the drug? Could this possibly be J.? Why did she turn faint one day in this room? Was it something that had been said-or was it something she saw? Is her account of the telephone message asking her to buy chocolates correct-or is it a deliberate lie? What did she mean by 'I can understand the other-but not this'? If she is not herself guilty, what knowledge has she got that she is keeping to herself?'
'You perceive,' said Poirot, suddenly breaking off, 'that the questions concerning Madame Rice are almost innumerable. From beginning to end, she is an enigma. And that forces me to a conclusion. Either Madame Rice is guilty-or she knows-or shall we say, thinks she knows-who is guilty. But is she right? Does she know or does she merely suspect? And how is it possible to make her speak?'
He sighed.
'Well, I will go on with my list of questions.'
'G. Mr. Lazarus.-Curious-there are practically no questions to ask concerning him-except the crude one, 'Did he substitute the poisoned sweets?' Otherwise I find only one totally irrelevant question. But I have put it down. 'Why did M. Lazarus offer fifty pounds for a picture that was only worth twenty?''
'He wanted to do Nick a good turn,' I suggested.
'He would not do it that way. He is a dealer. He does not buy to sell at a loss. If he wished to be amiable he would lend her money as a private individual.'
'It can't have any bearing on the crime, anyway.'
'No, that is true-but all the same, I should like to know. I am a student of the psychology, you understand.'
'Now we come to H.'
'H. Commander Challenger.-Why did Mademoiselle Nick tell him she was engaged to someone else? What necessitated her having to tell him that? She told no one else. Had he proposed to her? What are his relations with his uncle?'
'His uncle, Poirot?'
'Yes, the doctor. That rather questionable character. Did any private news of Michael Seton's death come through to the Admiralty before it was announced publicly?'
'I don't quite see what you're driving at Poirot. Even if Challenger knew beforehand about Seton's death, it does not seem to get us anywhere. It provides no earthly motive for killing the girl he loved.'
'I quite agree. What you say is perfectly reasonable. But these are just things I should like to know. I am still the dog, you see, nosing about for the things that are not very nice!'
'I. M. Vyse.-Why did he say what he did about his cousin's fanatical devotion to End House? What possible motive could he have in saying that? Did he, or did he not, receive the will? Is he, in fact, an honest man-or is he not an honest man?'
'And now J. -Eh bien, J. is what I put down before-a giant question mark. Is there such a person, or is there not-'
'Mon Dieu! my friend, what have you?'
I had started from my chair with a sudden shriek. With a shaking hand I pointed at the window.
'A face, Poirot!' I cried. 'A face pressed against the glass. A dreadful face! It's gone now-but I saw it.'
Poirot strode to the window and pushed it open. He leant out.
'There is no one there now,' he said, thoughtfully. 'You are sure you did not imagine it, Hastings?'
'Quite sure. It was a horrible face.'
'There is a balcony, of course. Anyone could reach there quite easily if they wanted to hear what we were
