When Carelli had left the room, Hastings stared after him for a few moments. ‘I say, Poirot,’ he asked finally, ‘what do you think he meant by that?’
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. ‘It was a remark of no consequence,’ he declared.
‘But Poirot,’ Hastings persisted, ‘I’m sure Carelli was trying to tell you something.’
‘Ring the bell once more, Hastings,’ was the little detective’s only response. Hastings did as he was bidden, but could not refrain from a further enquiry. ‘What are you going to do now?’
Poirot’s reply was in his most enigmatic vein. ‘You will see, my dear Hastings. Patience is a great virtue.’
Tredwell entered the room again with his usual respectful enquiry of ‘Yes, sir?’ Poirot beamed at him genially. ‘Ah, Tredwell. Will you present my compliments to Miss Caroline Amory, and ask her if she will be good enough to allow me a few minutes of her time?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘I thank you, Tredwell.’
When the butler had left, Hastings exclaimed, ‘But the old soul’s in bed. Surely you’re not going to make her get up, if she isn’t feeling well.’
‘My friend Hastings knows everything! So she is in bed, yes?’
‘Well, isn’t she?’
Poirot patted his friend’s shoulder affectionately. ‘That is just what I want to find out.’
‘But, surely –’ Hastings elaborated. ‘Don’t you remember? Richard Amory said so.’
The detective regarded his friend steadily. ‘Hastings,’ he declared, ‘here is a man killed. And how does his family react? With lies, lies, lies everywhere! Why does Madame Amory want me to go? Why does Monsieur Amory want me to go? Why does he wish to prevent me from seeing his aunt? What can she tell me that he does not want me to hear? I tell you, Hastings, what we have here is drama! Not a simple, sordid crime, but drama. Poignant, human drama!’
He looked as though he would have expanded on this theme had not Miss Amory entered at that moment. ‘Monsieur Poirot,’ she addressed him as she closed the door, ‘Tredwell tells me you wanted to see me.’
‘Ah yes, mademoiselle,’ Poirot declared as he went to her. ‘It is just that I would like to ask you a few questions. Will you not sit down?’ He led her to a chair by the table, and she sat, looking at him nervously. ‘But I understood that you were prostrated, ill?’ Poirot continued as he sat on the other side of the table, and regarded her with an expression of anxious solicitude.
‘It’s all been a terrible shock, of course,’ Caroline Amory sighed. ‘Really terrible! But what I always say is, somebody must keep their head. The servants, you know, are in a turmoil. Well,’ she continued, speaking more quickly, ‘you know what servants are, Monsieur Poirot. They positively delight in funerals! They prefer a death to a wedding, I do believe. Now, dear Dr Graham! He is so kind – such a comfort. A really clever doctor, and of course he’s so fond of Barbara. I think it’s a pity that Richard doesn’t seem to care for him, but – what was I saying? Oh yes, Dr Graham. So young. And he quite cured my neuritis last year. Not that I am often ill. Now, this rising generation doesn’t seem to me to be at all strong. There was poor Lucia last night, having to come out from dinner feeling faint. Of course, poor child, she’s a mass of nerves, and what else can you expect with Italian blood in her veins? Though she was not so bad, I remember, when her diamond necklace was stolen –’
Miss Amory paused for breath. Poirot, while she was speaking, had taken out his cigarette-case and was about to light a cigarette, but he paused and took the opportunity to ask her, ‘Madame Amory’s diamond necklace was stolen? When was this, mademoiselle?’
Miss Amory assumed a thoughtful expression. ‘Let me see, it must have been – yes, it was two months ago – just about the same time that Richard had such a quarrel with his father.’
Poirot looked at the cigarette in his hand. ‘You permit that I smoke, mademoiselle?’ he asked, and on receiving a smile and a gracious nod of assent, he took a box of matches from his pocket, lit his cigarette, and looked at Miss Amory encouragingly. When that lady made no effort to resume speaking, Poirot prompted her. ‘I think you were saying that Monsieur Amory quarrelled with his father,’ he suggested.
‘Oh, it was nothing serious,’ Miss Amory told him. ‘It was only over Richard’s debts. Of course, all young men have debts! Although, indeed, Claud himself was never like that. He was always so studious, even when he was a lad. Later, of course, his experiments always used up a lot of money. I used to tell him he was keeping Richard too short of money, you know. But, yes, about two months ago they had quite a scene, and what with that, and Lucia’s necklace missing, and her refusing to call in the police, it was a very upsetting time. And so absurd, too! Nerves, all nerves!’
‘You are sure that my smoke is not deranging you, mademoiselle?’ asked Poirot, holding up his cigarette.
‘Oh, no, not at all,’ Miss Amory assured him. ‘I think gentlemen ought to smoke.’
Only now noticing that his cigarette had failed to light properly, Poirot retrieved his box of matches from the table in front of him. ‘Surely, it is a very unusual thing for a young and beautiful woman to take the loss of her jewels so calmly?’ he asked, as he lit his cigarette again, carefully replacing two dead matches in the box which he then returned to his pocket.
‘Yes, it is odd. That’s what I call it,’ Miss Amory agreed. ‘Distinctly odd! But there, she didn’t seem to care a bit. Oh dear, here I am gossiping on about things which can’t possibly interest you, Monsieur Poirot.’
‘But you interest me enormously, mademoiselle,’ Poirot assured her. ‘Tell me, when Madame Amory came out from dinner last night, feeling faint, did she go upstairs?’
‘Oh, no,’ replied Caroline Amory. ‘She came into this room. I settled her here on the sofa, and then I went back to the dining-room, leaving Richard with her. Young husbands and wives, you know, Monsieur Poirot! Not that young men are nearly so romantic as they used to be when I was a girl! Oh dear! I remember a young fellow called Aloysius Jones. We used to play croquet together. Foolish fellow – foolish fellow! But there, I’m wandering from the point again. We were talking about Richard and Lucia. A very handsome couple they make, don’t you think so, Monsieur Poirot? He met her in Italy, you know – on the Italian lakes – last November. It was love at first sight. They were married within a week. She was an orphan, alone in the world. Very sad, although I sometimes wonder whether it wasn’t a blessing in disguise. If she’d had a lot of foreign relations – that would be a bit trying, don’t you think? After all, you know what foreigners are! They – oh!’ She suddenly broke off, turning in her chair to look at Poirot in embarrassed dismay. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon!’
‘Not at all, not at all,’ murmured Poirot, with an amused glance at Hastings.
‘So stupid of me,’ Miss Amory apologized, highly flustered. ‘I didn’t mean – of course, it’s so different in your case. “Les braves Belges”, as we used to say during the war.’
‘Please, do not concern yourself,’ Poirot assured her. After a pause, he continued, as though her mention of the war had reminded him, ‘I believe – that is – I understand that the box of drugs above the bookcase is a relic of the war. You were all examining it last night, were you not?’
‘Yes, that’s right. So we were.’
‘Now, how did that come about?’ enquired Poirot.
Miss Amory considered for a moment, before replying. ‘Now, how did it happen? Ah, yes, I remember. I said I wished I had some sal volatile, and Barbara got the box down to look through it, and then the gentlemen came in, and Dr Carelli frightened me to death with the things he said.’
Hastings began to show great interest in the turn being taken by the discussion, and Poirot prompted Miss Amory to continue. ‘You mean the things Dr Carelli said about the drugs? He looked through them and examined them thoroughly, I suppose?’
‘Yes,’ Miss Amory confirmed, ‘and he held one glass tube up, something with a most innocent name – bromide, I think – which I have often taken for sea-sickness – and he said it would kill twelve strong men!’
‘Hyoscine hydrobromide?’ asked Poirot.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Was it hyoscine hydrobromide that Dr Carelli was referring to?’
‘Yes, yes, that was it,’ Miss Amory exclaimed. ‘How clever of you! And then Lucia took it from him, and repeated something he had said – about a dreamless sleep. I detest this modern neurotic poetry. I always say that, ever since dear Lord Tennyson died, no one has written poetry of any –’
‘Oh dear,’ muttered Poirot.
‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Miss Amory.
‘Ah, I was just thinking of the dear Lord Tennyson. But please go on. What happened next?’
‘Next?’
‘You were telling us about last night. Here, in this room –’
‘Ah, yes. Well, Barbara wanted to put on an extremely vulgar song. On the gramophone, I mean. Fortunately, I stopped her.’
‘I see,’ murmured Poirot. ‘And this little tube that the doctor held up – was it full?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Miss Amory replied without hesitation. ‘Because, when the doctor made his quotation about dreamless sleep, he said that half the tablets in the tube would be sufficient.’
Miss Amory got up from her chair, and moved away from the table. ‘You know, Monsieur Poirot,’ she continued as Poirot rose to join her, ‘I’ve said all along that I didn’t like that man. That Dr Carelli. There’s something about him – not sincere – and so oily in manner. Of course, I couldn’t say anything in front of Lucia, since he is supposed to be a friend of hers, but I did not like him. You see, Lucia is so trusting! I’m certain that the man must have wormed his way into her confidence with a view to getting asked to the house and stealing the formula.’
Poirot regarded Miss Amory quizzically before he asked, ‘You have no doubt, then, that it was Dr Carelli who stole Sir Claud’s formula?’
Miss Amory looked at the detective in surprise. ‘Dear Monsieur Poirot!’ she exclaimed. ‘Who else could have done so? He was the only stranger present. Naturally, my brother would not have liked to accuse a guest, so he made an opportunity for the document to be returned. I thought it was very delicately done. Very delicately indeed!’
‘Quite so,’ Poirot agreed tactfully, putting a friendly arm around Miss Amory’s shoulder, to that lady’s evident displeasure. ‘Now, mademoiselle, I am going to try a little experiment in which I would like your co-operation.’ He removed his arm from her. ‘Where were you sitting last night when the lights went out?’
‘There!’ Miss Amory declared, indicating the settee.
‘Then, would you be so good as to sit there once again?’
Miss Amory moved to the settee, and sat. ‘Now, mademoiselle,’ announced Poirot, ‘I want you to make a strong effort of the imagination! Shut your eyes, if you please.’
Miss Amory did as she was asked. ‘That is right,’ Poirot continued. ‘Now, imagine that you are back again where you were last night. It is dark. You can see nothing. But you can hear. Throw yourself back.’
Interpreting his words literally, Miss Amory flung herself backwards on the settee. ‘No, no,’ said Poirot. ‘I mean, throw your mind back. What can you hear? That is right, cast your mind back. Now, tell me what you hear in the darkness.’
Impressed by the detective’s evident earnestness, Miss Amory made an effort to do as he requested. Pausing for a moment, she then began to speak, slowly and in jerks. ‘Gasps,’ she said. ‘A lot of little gasps – and then the noise of a chair falling – and a metallic kind of clink –’
‘Was it like this?’ asked Poirot, taking a key from his pocket and throwing it down on the floor. It made no sound, and Miss Amory, after waiting for a few seconds, declared that she could hear nothing. ‘Well, like this, perhaps?’ Poirot tried again, retrieving the key from the floor and hitting it sharply against the coffee table.
‘Why, that’s exactly the sound I heard last night!’ Miss Amory exclaimed. ‘How curious!’
‘Continue, I pray you, mademoiselle,’ Poirot encouraged her.
‘Well, I heard Lucia scream and call out to Sir Claud. And then the knocking came on the door.’
‘That was all? You are sure?’
‘Yes, I think so – oh, wait a minute! Right at the beginning, there was a curious noise, like the tearing of silk. Somebody’s dress, I suppose.’
‘Whose dress, do you think?’ asked Poirot. ‘It must have been Lucia’s. It wouldn’t have been Barbara’s, because she was sitting right next to me, here.’
‘That is curious,’ murmured Poirot thoughtfully.
‘And that really is all,’ Miss Amory concluded. ‘May I open my eyes now?’
‘Oh yes, certainly, mademoiselle.’ As she did so, Poirot asked her, ‘Who poured out Sir Claud’s coffee? Was it you?’
‘No,’ Miss Amory told him. ‘Lucia poured out the coffee.’
‘When was that, exactly?’
‘It must have been just after we were talking about those dreadful drugs.’
‘Did Mrs Amory take the coffee to Sir Claud herself ?’
Caroline Amory paused for thought. ‘No –’, she finally decided.
‘No?’ asked Poirot. ‘Then, who did?’ ‘I don’t know – I’m not sure – let me see, now. Oh yes, I remember! Sir Claud’s coffee cup was on the table beside Lucia’s own cup. I remember that, because Mr Raynor was carrying the cup to Sir Claud in the study, and Lucia called him back and said he had taken the wrong cup – which really was very silly, because they were both exactly the same – black, without sugar.’
‘So,’ Poirot observed, ‘Monsieur Raynor took the coffee to Sir Claud?’
‘Yes – or, at least – no, that’s right, Richard took it from him, because Barbara wanted to dance with Mr Raynor.’
‘Oh! So Monsieur Amory took the coffee to his father.’
‘Yes, that’s correct,’ Miss Amory confirmed.
‘Ah!’ exclaimed Poirot. ‘Tell me, what had Monsieur Amory been doing just before that? Dancing?’
‘Oh, no,’ Miss Amory replied. ‘He had been packing away the drugs. Putting them all back in the box tidily, you know.’
‘I see, I see. Sir Claud, then, drank his coffee in his study?’
‘I suppose he began to do so,’ Miss Amory remembered. ‘But he came back in here with the cup in his hand. I remember his complaining about the taste, saying that it was bitter. And I assure you, Monsieur Poirot, it was the very best coffee. A special mixture that I had ordered myself from the Army and Navy Stores in London. You know, that wonderful department store in Victoria Street. It’s so convenient, not far from the railway station. And I –’
She broke off as the door opened and Edward Raynor entered. ‘Am I interrupting?’ the secretary asked. ‘I am so sorry. I wanted to speak to Monsieur Poirot, but I can come back later.’
‘No, no,’ declared Poirot. ‘I have finished putting this poor lady upon the rack!’
Miss Amory rose. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t been able to tell you anything useful,’ she apologized, as she went to the door.
Poirot rose, and walked ahead of her. ‘You have told me a great deal, mademoiselle. More than you realize, perhaps,’ he assured Miss Amory as he opened the door for her.
[Black Coffee -Agatha Christie] Chapter 12