Chapter VII. Poirot Pays His Debts

by Agatha Christie

　　As we came out of the Stylites Arms, Poirot drew me aside by agentle pressure of the arm. I understood his object. He waswaiting for the Scotland Yard men.In a few moments, they emerged, and Poirot at once steppedforward, and accosted the shorter of the two."I fear you do not remember me, Inspector Japp.""Why, if it isn't Mr. Poirot!" cried the Inspector. He turned tothe other man. "You've heard me speak of Mr. Poirot? It was in1904 he and I worked together--the Abercrombie forgery case--youremember, he was run down in Brussels. Ah, those were greatdays, moosier. Then, do you remember 'Baron' Altara? There was apretty rogue for you! He eluded the clutches of half the policein Europe. But we nailed him in Antwerp--thanks to Mr. Poirothere."As these friendly reminiscences were being indulged in, I drewnearer, and was introduced to Detective-Inspector Japp, who, inhis turn, introduced us both to his companion, SuperintendentSummerhaye."I need hardly ask what you are doing here, gentlemen," remarkedPoirot.Japp closed one eye knowingly."No, indeed. Pretty clear case I should say."But Poirot answered gravely:"There I differ from you.""Oh, come!" said Summerhaye, opening his lips for the first time."Surely the whole thing is clear as daylight. The man's caughtred-handed. How he could be such a fool beats me!"But Japp was looking attentively at Poirot."Hold your fire, Summerhaye," he remarked jocularly. "Me andMoosier here have met before--and there's no man's judgment I'dsooner take than his. If I'm not greatly mistaken, he's gotsomething up his sleeve. Isn't that so, moosier?"Poirot smiled."I have drawn certain conclusions--yes."Summerhaye was still looking rather sceptical, but Japp continuedhis scrutiny of Poirot."It's this way," he said, "so far, we've only seen the case fromthe outside. That's where the Yard's at a disadvantage in a caseof this kind, where the murder's only out, so to speak, after theinquest. A lot depends on being on the spot first thing, andthat's where Mr. Poirot's had the start of us. We shouldn't havebeen here as soon as this even, if it hadn't been for the factthat there was a smart doctor on the spot, who gave us the tipthrough the Coroner. But you've been on the spot from the first,and you may have picked up some little hints. From the evidenceat the inquest, Mr. Inglethorp murdered his wife as sure as Istand here, and if anyone but you hinted the contrary I'd laughin his face. I must say I was surprised the jury didn't bring itin Wilful Murder against him right off. I think they would have,if it hadn't been for the Coroner--he seemed to be holding themback.""Perhaps, though, you have a warrant for his arrest in yourpocket now," suggested Poirot.A kind of wooden shutter of officialdom came down from Japp'sexpressive countenance."Perhaps I have, and perhaps I haven't," he remarked dryly.Poirot looked at him thoughtfully."I am very anxious, Messieurs, that he should not be arrested.""I dare say," observed Summerhaye sarcastically.Japp was regarding Poirot with comical perplexity."Can't you go a little further, Mr. Poirot? A wink's as good as anod--from you. You've been on the spot--and the Yard doesn'twant to make any mistakes, you know."Poirot nodded gravely."That is exactly what I thought. Well, I will tell you this.Use your warrant: Arrest Mr. Inglethorp. But it will bring youno kudos--the case against him will be dismissed at once! Commeca!" And he snapped his fingers expressively.Japp's face grew grave, though Summerhaye gave an increduloussnort.As for me, I was literally dumb with astonishment. I could onlyconclude that Poirot was mad.Japp had taken out a handkerchief, and was gently dabbing hisbrow."I daren't do it, Mr. Poirot. I'd take your word, but there'sothers over me who'll be asking what the devil I mean by it.Can't you give me a little more to go on?"Poirot reflected a moment."It can be done," he said at last. "I admit I do not wish it.It forces my hand. I would have preferred to work in the darkjust for the present, but what you say is very just--the word ofa Belgian policeman, whose day is past, is not enough! And AlfredInglethorp must not be arrested. That I have sworn, as my friendHastings here knows. See, then, my good Japp, you go at once toStyles?""Well, in about half an hour. We're seeing the Coroner and thedoctor first.""Good. Call for me in passing--the last house in the village. Iwill go with you. At Styles, Mr. Inglethorp will give you, or ifhe refuses--as is probable--I will give you such proofs thatshall satisfy you that the case against him could not possibly besustained. Is that a bargain?""That's a bargain," said Japp heartily. "And, on behalf of theYard, I'm much obliged to you, though I'm bound to confess Ican't at present see the faintest possible loop-hole in theevidence, but you always were a marvel! So long, then, moosier."The two detectives strode away, Summerhaye with an incredulousgrin on his face."Well, my friend," cried Poirot, before I could get in a word,"what do you think? Mon Dieu! I had some warm moments in thatcourt; I did not figure to myself that the man would be sopig-headed as to refuse to say anything at all. Decidedly, itwas the policy of an imbecile.""H'm! There are other explanations besides that of imbecility," Iremarked. "For, if the case against him is true, how could hedefend himself except by silence?""Why, in a thousand ingenious ways," cried Poirot. "See; saythat it is I who have committed this murder, I can think of sevenmost plausible stories! Far more convincing than Mr. Inglethorp'sstony denials!"I could not help laughing."My dear Poirot, I am sure you are capable of thinking ofseventy! But, seriously, in spite of what I heard you say to thedetectives, you surely cannot still believe in the possibility ofAlfred Inglethorp's innocence?""Why not now as much as before? Nothing has changed.""But the evidence is so conclusive.""Yes, too conclusive."We turned in at the gate of Leastways Cottage, and proceeded upthe now familiar stairs."Yes, yes, too conclusive," continued Poirot, almost to himself."Real evidence is usually vague and unsatisfactory. It has to beexamined--sifted. But here the whole thing is cut and dried.No, my friend, this evidence has been very cleverlymanufactured--so cleverly that it has defeated its own ends.""How do you make that out?""Because, so long as the evidence against him was vague andintangible, it was very hard to disprove. But, in his anxiety,the criminal has drawn the net so closely that one cut will setInglethorp free."I was silent. And in a minute or two, Poirot continued:"Let us look at the matter like this. Here is a man, let us say,who sets out to poison his wife. He has lived by his wits as thesaying goes. Presumably, therefore, he has some wits. He is notaltogether a fool. Well, how does he set about it? He goesboldly to the village chemist's and purchases strychnine underhis own name, with a trumped up story about a dog which is boundto be proved absurd. He does not employ the poison that night.No, he waits until he has had a violent quarrel with her, ofwhich the whole household is cognisant, and which naturallydirects their suspicions upon him. He prepares no defence--noshadow of an alibi, yet he knows the chemist's assistant mustnecessarily come forward with the facts. Bah! do not ask me tobelieve that any man could be so idiotic! Only a lunatic, whowished to commit suicide by causing himself to be hanged, wouldact so!""Still--I do not see--" I began."Neither do I see. I tell you, mon ami, it puzzles me. Me--Hercule Poirot!""But if you believe him innocent, how do you explain his buyingthe strychnine?""Very simply. He did not buy it.""But Mace recognized him!""I beg your pardon, he saw a man with a black beard like Mr.Inglethorp's, and wearing glasses like Mr. Inglethorp, anddressed in Mr. Inglethorp's rather noticeable clothes. He couldnot recognize a man whom he had probably only seen in thedistance, since, you remember, he himself had only been in thevillage a fortnight, and Mrs. Inglethorp dealt principally withCoot's in Tadminster.""Then you think----""Mon ami, do you remember the two points I laid stress upon?Leave the first one for the moment, what was the second?""The important fact that Alfred Inglethorp wears peculiarclothes, has a black beard, and uses glasses," I quoted."Exactly. Now suppose anyone wished to pass himself off as Johnor Lawrence Cavendish. Would it be easy?""No," I said thoughtfully. "Of course an actor----"But Poirot cut me short ruthlessly."And why would it not be easy? I will tell you, my friend:Because they are both clean-shaven men. To make up successfullyas one of these two in broad daylight, it would need an actor ofgenius, and a certain initial facial resemblance. But in thecase of Alfred Inglethorp, all that is changed. His clothes, hisbeard, the glasses which hide his eyes--those are the salientpoints about his personal appearance. Now, what is the firstinstinct of the criminal? To divert suspicion from himself, is itnot so? And how can he best do that? By throwing it on some oneelse. In this instance, there was a man ready to his hand.Everybody was predisposed to believe in Mr. Inglethorp's guilt.It was a foregone conclusion that he would be suspected; but, tomake it a sure thing there must be tangible proof--such as theactual buying of the poison, and that, with a man of the peculiarappearance of Mr. Inglethorp, was not difficult. Remember, thisyoung Mace had never actually spoken to Mr. Inglethorp. Howshould he doubt that the man in his clothes, with his beard andhis glasses, was not Alfred Inglethorp?""It may be so," I said, fascinated by Poirot's eloquence. "But,if that was the case, why does he not say where he was at sixo'clock on Monday evening?""Ah, why indeed?" said Poirot, calming down. "If he werearrested, he probably would speak, but I do not want it to cometo that. I must make him see the gravity of his position. Thereis, of course, something discreditable behind his silence. If hedid not murder his wife, he is, nevertheless, a scoundrel, andhas something of his own to conceal, quite apart from themurder.""What can it be?" I mused, won over to Poirot's views for themoment, although still retaining a faint conviction that theobvious deduction was the correct one."Can you not guess?" asked Poirot, smiling."No, can you?""Oh, yes, I had a little idea sometime ago--and it has turned outto be correct.""You never told me," I said reproachfully.Poirot spread out his hands apologetically."Pardon me, mon ami, you were not precisely sympathique." Heturned to me earnestly. "Tell me--you see now that he must notbe arrested?""Perhaps," I said doubtfully, for I was really quite indifferentto the fate of Alfred Inglethorp, and thought that a good frightwould do him no harm.Poirot, who was watching me intently, gave a sigh."Come, my friend," he said, changing the subject, "apart from Mr.Inglethorp, how did the evidence at the inquest strike you?""Oh, pretty much what I expected.""Did nothing strike you as peculiar about it?"My thoughts flew to Mary Cavendish, and I hedged:"In what way?""Well, Mr. Lawrence Cavendish's evidence for instance?"I was relieved."Oh, Lawrence! No, I don't think so. He's always a nervouschap.""His suggestion that his mother might have been poisonedaccidentally by means of the tonic she was taking, that did notstrike you as strange--hein?""No, I can't say it did. The doctors ridiculed it of course.But it was quite a natural suggestion for a layman to make.""But Monsieur Lawrence is not a layman. You told me yourselfthat he had started by studying medicine, and that he had takenhis degree.""Yes, that's true. I never thought of that." I was ratherstartled. "It is odd."Poirot nodded."From the first, his behaviour has been peculiar. Of all thehousehold, he alone would be likely to recognize the symptoms ofstrychnine poisoning, and yet we find him the only member of thefamily to uphold strenuously the theory of death from naturalcauses. If it had been Monsieur John, I could have understoodit. He has no technical knowledge, and is by natureunimaginative. But Monsieur Lawrence--no! And now, to-day, heputs forward a suggestion that he himself must have known wasridiculous. There is food for thought in this, mon ami!""It's very confusing," I agreed."Then there is Mrs. Cavendish," continued Poirot. "That'sanother who is not telling all she knows! What do you make of herattitude?""I don't know what to make of it. It seems inconceivable thatshe should be shielding Alfred Inglethorp. Yet that is what itlooks like."Poirot nodded reflectively."Yes, it is queer. One thing is certain, she overheard a gooddeal more of that 'private conversation' than she was willing toadmit.""And yet she is the last person one would accuse of stooping toeavesdrop!""Exactly. One thing her evidence has shown me. I made amistake. Dorcas was quite right. The quarrel did take placeearlier in the afternoon, about four o'clock, as she said."I looked at him curiously. I had never understood his insistenceon that point."Yes, a good deal that was peculiar came out to-day," continuedPoirot. "Dr. Bauerstein, now, what was he doing up and dressedat that hour in the morning? It is astonishing to me that no onecommented on the fact.""He has insomnia, I believe," I said doubtfully."Which is a very good, or a very bad explanation," remarkedPoirot. "It covers everything, and explains nothing. I shallkeep my eye on our clever Dr. Bauerstein.""Any more faults to find with the evidence?" I inquiredsatirically."Mon ami," replied Poirot gravely, "when you find that people arenot telling you the truth--look out! Now, unless I am muchmistaken, at the inquest to-day only one--at most, two personswere speaking the truth without reservation or subterfuge.""Oh, come now, Poirot! I won't cite Lawrence, or Mrs. Cavendish.But there's John--and Miss Howard, surely they were speaking thetruth?""Both of them, my friend? One, I grant you, but both----!"His words gave me an unpleasant shock. Miss Howard's evidence,unimportant as it was, had been given in such a downrightstraightforward manner that it had never occurred to me to doubther sincerity. Still, I had a great respect for Poirot'ssagacity--except on the occasions when he was what I described tomyself as "foolishly pig-headed.""Do you really think so?" I asked. "Miss Howard had alwaysseemed to me so essentially honest--almost uncomfortably so."Poirot gave me a curious look, which I could not quite fathom.He seemed to speak, and then checked himself."Miss Murdoch too," I continued, "there's nothing untruthfulabout her.""No. But it was strange that she never heard a sound, sleepingnext door; whereas Mrs. Cavendish, in the other wing of thebuilding, distinctly heard the table fall.""Well, she's young. And she sleeps soundly.""Ah, yes, indeed! She must be a famous sleeper, that one!"I did not quite like the tone of his voice, but at that moment asmart knock reached our ears, and looking out of the window weperceived the two detectives waiting for us below.Poirot seized his hat, gave a ferocious twist to his moustache,and, carefully brushing an imaginary speck of dust from hissleeve, motioned me to precede him down the stairs; there wejoined the detectives and set out for Styles.I think the appearance of the two Scotland Yard men was rather ashock--especially to John, though of course after the verdict, hehad realized that it was only a matter of time. Still, thepresence of the detectives brought the truth home to him morethan anything else could have done.Poirot had conferred with Japp in a low tone on the way up, andit was the latter functionary who requested that the household,with the exception of the servants, should be assembled togetherin the drawing-room. I realized the significance of this. Itwas up to Poirot to make his boast good.Personally, I was not sanguine. Poirot might have excellentreasons for his belief in Inglethorp's innocence, but a man ofthe type of Summerhaye would require tangible proofs, and these Idoubted if Poirot could supply.Before very long we had all trooped into the drawing-room, thedoor of which Japp closed. Poirot politely set chairs for everyone. The Scotland Yard men were the cynosure of all eyes. Ithink that for the first time we realized that the thing was nota bad dream, but a tangible reality. We had read of suchthings--now we ourselves were actors in the drama. To-morrow thedaily papers, all over England, would blazon out the news instaring headlines:"MYSTERIOUS TRAGEDY IN ESSEX""WEALTHY LADY POISONED"There would be pictures of Styles, snap-shots of "The familyleaving the Inquest"--the village photographer had not been idle!All the things that one had read a hundred times--things thathappen to other people, not to oneself. And now, in this house,a murder had been committed. In front of us were "the detectivesin charge of the case." The well-known glib phraseology passedrapidly through my mind in the interval before Poirot opened theproceedings.I think every one was a little surprised that it should be he andnot one of the official detectives who took the initiative."Mesdames and messieurs," said Poirot, bowing as though he were acelebrity about to deliver a lecture, "I have asked you to comehere all together, for a certain object. That object, itconcerns Mr. Alfred Inglethorp."Inglethorp was sitting a little by himself--I think,unconsciously, every one had drawn his chair slightly away fromhim--and he gave a faint start as Poirot pronounced his name."Mr. Inglethorp," said Poirot, addressing him directly, "a verydark shadow is resting on this house--the shadow of murder."Inglethorp shook his head sadly."My poor wife," he murmured. "Poor Emily! It is terrible.""I do not think, monsieur," said Poirot pointedly, "that youquite realize how terrible it may be--for you." And as Inglethorpdid not appear to understand, he added: "Mr. Inglethorp, you arestanding in very grave danger."The two detectives fidgeted. I saw the official caution"Anything you say will be used in evidence against you," actuallyhovering on Summerhaye's lips. Poirot went on."Do you understand now, monsieur?""No; What do you mean?""I mean," said Poirot deliberately, "that you are suspected ofpoisoning your wife."A little gasp ran round the circle at this plain speaking."Good heavens!" cried Inglethorp, starting up. "What a monstrousidea! I--poison my dearest Emily!""I do not think"--Poirot watched him narrowly--"that you quiterealize the unfavourable nature of your evidence at the inquest.Mr. Inglethorp, knowing what I have now told you, do you stillrefuse to say where you were at six o'clock on Monday afternoon?"With a groan, Alfred Inglethorp sank down again and buried hisface in his hands. Poirot approached and stood over him."Speak!" he cried menacingly.With an effort, Inglethorp raised his face from his hands. Then,slowly and deliberately, he shook his head."You will not speak?""No. I do not believe that anyone could be so monstrous as toaccuse me of what you say."Poirot nodded thoughtfully, like a man whose mind is made up."Soit!" he said. "Then I must speak for you."Alfred Inglethorp sprang up again."You? How can you speak? You do not know----" he broke offabruptly.Poirot turned to face us. "Mesdames and messieurs! I speak!Listen! I, Hercule Poirot, affirm that the man who entered thechemist's shop, and purchased strychnine at six o'clock on Mondaylast was not Mr. Inglethorp, for at six o'clock on that day Mr.Inglethorp was escorting Mrs. Raikes back to her home from aneighbouring farm. I can produce no less than five witnesses toswear to having seen them together, either at six or just afterand, as you may know, the Abbey Farm, Mrs. Raikes's home, is atleast two and a half miles distant from the village. There isabsolutely no question as to the alibi!"