Part 17 (1/2)
”The police,” said the little man, ”do not think of things that Hercule Poirot thinks of.”
”I may have run in there for a minute just before dinner,” mused Lily Margrave, ”or it may have been the night before. I wore the same dress then. Yes, I am almost sure it was the night before.”
”I think not,” said Poirot evenly.
”Why?”
He only shook his head slowly from side to side.
”What do you mean?” whispered the girl.
She was leaning forward, staring at him, all the color ebbing out of her face.
”You do not notice, Mademoiselle, that this fragment is stained? There is no doubt about it, that stain is human blood.”
”You mean -?”
”I mean, Mademoiselle, that you were in the Tower room after the crime was committed, not before. I think you will do well to tell me the whole truth, lest worse should befall you.”
He stood up now, a stern little figure of a man, his forefinger pointed accusingly at the girl.
”How did you find out?” gasped Lily.
”No matter, Mademoiselle. I tell you Hercule Poirot knows. I know all about Captain Humphrey Naylor, and that you went down to meet him that night.”
Lily suddenly put her head down on her arms and burst into tears. Immediately Poirot relinquished his accusing att.i.tude.
”There, there, my little one,” he said, patting the girl on the shoulder. ”Do not distress yourself. Impossible to deceive Hercule Poirot; once realize that and all your troubles will be at an end. And now you will tell me the whole story, will you not? You will tell old Papa Poirot?”
”It is not what you think, it isn't, indeed. Humphrey - my brother - never touched a hair of his head.”
”Your brother, eh?” said Poirot. ”So that is how the land lies. Well, if you wish to save him from suspicion, you must tell me the whole story now, without reservations.”
Lily sat up again, pus.h.i.+ng back the hair from her forehead. After a minute or two, she began to speak in a low, clear voice.
”I will tell you the truth, M. Poirot. I can see now that it would be absurd to do anything else. My real name is Lily Naylor, and Humphrey is my only brother. Some years ago, when he was out in Africa, he discovered a gold mine, or rather, I should say, discovered the presence of gold. I can't tell you this part of it properly, because I don't understand the technical details, but what it amounted to was this: ”The thing seemed likely to be a very big undertaking, and Humphrey came home with letters to Sir Reuben Astwell in the hopes of getting him interested in the matter. I don't understand the rights of it even now, but I gather that Sir Reuben sent out an expert to report, and that he subsequently told my brother that the expert's report was unfavorable and that he, Humphrey, had made a great mistake. My brother went back to Africa on an expedition into the interior and was lost sight of. It was a.s.sumed that he and the expedition had perished.
”It was soon after that that a company was formed to exploit the Mpala Cold Fields. When my brother got back to England he at once jumped to the conclusion that these gold fields were identical with those he had discovered. Sir Reuben Astwell had apparently nothing to do with this company, and they had seemingly discovered the place on their own. But my brother was not satisfied; he was convinced that Sir Reuben had deliberately swindled him.
”He became more and more violent and unhappy about the matter. We two are alone in the world, M. Poirot, and as it was necessary then for me to go out and earn my own living, I conceived the idea of taking a post in this household and trying to find out if any connection existed between Sir Reuben and the Mpala Gold Fields. For obvious reasons I concealed my real name, and I'll admit frankly that I used a forged reference.
”There were many applicants for the post, most of them with better qualifications than mine, so - well, M. Poirot, I wrote a beautiful letter from the d.u.c.h.ess of Perths.h.i.+re who I knew had just gone to America. I thought a d.u.c.h.ess would have a great effect upon Lady Astwell, and I was quite right. She engaged me on the spot.
”Since then I have been that hateful thing, a spy, and until lately with no success. Sir Reuben is not a man to give away his business secrets, but when Victor Astwell came back from Africa he was less guarded in his talk, and I began to believe that, after all, Humphrey had not been mistaken. My brother came down here about a fortnight before the murder, and I crept out of the house to meet him secretly at night. I told him the things Victor Astwell had said, and he became very excited and a.s.sured me I was definitely on the right track.
”But after that things began to go wrong; someone must have seen me stealing out of the house and have reported the matter to Sir Reuben. He became suspicious and hunted up my references, and soon discovered the fact that they were forged. The crisis came on the day of the murder. I think he thought I was after his wife's jewels. Whatever his suspicions were, he had no intention to allow me to remain any longer at Mon Repos, though he agreed not to prosecute me on account of the references. Lady Astwell took my part throughout and stood up valiantly to Sir Reuben.”
She paused. Poirot's face was very grave.
”And now, Mademoiselle,” he said, ”we come to the night of the murder.”
Lily swallowed hard and nodded her head.
”To begin with, M, Poirot, I must tell you that my brother had come down again, and that I had arranged to creep out and meet him once more. I went up to my room, as I have said, but I did not go to bed. Instead, I waited till I thought everyone was asleep, and then stole downstairs again and out by the side door. I met Humphrey and acquainted him in a few hurried words what had occurred. I told him that I believed the papers he wanted were in Sir Reuben's safe in the Tower room, and we agreed as a last desperate adventure to try and get hold of them that night.
”I was to go in first and see that the way was clear. I heard the church clock strike twelve as I went in by the side door. I was halfway up the stairs leading to the Tower room, when I heard a thud of something falling, and a voice cried out, 'My G.o.d!' A minute or two afterward the door of the Tower room opened, and Charles Leverson came out. I could see his face quite clearly in the moonlight, but I was crouching some way below him on the stairs where it was dark, and he did not see me at all.
”He stood there a moment swaying on his feet and looking ghastly. He seemed to be listening; then with an effort he seemed to pull himself together and, opening the door into the Tower room, called out something about there being no harm done. His voice was quite jaunty and debonair, but his face gave the lie to it. He waited a minute more, and then slowly went on upstairs and out of sight.
”When he had gone I waited a minute or two and then crept to the Tower room door, I had a feeling that something tragic had happened. The main light was out, but the desk lamp was on, and by its light I saw Sir Reuben lying on the floor by the desk. I don't know how I managed it, but I nerved myself at last to go over and kneel down by him. I saw at once that he was dead, struck down from behind, and also that he couldn't have been dead long; I touched his hand and it was still quite warm. It was just horrible, M. Poirot. Horrible!”
She shuddered again at the remembrance.
”And then?” said Poirot, looking at her keenly.
Lily Margrave nodded.
”Yes, M. Poirot, I know what you are thinking. Why didn't I give the alarm and raise the house? I should have done so, I know, but it came over me in a flash, as I knelt there, that my quarrel with Sir Reuben, my stealing out to meet Humphrey, the fact that I was being sent away on the morrow, made a fatal sequence. They would say that I had let Humphrey in, and that Humphrey had killed Sir Reuben out of revenge. If I said that I had seen Charles Leverson leaving the room, no one would believe me.
”It was terrible, M. Poirot! I knelt there, and thought and thought, and the more I thought the more my nerve failed me. Presently I noticed Sir Reuben's keys which had dropped from his pocket as he fell. Among them was the key of the safe, the combination word I already knew, since Lady Astwell had mentioned it once in my hearing. I went over to that safe, M. Poirot, unlocked it and rummaged through the papers I found there.
”In the end I found what I was looking for. Humphrey had been perfectly right. Sir Reuben was behind the Mpala Gold Fields, and he had deliberately swindled Humphrey. That made it all the worse. It gave a perfectly definite motive for Humphrey having comitted the crime. I put the papers back in the safe, left the key in the door of it, and went straight upstairs to my room. In the morning I pretended to be surprised and horror-stricken, like everyone else, when the housemaid discovered the body.”
She stopped and looked piteously across at Poirot.
”You do believe me, M. Poirot. Oh, do say you believe me!”
”I believe you, Mademoiselle,” said Poirot; ”you have explained many things that puzzled me. Your absolute certainty, for one thing, that Charles Leverson had committed the crime and at the same time your persistent efforts to keep me from coming down here.”
Lily nodded.
”I was afraid of you,” she admitted frankly. ”Lady Astwell could not know, as I did, that Charles was guilty, and I couldn't say anything. I hoped against hope that you would refuse to take the case.”
”But for that obvious anxiety on your part, I might have done so,” said Poirot dryly.
Lily looked at him swiftly, her lips trembled a little.
”And now, M. Poirot, what - what are you going to do?”
”As far as you are concerned, Mademoiselle, nothing. I believe your story, and I accept it. The next step is to go to London and see Inspector Miller.”
”And then?” asked Lily.
”And then,” said Poirot, ”we shall see.”
Outside the door of the study he looked once more at the little square of stained green chiffon which he held in his hand.
”Amazing,” he murmured to himself complacently, ”the ingenuity of Hercule Poirot.”
Detective Inspector Miller was not particularly fond of M. Hercule Poirot. He did not belong to that small band of inspectors at the Yard who welcomed the little Belgian's cooperation. He was wont to say that Hercule Poirot was much overrated. In this case he felt pretty sure of himself, and greeted Poirot with high good humor in consequence.