Part 18 (2/2)
”Lady Astwell, I want you to go back to the evening on which your husband was murdered. You remember that evening?”
”Yes.”
”You are at the dinner table. Describe to me what you saw and felt.”
The p.r.o.ne figure stirred a little restlessly.
”I am in great distress. I am worried about Lily.”
”We know that; tell us what you saw.”
”Victor is eating all the salted almonds; he is greedy. Tomorrow I shall tell Parsons not to put the dish on that side of the table.”
”Go on. Lady Astwell.”
”Reuben is in a bad humor tonight. I don't think it is altogether about Lily. It is something to do with business. Victor looks at him in a queer way.”
”Tell us about Mr Trefusis, Lady Astwell.”
”His left s.h.i.+rt cuff is frayed. He puts a lot of grease on his hair. I wish men didn't, it ruins the covers in the drawing-room.”
Cazalet looked at Poirot; the other made a motion with his head.
”It is after dinner, Lady Astwell, you are having coffee. Describe the scene to me.”
”The coffee is good tonight. It varies. Cook is very unreliable over her coffee. Lily keeps looking out of the window, I don't know why. Now, Reuben comes into the room; he is in one of his worst moods tonight, and bursts out with a perfect flood of abuse to poor Mr Trefusis. Mr Trefusis has his hand round the paper-knife, the big one with the sharp blade like a knife. How hard he is grasping it; his knuckles are quite white. Look, he has dug it so hard in the table that the point snaps. He holds it just as you would hold a dagger you were going to stick into someone. There, they have gone out together now. Lily has got her green evening dress on; she looks so pretty in green, just like a lily. I must have the covers cleaned next week.”
”Just a minute, Lady Astwell.”
The doctor leaned across to Poirot.
”We have got it, I think,” he murmured; ”that action with the paper-knife, that's what convinced her that the secretary did the thing.”
”Let us go on to the Tower room now.”
The doctor nodded, and began once more to question Lady Astwell in his high, decisive voice.
”It is later in the evening; you are in the Tower room with your husband. You and he have had a terrible scene together, have you not?”
Again the figure stirred uneasily.
”Yes - terrible - terrible. We said dreadful things - both of us.”
”Never mind that now. You can see the room clearly, the curtains were drawn, the lights were on.”
”Not the middle light, only the desk light.”
”You are leaving your husband now, you are saying good night to him.”
”No, I was too angry.”
”It is the last time you will see him; very soon he will be murdered. Do you know who murdered him, Lady Astwell?”
”Yes. Mr Trefusis.”
”Why do you say that?”
”Because of the bulge - the bulge in the curtain.”
”There was a bulge in the curtain?”
”Yes.”
”You saw it?”
”Yes. I almost touched it.”
”Was there a man concealed there - Mr Trefusis?”
”Yes.”
”How do you know?”
For the first time the monotonous answering voice hesitated and lost confidence.
”I - I - because of the paper-knife.”
Poirot and the doctor again interchanged swift glances.
”I don't understand you, Lady Astwell. There was a bulge in the curtain, you say? Someone concealed there? You didn't see that person?”
”No.”
”You thought it was Mr Trefusis because of the way he held the paper-knife earlier?”
”Yes.”
”But Mr Trefusis had gone upstairs, had he not?”
”Yes - yes, that's right, he had gone upstairs.”
”So he couldn't have been behind the curtain in the window?”
”No - no, of course not, he wasn't there.”
”He had said good night to your husband some time before, hadn't he?”
<script>