Black Coffee - Agatha Christie [23]
He left the room swiftly, followed by a still expostulating Richard. Poirot looked after them, and then assumed a puzzled expression as he turned to look again at the body of the man who had called him away from London with such urgency in his voice. ‘What was it you wanted to tell me, my friend? I wonder. What did you fear?’ he thought to himself. ‘Was it simply the theft of your formula, or did you fear for your life as well? You relied on Hercule Poirot for help. You called for help too late, but I shall try to discover the truth.’
Shaking his head thoughtfully, Poirot was about to leave the room when Tredwell entered. ‘I’ve shown the other gentleman to his room, sir,’ he told Poirot. ‘May I take you to yours, which is the adjoining one at the top of the stairs? I’ve also taken the liberty of providing a little cold supper for you both, after your journey. On the way upstairs I’ll show you where the dining-room is.’
Poirot inclined his head in polite acceptance. ‘Thank you very much, Tredwell,’ he said. ‘Incidentally, I am going to advise Mr Amory most strongly that this room should be kept locked until tomorrow, when we should have further information about this evening’s distressing occurrence. Would you be so kind as to make it secure after we leave it now?’
‘Most certainly, sir, if that is your wish,’ replied Tredwell as Poirot preceded him out of the library.
Chapter 8
I
When Hastings came down to breakfast late the following morning, after having slept long and well, he found himself eating alone. From Tredwell he learned that Edward Raynor had breakfasted much earlier, and had gone back to his room to put some of Sir Claud’s papers in order, that Mr and Mrs Amory had had breakfast in their suite of rooms and had not yet appeared, and that Barbara Amory had taken a cup of coffee out into the garden where she was presumably still sunning herself. Miss Caroline Amory had ordered breakfast in her room, pleading a slight headache, and Tredwell had not seen her subsequently.
‘Have you caught sight of Monsieur Poirot at all this morning, Tredwell?’ Hastings asked, and was told that his friend had risen early and had decided to take a walk to the village. ‘I understood Monsieur Poirot to say that he had some business to conduct there,’ Tredwell added.
After finishing a lavish breakfast of bacon, sausage and eggs, toast and coffee, Hastings returned to his comfortable room on the first floor, which offered a splendid view of part of the garden and, for a few minutes which Hastings found rewarding, of the sun-bathing Barbara Amory as well. It was not until Barbara had come indoors that Hastings settled down in an arm-chair with that morning’s Times, which had of course gone to press too early to contain any mention of Sir Claud Amory’s death the previous evening.
Hastings turned to the editorial page and began to read. A good half-hour later, he awakened from a light slumber to find Hercule Poirot standing over him.
‘Ah, mon cher, you are hard at work on the case, I see,’ Poirot chuckled.
‘As a matter of fact, Poirot, I was thinking about last night’s events for quite some time,’ Hastings asserted. ‘I must have dozed off.’
‘And why not, my friend?’ Poirot assured him. ‘Me, I have been thinking about the death of Sir Claud as well, and, of course, the theft of his so important formula. I have, in fact, already taken some action, and I am expecting at any minute a telephone message to tell me if a certain suspicion of mine is correct or not.’
‘What or whom do you suspect, Poirot?’ Hastings asked eagerly.
Poirot looked out of the window before replying. ‘No, I do not think I can reveal that to you at this stage of the game, my friend,’ he replied mischievously. ‘Let us just say that, as the magicians on the stage like to assure us, the quickness of the hand deceives the eye.’
‘Really, Poirot,’ Hastings exclaimed,