Black Coffee - Agatha Christie [32]
‘Quite so,’ Poirot agreed. ‘But today?’
‘Today is different,’ replied Carelli. ‘I have, as I say, urgent business in London.’
‘And you wish to take your departure?’
‘Exactly.’
‘It seems most reasonable,’ Poirot declared. ‘Do you not think so, Hastings?’
Hastings made no reply, but looked as though he did not think it at all reasonable.
‘Perhaps a word from you, Monsieur Poirot, to Mr Amory, would be in order,’ Carelli suggested. ‘I should like to avoid any unpleasantness.’
‘My good offices are at your disposal, Monsieur le docteur,’ Poirot assured him. ‘And now, perhaps you can assist me with one or two details.’
‘I should be only too happy to do so,’ Carelli replied.
Poirot considered for a moment, before asking, ‘Is Madame Richard Amory an old friend of yours?’
‘A very old friend,’ said Carelli. He sighed. ‘It was a delightful surprise, running across her so unexpectedly in this out-of-the-way spot.’
‘Unexpectedly, you say?’ Poirot asked.
‘Quite unexpectedly,’ Carelli replied, with a quick glance at the detective.
‘Quite unexpectedly,’ Poirot repeated. ‘Fancy that!’
A certain tension had crept into the atmosphere. Carelli looked at Poirot sharply, but said nothing.
‘You are interested in the latest discoveries of science?’ Poirot asked him.
‘Certainly. I am a doctor.’
‘Ah! But that does not quite follow, surely,’ Poirot observed. ‘A new vaccine, a new ray, a new germ – all this, yes. But a new explosive, surely that is not quite the province of a doctor of medicine?’
‘Science should be of interest to all of us,’ Carelli insisted. ‘It represents the triumph of man over nature. Man wrings secrets from nature in spite of her bitter opposition.’
Poirot nodded his head in agreement. ‘It is indeed admirable, what you say there. It is poetic! But, as my friend Hastings reminded me just now, I am only a detective. I appreciate things from a more practical standpoint. This discovery of Sir Claud’s – it was worth a great amount of money, eh?’
‘Possibly,’ Carelli’s tone was dismissive. ‘I have not given that side of the matter much thought.’
‘You are evidently a man of lofty principles,’ observed Poirot, ‘and also, no doubt, a man of means. Travelling, for instance, is an expensive hobby.’
‘One should see the world one lives in,’ said Carelli dryly.
‘Indeed,’ Poirot agreed. ‘And the people who live in it. Curious people, some of them. The thief, for instance – what a curious mentality he must have!’
‘As you say,’ Carelli agreed, ‘most curious.’
‘And the blackmailer,’ Poirot continued.
‘What do you mean?’ Carelli asked sharply.
‘I said, the blackmailer,’ Poirot repeated. There was an awkward pause, before he continued, ‘but we are wandering from our subject – the death of Sir Claud Amory.’
‘The death of Sir Claud Amory? Why is that our subject?’
‘Ah, of course,’ Poirot recalled. ‘You do not yet know. I am afraid that Sir Claud did not die as the result of a heart attack. He was poisoned.’ He watched the Italian closely for his reaction.
‘Ah!’ murmured Carelli, with a nod of the head.
‘That does not surprise you?’ asked Poirot.
‘Frankly, no,’ Carelli replied. ‘I suspected as much last night.’
‘You see, then,’ Poirot continued, ‘that the matter has become much more serious.’ His tone changed. ‘You will not be able to leave the house today, Dr Carelli.’
Leaning forward to Poirot, Carelli asked, ‘Do you connect Sir Claud’s death with the stealing of the formula?’
‘Certainly,’ Poirot replied. ‘Do not you?’
Carelli spoke quickly and urgently. ‘Is there no one in this house, no member of his family, who desired the death of Sir Claud, quite apart from any question of the formula? What does his death mean to most of the people in this house? I will tell you. It means freedom, Monsieur Poirot. Freedom, and what you mentioned just now – money. That old man was a tyrant, and apart from his beloved work he was a miser.’
‘Did you observe all this last night, Monsieur le docteur?’ asked Poirot, innocently.
‘What if I did?’ replied Carelli. ‘I