Black Coffee - Agatha Christie [42]
‘No, madame, it is yours,’ Poirot assured her.
Sitting in a chair by the table, Lucia tore the note into small pieces which she put in her handbag. Poirot watched her, but paused before asking, ‘One little thing more, madame. Did you, by any chance, tear your dress last night?’
‘I? No!’ Lucia sounded surprised.
‘During those moments of darkness,’ asked Poirot, ‘did you hear the sound of a dress tearing?’
Lucia considered for a few seconds. Then, ‘Yes, now that you mention it,’ she said, ‘I believe I did. But it was not mine. It must have been Miss Amory’s or Barbara’s.’
‘Well, we will not worry about that,’ remarked Poirot dismissively. ‘Now, let us pass on to something else. Who poured out Sir Claud’s coffee last night?’
‘I did.’
‘And you put it down on that table, beside your own cup?’
‘Yes.’
Poirot rose, leaned forward over the table towards Lucia, and suddenly shot his next question at her. ‘Into which cup did you put the hyoscine?’
Lucia looked at him wildly. ‘How did you know?’ she gasped.
‘It is my business to know things. Into which cup, madame?’
Lucia sighed. ‘My own.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I wanted – I wanted to die. Richard suspected that there was something between Carelli and me – that we were having an affair. He could not have been further from the truth. I hated Carelli! I hate him now. But, as I had failed to obtain the formula for him, I was sure he would expose me to Richard. To kill myself was a way out – the only way. A swift, dreamless sleep – and no awakening – that’s what he said.’
‘Who said that to you?’
‘Dr Carelli.’
‘I begin to see – I begin to see,’ said Poirot slowly. He pointed to the cup on the table. ‘This is your cup, then? A full cup, untasted?’
‘Yes.’
‘What made you change your mind about drinking it?’
‘Richard came over to me. He said that he would take me away – abroad – that he would get the money to do so, somehow. He gave me back – hope.’
‘Now, listen to me carefully, madame,’ said Poirot gravely. ‘This morning, Dr Graham took away the cup that was beside Sir Claud’s chair.’
‘Yes?’
‘His fellow-doctors will have found nothing but the dregs of coffee in it –’ He paused.
Without looking at him, Lucia answered, ‘Of – of course.’
‘That is correct, yes?’ Poirot persisted.
Lucia looked straight ahead of her without replying. Then, looking up at Poirot, she exclaimed, ‘Why are you staring at me like that? You frighten me!’
‘I said,’ Poirot repeated, ‘that they took away the cup that was beside Sir Claud’s chair this morning. Let us suppose instead that they had taken away the cup that was by his chair last night?’ He moved to the table near the door and took a coffee cup from the plant bowl. ‘Let us suppose that they had taken this cup!’
Lucia rose quickly, putting her hands up to her face. ‘You know!’ she gasped.
Poirot moved to her. ‘Madame!’ His voice now was stern. ‘They will test their cup, if they have not already done so, and they will find – nothing. But last night I took some of the dregs from the original cup. What would you say if I were to tell you that there was hyoscine in Sir Claud’s cup?’
Lucia looked stricken. She swayed, but then recovered herself. For a moment she said nothing. Then, ‘You are right,’ she whispered. ‘You are quite right. I killed him.’ Her voice rang out suddenly. ‘I killed him! I put the hyoscine in his cup.’ Going to the table, she grasped the full cup of coffee. ‘This one – is only coffee!’
She raised the full cup to her lips, but Poirot sprang forward, interposing his hand between the cup and her lips. They looked at each other intently for a time, then Lucia burst into sobs. Poirot took the cup from her, and placed it on the table. ‘Madame!’ he exclaimed.
‘Why did you stop me?’ Lucia murmured.
‘Madame,’ Poirot told her, ‘the world is very beautiful. Why should you wish to leave it?’
‘I – Oh!’ Lucia collapsed onto the settee, sobbing bitterly.
When Poirot spoke, his voice was warm and gentle. ‘You told me the truth. You put the hyoscine