Lord Edgware Dies - Agatha Christie [67]
I looked at Poirot in some admiration. I was not perfectly convinced of the truth of his theory. It seemed to be highly possible that Carlotta had used an odd half sheet that was already torn. But Poirot was so transfigured with joy that I simply had not the heart to suggest this prosaic possibility. After all, he might be right.
I did, however, venture to point out one or two difficulties in the way of his theory.
‘But how did the man, whoever he was, get hold of the letter? Miss Adams took it straight from her handbag and gave it herself to the maid to post. The maid told us so.’
‘Therefore we must assume one of two things. Either the maid was lying, or else, during that evening, Carlotta Adams met the murderer.’
I nodded.
‘It seems to me that that last possibility is the most likely one. We still do not know where Carlotta Adams was between the time she left the flat and nine o’clock when she left her suitcase at Euston station. During that time, I believe myself that she met the murderer in some appointed spot – they probably had some food together. He gave her some last instructions. What happened exactly in regard to the letter we do not know. One can make a guess. She may have been carrying it in her hand meaning to post it. She may have laid it down on the table in the restaurant. He sees the address and scents a possible danger. He may have picked it up adroitly, made an excuse for leaving the table, opened it, read it, torn out the sheet, and then either replaced it on the table, or perhaps given it to her as she left, telling her that she had dropped it without noticing. The exact way of it was not important – but two things do seem clear. That Carlotta Adams met the murderer that evening either before the murder of Lord Edgware, or afterwards (there was time after she left the Corner House for a brief interview). I have a fancy, though there I am perhaps wrong, that it was the murderer who gave her the gold box – it was possibly a sentimental memento of their first meeting. If so, the murderer is D.’
‘I don’t see the point of the gold box.’
‘Listen, Hastings, Carlotta Adams was not addicted to veronal. Lucie Adams says so, and I, too, believe it to be true. She was a clear-eyed healthy girl with no predilection for such things. None of her friends nor her maid recognized the box. Why, then, was it found in her possession after she died? To create the impression that she did take veronal and that she had taken it for a considerable time – that is to say at least six months. Let us say that she met the murderer after the murder if only for a few minutes. They had a drink together, Hastings, to celebrate the success of their plan. And in the girl’s drink he put sufficient veronal to ensure that there should be no waking for her on the following morning.’
‘Horrible,’ I said with a shudder.
‘Yes, it was not pretty,’ said Poirot dryly.
‘Are you going to tell Japp all this?’ I asked after a minute or two.
‘Not at the moment. What have I got to tell? He would say, the excellent Japp, “another nest of the mare! The girl wrote on an odd sheet of paper!” C’est tout.’
I looked guiltily at the ground.
‘What can I say to that? Nothing. It is a thing that might have happened. I only know it did not happen because it is necessary that it should not have