Peril at End House - Agatha Christie [41]
‘No, no,’ I interpolated.
‘But who would imagine—who could imagine—such unparalleled audacity? I had taken, as I thought, all possible precautions. I had warned the murderer—’
‘Warned the murderer?’
‘Mais oui. I had drawn attention to myself. I had let him see that I suspected—someone. I had made it, or so I thought, too dangerous for him to dare to repeat his attempts at murder. I had drawn a cordon round Mademoiselle. And he slips through it! Boldly—under our very eyes almost, he slips through it! In spite of us all—of everyone being on the alert, he achieves his object.’
‘Only he doesn’t,’ I reminded him.
‘That is the chance only! From my point of view, it is the same. A human life has been taken, Hastings—whose life is non-essential.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘But on the other hand, what you say is true. And that makes it worse—ten times worse. For the murderer is still as far as ever from achieving his object. Do you understand, my friend? The position is changed—for the worse. It may mean that not one life—but two—will be sacrificed.’
‘Not while you’re about,’ I said stoutly.
He stopped and wrung my hand.
‘Merci, mon ami! Merci! You still have confidence in the old one—you still have the faith. You put new courage into me. Hercule Poirot will not fail again. No second life shall be taken. I will rectify my error—for, see you, there must have been an error! Somewhere there has been a lack of order and method in my usually so well arranged ideas. I will start again. Yes, I will start at the beginning. And this time—I will not fail.’
‘You really think then,’ I said, ‘that Nick Buckley’s life is still in danger?’
‘My friend, for what other reason did I send her to this nursing home?’
‘Then it wasn’t the shock—’
‘The shock! Pah! One can recover from shock as well in one’s own home as in a nursing home—better, for that matter. It is not amusing there, the floors of green linoleum, the conversation of the nurses—the meals on trays, the ceaseless washing. No, no, it is for safety and safety only. I take the doctor into my confidence. He agrees. He will make all arrangements. No one, mon ami, not even her dearest friend, will be admitted to see Miss Buckley. You and I are the only ones permitted. Pour les autres—eh bien! “Doctor’s orders,” they will be told. A phrase very convenient and one not to be gainsayed.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Only—’
‘Only what, Hastings?’
‘That can’t go on for ever.’
‘A very true observation. But it gives us a little breathing space. And you realize, do you not, that the character of our operations has changed.’
‘In what way?’
‘Our original task was to ensure the safety of Mademoiselle. Our task now is a much simpler one—a task with which we are well acquainted. It is neither more nor less than the hunting down of a murderer.’
‘You call that simpler?’
‘Certainly it is simpler. The murderer has, as I said the other day, signed his name to the crime. He has come out into the open.’
‘You don’t think—’ I hesitated, then went on. ‘You don’t think that the police are right? That this is the work of a madman, some wandering lunatic with homicidal mania?’
‘I am more than ever convinced that such is not the case.’
‘You really think that—’
I stopped. Poirot took up my sentence, speaking very gravely.
‘That the murderer is someone in Mademoiselle’s own circle? Yes, mon ami, I do.’
‘But surely last night must almost rule out that possibility. We were all together and—’
He interrupted.
‘Could you swear, Hastings, that any particular person had never left our little company there on the edge of the cliff? Is there any one person there whom you could swear you had seen all the time?’
‘No,’ I said slowly, struck by his words. ‘I don’t think I could. It was dark. We all moved about, more or less. On different occasions I noticed Mrs Rice, Lazarus, you, Croft, Vyse—but all the time—no.’
Poirot nodded his head.
‘Exactly. It would be a matter of a very few minutes. The two girls go to