Sparkling Cyanide - Agatha Christie [50]
‘That, too, he had arranged for. He told Charles and he told me. A young lady would occupy it later in the evening.’
‘A young lady?’ Race and Kemp looked at each other. ‘Do you know who the young lady was?’
Giuseppe shook his head.
‘No, I know nothing about that. She was to come later, that is all I heard.’
‘Go on about the wine. How many bottles?’
‘Two bottles and a third to be ready if needed. The first bottle was finished quite quickly. The second I open not long before the cabaret. I fill up the glasses and put the bottle in the ice bucket.’
‘When did you last notice Mr Barton drinking from his glass?’
‘Let me see, when the cabaret was over, they drink the young lady’s health. It is her birthday so I understand. Then they go and dance. It is after that, when they come back, that Mr Barton drinks and in a minute, like that! he is dead.’
‘Had you filled up the glasses during the time they were dancing?’
‘No, monsieur. They were full when they drank to mademoiselle and they did not drink much, only a few mouthfuls. There was plenty left in the glasses.’
‘Did anyone—anyone at all—come near the table whilst they were dancing?’
‘No one at all, sir. I am sure of that.’
‘Did they all go to dance at the same time?’
‘Yes.’
‘And came back at the same time?’
Giuseppe screwed up his eyes in an effort of memory.
‘Mr Barton he came back first—with the young lady. He was stouter than the rest—he did not dance quite so long, you comprehend. Then came the fair gentleman, Mr Farraday, and the young lady in black. Lady Alexandra Farraday and the dark gentleman came last.’
‘You know Mr Farraday and Lady Alexandra?’
‘Yes, sir. I have seen them in the Luxembourg often. They are very distinguished.’
‘Now, Giuseppe, would you have seen if one of those people had put something in Mr Barton’s glass?’
‘That I cannot say, sir. I have my service, the other two tables in the alcove, and two more in the main restaurant. There are dishes to serve. I do not watch at Mr Barton’s table. After the cabaret everyone nearly gets up and dances, so at that time I am standing still—and that is why I can be sure that no one approached the table then. But as soon as people sit down, I am at once very busy.’
Kemp nodded.
‘But I think,’ Giuseppe continued, ‘that it would be very difficult to do without being observed. It seems to me that only Mr Barton himself could do it. But you do not think so, no?’
He looked inquiringly at the police officer.
‘So that’s your idea, is it?’
‘Naturally I know nothing—but I wonder. Just a year ago that beautiful lady, Mrs Barton, she kills herself. Could it not be that Mr Barton he grieves so much that he too decides to kill himself the same way? It would be poetic. Of course it is not good for the restaurant—but a gentleman who is going to kill himself would not think of that.’
He looked eagerly from one to the other of the two men.
Kemp shook his head.
‘I doubt if it’s as easy as that,’ he said.
He asked a few more questions, then Giuseppe was dismissed.
As the door closed behind Giuseppe, Race said:
‘I wonder if that’s what we are meant to think?’
‘Grieving husband kills himself on anniversary of wife’s death? Not that it was the anniversary—but near enough.’
‘It was All Soul’s Day,’ said Race.
‘True. Yes, it’s possible that was the idea—but if so, whoever it was can’t have known about those letters being kept and that Mr Barton had consulted you and shown them to Iris Marle.’
He glanced at his watch.
‘I’m due at Kidderminster House at 12.30. We’ve time before that to go and see those people at the other two tables—some of them at any rate. Come with me, won’t you, colonel?’
Chapter 3
Mr Morales was staying at the Ritz. He was hardly a pretty sight at this hour in the morning, still unshaven, the whites of his eyes bloodshot and with every sign of a severe hangover.
Mr Morales was an American subject and spoke a variant of the American language. Though professing himself willing to remember anything he could, his recollections of the previous evening were