The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding - Agatha Christie [51]
Hercule Poirot’s limp body slid artistically sideways.
‘I collapse – so!’ he observed. ‘Yes, it is very well imagined. There is now something most important that must be done.’
‘Indeed, sir?’ said the valet.
‘Yes, it is necessary that I should breakfast well.’
The little man laughed heartily at his own joke.
‘The stomach, George; it must not be ignored.’
George maintained a disapproving silence. Poirot went downstairs chuckling happily to himself. He was pleased at the way things were shaping. After breakfast he made the acquaintance of Gladys, the third housemaid. He was very interested in what she could tell him of the crime. She was sympathetic towards Charles, although she had no doubt of his guilt.
‘Poor young gentleman, sir, it seems hard, it does, him not being quite himself at the time.’
‘He and Miss Margrave should have got on well together,’ suggested Poirot, ‘as the only two young people in the house.’
Gladys shook her head. ‘Very stand-offish Miss Lily was with him. She wouldn’t have no carryings-on, and she made it plain.’
‘He was fond of her, was he?’
‘Oh, only in passing, so to speak; no harm in it, sir. Mr Victor Astwell, now he is properly gone on Miss Lily.’
She giggled.
‘Ah vraiment!’
Gladys giggled again.
‘Sweet on her straight away he was. Miss Lily is just like a lily, isn’t she, sir? So tall and such a lovely shade of gold hair.’
‘She should wear a green evening frock,’ mused Poirot. ‘There is a certain shade of green –’
‘She has one, sir,’ said Gladys. ‘Of course, she can’t wear it now, being in mourning, but she had it on the very night Sir Reuben died.’
‘It should be a light green, not a dark green,’ said Poirot.
‘It is a light green, sir. If you wait a minute I’ll show it to you. Miss Lily has just gone out with the dogs.’
Poirot nodded. He knew that as well as Gladys did. In fact, it was only after seeing Lily safely off the premises that he had gone in search of the housemaid. Gladys hurried away, and returned a few minutes later with a green evening dress on a hanger.
‘Exquis! ’ murmured Poirot, holding up hands of admiration. ‘Permit me to take it to the light a minute.’
He took the dress from Gladys, turned his back on her and hurried to the window. He bent over it, then held it out at arm’s length.
‘It is perfect,’ he declared. ‘Perfectly ravishing. A thousand thanks for showing it to me.’
‘Not at all, sir,’ said Gladys. ‘We all know that Frenchmen are interested in ladies’ dresses.’
‘You are too kind,’ murmured Poirot.
He watched her hurry away again with the dress. Then he looked down at his two hands and smiled. In the right hand was a tiny pair of nail scissors, in the left was a neatly clipped fragment of green chiffon.
‘And now,’ he murmured, ‘to be heroic.’
He returned to his own apartment and summoned George.
‘On the dressing-table, my good George, you will perceive a gold scarf pin.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘On the washstand is a solution of carbolic. Immerse, I pray you, the point of the pin in the carbolic.’
George did as he was bid. He had long ago ceased to wonder at the vagaries of his master.
‘I have done that, sir.’
‘Très bien! Now approach. I tender to you my first finger; insert the point of the pin in it.’
‘Excuse me, sir, you want me to prick you, sir?’
‘But yes, you have guessed correctly. You must draw blood, you understand, but not too much.’
George took hold of his master’s finger. Poirot shut his eyes and leaned back. The valet stabbed at the finger with the scarf pin, and Poirot uttered a shrill yell.
‘Je vous remercie, George,’ he said. ‘What you have done is ample.’
Taking a small piece of green chiffon from his pocket, he dabbed his finger with it gingerly.
‘The operation has succeeded to a miracle,’ he remarked, gazing at the result. ‘You have no curiosity, George? Now, that is admirable!’
The valet had just taken a discreet look out of the window.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he murmured, ‘a gentleman has driven up in a large car.’
‘Ah! Ah!’ said Poirot. He rose briskly to his feet. ‘The elusive Mr Victor