The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding - Agatha Christie [65]
He was in that moment a different man. Triumph and exultation beamed all over his face. Trefusis stared at him in surprise.
‘What is the matter, M. Poirot? You look very pleased.’
The little man puffed out his chest.
‘Yes, indeed. See you I have at last found that which I have been looking for from the beginning. I have here between my finger and thumb the one thing necessary to convict the criminal.’
‘Then,’ the secretary raised his eyebrows, ‘it was not Charles Leverson?’
‘It was not Charles Leverson,’ said Poirot. ‘Until this moment, though I know the criminal, I am not sure of his name, but at last all is clear.’
He stepped down the stairs and tapped the secretary on the shoulder.
‘I am obliged to go to London immediately. Speak to Lady Astwell for me. Will you request of her that everyone should be assembled in the Tower room this evening at nine o’clock? I shall be there then, and I shall reveal the truth. Ah, me, but I am well content.’
And, breaking into a fantastic little dance, he skipped from the Tower room. Trefusis was left staring after him.
A few minutes later Poirot appeared in the library, demanding if anyone could supply him with a little cardboard box.
‘Unfortunately, I have not such a thing with me,’ he explained, ‘and there is something of great value that it is necessary for me to put inside.’
From one of the drawers in the desk Trefusis produced a small box, and Poirot professed himself highly delighted with it.
He hurried upstairs with his treasure-trove; meeting George on the landing, he handed the box to him.
‘There is something of great importance inside,’ he explained. ‘Place it, my good George, in the second drawer of my dressing-table, beside the jewel case that contains my pearl studs.’
‘Very good, sir,’ said George.
‘Do not break it,’ said Poirot. ‘Be very careful. Inside that box is something that will hang a criminal.’
‘You don’t say, sir,’ said George.
Poirot hurried down the stairs again and, seizing his hat, departed from the house at a brisk run.
XI
His return was more unostentatious. The faithful George, according to orders, admitted him by the side door.
‘They are all in the Tower room?’ inquired Poirot.
‘Yes, sir.’
There was a murmured interchange of a few words, and then Poirot mounted with the triumphant step of the victor to that room where the murder had taken place less than a month ago. His eyes swept around the room. They were all there: Lady Astwell, Victor Astwell, Lily Margrave, the secretary, and Parsons, the butler. The latter was hovering by the door uncertainly.
‘George, sir, said I should be needed here,’ said Parsons as Poirot made his appearance. ‘I don’t know if that is right, sir?’
‘Quite right,’ said Poirot. ‘Remain, I pray of you.’
He advanced to the middle of the room.
‘This has been a case of great interest,’ he said in a slow, reflective voice. ‘It is interesting because anyone might have murdered Sir Reuben Astwell. Who inherits his money? Charles Leverson and Lady Astwell. Who was with him last that night? Lady Astwell. Who quarrelled with him violently? Again Lady Astwell.’
‘What are you talking about?’ cried Lady Astwell. ‘I don’t understand, I –’
‘But someone else quarrelled with Sir Reuben,’ continued Poirot in a pensive voice. ‘Someone else left him that night white with rage. Supposing Lady Astwell left her husband alive at a quarter to twelve that night, there would be ten minutes before Mr Charles Leverson returned, ten minutes in which it would be possible for someone from the second floor to steal down and do the deed, and then return to his room again.’
Victor Astwell sprang up with a cry.
‘What the hell –?’ He stopped, choking with rage.
‘In a rage, Mr Astwell, you once killed a man in West Africa.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ cried Lily Margrave.
She came forward, her hands clenched, two bright spots of colour in her cheeks.
‘I don’t believe it,’ repeated the girl. She came close to Victor Astwell’s side.
‘It’s true, Lily,’ said Astwell, ‘but there are things this man doesn