While the Light Lasts - Agatha Christie [57]
Suddenly Poirot uttered an exclamation. ‘Those holes there–they are curious. One would say that they had been newly made.’
The holes in question were at the back of the chest against the wall. There were three or four of them. They were about a quarter of an inch in diameter and certainly had the effect of having been freshly made.
Poirot bent down to examine them, looking inquiringly at the valet.
‘It’s certainly curious, sir. I don’t remember ever seeing those holes in the past, though maybe I wouldn’t notice them.’
‘It makes no matter,’ said Poirot.
Closing the lid of the chest, he stepped back into the room until he was standing with his back against the window. Then he suddenly asked a question.
‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘When you brought the cigarettes into your master that night, was there not something out of place in the room?’
Burgoyne hesitated for a minute, then with some slight reluctance he replied, ‘It’s odd your saying that, sir. Now you come to mention it, there was. That screen there that cuts off the draught from the bedroom door–it was moved a bit more to the left.’
‘Like this?’
Poirot darted nimbly forward and pulled at the screen. It was a handsome affair of painted leather. It already slightly obscured the view of the chest, and as Poirot adjusted it, it hid the chest altogether.
‘That’s right, sir,’ said the valet. ‘It was like that.’
‘And the next morning?’
‘It was still like that. I remember. I moved it away and it was then I saw the stain. The carpet’s gone to be cleaned, sir. That’s why the boards are bare.’
Poirot nodded.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘I thank you.’
He placed a crisp piece of paper in the valet’s palm.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Poirot,’ I said when we were out in the street, ‘that point about the screen–is that a point helpful to Rich?’
‘It is a further point against him,’ said Poirot ruefully. ‘The screen hid the chest from the room. It also hid the stain on the carpet. Sooner or later the blood was bound to soak through the wood and stain the carpet. The screen would prevent discovery for the moment. Yes–but there is something there that I do not understand. The valet, Hastings, the valet.’
‘What about the valet? He seemed a most intelligent fellow.’
‘As you say, most intelligent. Is it credible, then, that Major Rich failed to realize that the valet would certainly discover the body in the morning? Immediately after the deed he had no time for anything–granted. He shoves the body into the chest, pulls the screen in front of it and goes through the evening hoping for the best. But after the guests are gone? Surely, then is the time to dispose of the body.’
‘Perhaps he hoped the valet wouldn’t notice the stain?’
‘That, mon ami, is absurd. A stained carpet is the first thing a good servant would be bound to notice. And Major Rich, he goes to bed and snores there comfortably and does nothing at all about the matter. Very remarkable and interesting, that.’
‘Curtiss might have seen the stains when he was changing the records the night before?’ I suggested.
‘That is unlikely. The screen would throw a deep shadow just there. No, but I begin to see. Yes, dimly I begin to see.’
‘See what?’ I asked eagerly.
‘The possibilities, shall we say, of an alternative explanation. Our next visit may throw light on things.’
Our next visit was to the doctor who had examined the body. His evidence was a mere recapitulation of what he had already given at the inquest. Deceased had been stabbed to the heart with a long thin knife something like a stiletto. The knife had been left in the wound. Death had been instantaneous. The knife was the property of Major Rich and usually lay on his writing table. There were no fingerprints on it, the doctor understood. It had been either wiped or held in