While the Light Lasts - Agatha Christie [58]
‘He could not, for instance, have been killed after midnight?’ asked Poirot.
‘No. That I can say. Ten o’clock at the outside–but seven-thirty to eight seems clearly indicated.’
‘There is a second hypothesis possible,’ Poirot said when we were back home. ‘I wonder if you see it, Hastings. To me it is very plain, and I only need one point to clear up the matter for good and all.’
‘It’s no good,’ I said. ‘I’m not there.’
‘But make an effort, Hastings. Make an effort.’
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘At seven-forty Clayton is alive and well. The last person to see him alive is Rich–’
‘So we assume.’
‘Well, isn’t it so?’
‘You forget, mon ami, that Major Rich denies that. He states explicitly that Clayton had gone when he came in.’
‘But the valet says that he would have heard Clayton leave because of the bang of the door. And also, if Clayton had left, when did he return? He couldn’t have returned after midnight because the doctor says positively that he was dead at least two hours before that. That only leaves one alternative.’
‘Yes, mon ami?’ said Poirot.
‘That in the five minutes Clayton was alone in the sitting-room, someone else came in and killed him. But there we have the same objection. Only someone with a key could come in without the valet’s knowing, and in the same way the murderer on leaving would have had to bang the door, and that again the valet would have heard.’
‘Exactly,’ said Poirot. ‘And therefore–’
‘And therefore–nothing,’ I said. ‘I can see no other solution.’
‘It is a pity,’ murmured Poirot. ‘And it is really so exceedingly simple–as the clear blue eyes of Madame Clayton.’
‘You really believe–’
‘I believe nothing–until I have got proof. One little proof will convince me.’
He took up the telephone and called Japp at Scotland Yard.
Twenty minutes later we were standing before a little heap of assorted objects laid out on a table. They were the contents of the dead man’s pockets.
There was a handkerchief, a handful of loose change, a pocketbook containing three pounds ten shillings, a couple of bills and a worn snap-shot of Marguerita Clayton. There was also a pocketknife, a gold pencil and a cumbersome wooden tool.
It was on this latter that Poirot swooped. He unscrewed it and several small blades fell out.
‘You see, Hastings, a gimlet and all the rest of it. Ah! it would be a matter of a very few minutes to bore a few holes in the chest with this.’
‘Those holes we saw?’
‘Precisely.’
‘You mean it was Clayton who bored them himself?’
‘Mais, oui–mais, oui! What did they suggest to you, those holes? They were not to see through, because they were at the back of the chest. What were they for, then? Clearly for air? But you do not make air holes for a dead body, so clearly they were not made by the murderer. They suggest one thing–and one thing only–that a man was going to hide in that chest. And at once, on that hypothesis, things become intelligible. Mr Clayton is jealous of his wife and Rich. He plays the old, old trick of pretending to go away. He watches Rich go out, then he gains admission, is left alone to write a note, quickly bores those holes and hides inside the chest. His wife is coming there that night. Possibly Rich will put the others off, possibly she will remain after the others have gone, or pretend to go and return. Whatever it is, Clayton will know. Anything is preferable to the ghastly torment of suspicion he is enduring.’
‘Then you mean that Rich killed him after the others had gone? But the doctor said that was impossible.’
‘Exactly. So you see, Hastings, he must have been killed during the evening.’
‘But everyone was in the room!’
‘Precisely,’ said Poirot gravely. ‘You see the beauty of that? “Everyone was in the room.” What an alibi! What sang-froid–what nerve–what audacity!’
‘I still don’t understand.’
‘Who went behind that screen to wind up the phonograph and change the records? The phonograph and the chest were side by side, remember. The others are dancing–the phonograph is playing.