Chapter 8：Fresh Suspicions
There was a moment's stupefied silence. Japp, who was the least surprised of any of us, was the first to speak.
"My word," he cried, "you're the goods! And no mistake, Mr. Poirot! These witnesses of yours are all right, I suppose?"
"Voila! I have prepared a list of them--names and addresses. You must see them, of course. But you will find it all right."
"I'm sure of that." Japp lowered his voice. "I'm much obliged to you. A pretty mare's nest arresting him would have been." He turned to Inglethorp. "But, if you'll excuse me, sir, why couldn't you say all this at the inquest?"
"I will tell you why," interrupted Poirot. "There was a certain rumour----"
"A most malicious and utterly untrue one," interrupted Alfred Inglethorp in an agitated voice.
"And Mr. Inglethorp was anxious to have no scandal revived just at present. Am I right?"
"Quite right." Inglethorp nodded. "With my poor Emily not yet buried, can you wonder I was anxious that no more lying rumours should be started."
"Between you and me, sir," remarked Japp, "I'd sooner have any amount of rumours than be arrested for murder. And I venture to think your poor lady would have felt the same. And, if it hadn't been for Mr. Poirot here, arrested you would have been, as sure as eggs is eggs!"
"I was foolish, no doubt," murmured Inglethorp. "But you do not know, inspector, how I have been persecuted and maligned." And he shot a baleful glance at Evelyn Howard.
"Now, sir," said Japp, turning briskly to John, "I should like to see the lady's bedroom, please, and after that I'll have a little chat with the servants. Don't you bother about anything. Mr. Poirot, here, will show me the way."
As they all went out of the room, Poirot turned and made me a sign to follow him upstairs. There he caught me by the arm, and drew me aside.
"Quick, go to the other wing. Stand there--just this side of the baize door. Do not move till I come." Then, turning rapidly, he rejoined the two detectives.
I followed his instructions, taking up my position by the baize door, and wondering what on earth lay behind the request. Why was I to stand in this particular spot on guard? I looked thoughtfully down the corridor in front of me. An idea struck me. With the exception of Cynthia Murdoch's, every one's room was in this left wing. Had that anything to do with it? Was I to report who came or went? I stood faithfully at my post. The minutes passed. Nobody came. Nothing happened.
It must have been quite twenty minutes before Poirot rejoined me.
"You have not stirred?"
"No, I've stuck here like a rock. Nothing's happened."
"Ah!" Was he pleased, or disappointed? "You've seen nothing at all?"
"No."
"But you have probably heard something? A big bump--eh, mon ami?"
"No."
"Is it possible? Ah, but I am vexed with myself! I am not usually clumsy. I made but a slight gesture"--I know Poirot's gestures--"with the left hand, and over went the table by the bed!"
He looked so childishly vexed and crest-fallen that I hastened to console him.
"Never mind, old chap. What does it matter? Your triumph downstairs excited you. I can tell you, that was a surprise to us all. There must be more in this affair of Inglethorp's with Mrs. Raikes than we thought, to make him hold his tongue so persistently. What are you going to do now? Where are the Scotland Yard fellows?"
"Gone down to interview the servants. I showed them all our exhibits. I am disappointed in Japp. He has no method!"
"Hullo!" I said, looking out of the window. "Here's Dr. Bauerstein. I believe you're right about that man, Poirot. I don't like him."
"He is clever," observed Poirot meditatively.
"Oh, clever as the devil! I must say I was overjoyed to see him in the plight he was in on Tuesday. You never saw such a spectacle!" And I described the doctor's adventure. "He looked a regular scarecrow! Plastered with mud from head to foot."
"You saw him, then?"
"Yes. Of course, he didn't want to come in--it was just after dinner--but Mr. Inglethorp insisted."
"What?" Poirot caught me violently by the shoulders. "Was Dr. Bauerstein here on Tuesday evening? Here? And you never told me? Why did you not tell me? Why? Why?"
He appeared to be in an absolute frenzy.
"My dear Poirot," I expostulated, "I never thought it would interest you. I didn't know it was of any importance."
"Importance? It is of the first importance! So Dr. Bauerstein was here on Tuesday night--the night of the murder. Hastings, do you not see? That alters everything--everything!"
I had never seen him so upset. Loosening his hold of me, he mechanically straightened a pair of candlesticks, still murmuring to himself: "Yes, that alters everything--everything."
Suddenly he seemed to come to a decision.
"Allons!" he said. "We must act at once. Where is Mr. Cavendish?"
John was in the smoking-room. Poirot went straight to him.
"Mr. Cavendish, I have some important business in Tadminster. A new clue. May I take your motor?"
"Why, of course. Do you mean at once?"
"If you please."
John rang the bell, and ordered round the car. In another ten minutes, we were racing down the park and along the high road to Tadminster.
"Now, Poirot," I remarked resignedly, "perhaps you will tell me what all this is about?"
"Well, mon ami, a good deal you can guess for yourself. Of course you realize that, now Mr. Inglethorp is out of it, the whole position is greatly changed. We are face to face with an entirely new problem. We know now that there is one person who did not buy the poison. We have cleared away the manufactured clues. Now for the real ones. I have ascertained that anyone in the household, with the exception of Mrs. Cavendish, who was playing tennis with you, could have personated Mr. Inglethorp on Monday evening. In the same way, we have his statement that he put the coffee down in the hall. No one took much notice of that at the inquest--but now it has a very different significance. We must find out who did take that coffee to Mrs. Inglethorp eventually, or who passed through the hall whilst it was standing there. From your account, there are only two people whom we can positively say did not go near the coffee--Mrs. Cavendish, and Mademoiselle Cynthia."
"Yes, that is so." I felt an inexpressible lightening of the heart. Mary Cavendish could certainly not rest under suspicion.
"In clearing Alfred Inglethorp," continued Poirot, "I have been obliged to show my hand sooner than I intended. As long as I might be thought to be pursuing him, the criminal would be off his guard. Now, he will be doubly careful. Yes--doubly careful." He turned to me abruptly. "Tell me, Hastings, you yourself--have you no suspicions of anybody?"
I hesitated. To tell the truth, an idea, wild and extravagant in itself, had once or twice that morning flashed through my brain. I had rejected it as absurd, nevertheless it persisted.
"You couldn't call it a suspicion," I murmured. "It's so utterly foolish."
"Come now," urged Poirot encouragingly. "Do not fear. Speak your mind. You should always pay attention to your instincts."
"Well then," I blurted out, "it's absurd--but I suspect Miss Howard of not telling all she knows!"
"Miss Howard?"
"Yes--you'll laugh at me----"
"Not at all. Why should I?"
"I can't help feeling," I continued blunderingly; "that we've rather left her out of the possible suspects, simply on the strength of her having been away from the place. But, after all, she was only fifteen miles away. A car would do it in half an hour. Can we say positively that she was away from Styles on the night of the murder?"
"Yes, my friend," said Poirot unexpectedly, "we can. One of my first actions was to ring up the hospital where she was working."
"Well?"
"Well, I learnt that Miss Howard had been on afternoon duty on Tuesday, and that--a convoy coming in unexpectedly--she had kindly offered to remain on night duty, which offer was gratefully accepted. That disposes of that."
"Oh!" I said, rather nonplussed. "Really," I continued, "it's her extraordinary vehemence against Inglethorp that started me off suspecting her. I can't help feeling she'd do anything against him. And I had an idea she might know something about the destroying of the will. She might have burnt the new one, mistaking it for the earlier one in his favour. She is so terribly bitter against him."
"You consider her vehemence unnatural?"
"Y--es. She is so very violent. I wondered really whether she is quite sane on that point."
Poirot shook his head energetically.
"No, no, you are on a wrong tack there. There is nothing weak-minded or degenerate about Miss Howard. She is an excellent specimen of well-balanced English beef and brawn. She is sanity itself."
"Yet her hatred of Inglethorp seems almost a mania. My idea was--a very ridiculous one, no doubt--that she had intended to poison him--and that, in some way, Mrs. Inglethorp got hold of it by mistake. But I don't at all see how it could have been done. The whole thing is absurd and ridiculous to the last degree."
"Still you are right in one thing. It is always wise to suspect everybody until you can prove logically, and to your own satisfaction, that they are innocent. Now, what reasons are there against Miss Howard's having deliberately poisoned Mrs. Inglethorp?"
"Why, she was devoted to her!" I exclaimed.
"Tcha! Tcha!" cried Poirot irritably. "You argue like a child. If Miss Howard were capable of poisoning the old lady, she would be quite equally capable of simulating devotion. No, we must look elsewhere. You are perfectly correct in your assumption that her vehemence against Alfred Inglethorp is too violent to be natural; but you are quite wrong in the deduction you draw from it. I have drawn my own deductions, which I believe to be correct, but I will not speak of them at present." He paused a minute, then went on. "Now, to my way of thinking, there is one insuperable objection to Miss Howard's being the murderess."
"And that is?"
"That in no possible way could Mrs. Inglethorp's death benefit Miss Howard. Now there is no murder without a motive."
I reflected.
"Could not Mrs. Inglethorp have made a will in her favour?" Poirot shook his head.
"But you yourself suggested that possibility to Mr. Wells?"
Poirot smiled.
"That was for a reason. I did not want to mention the name of the person who was actually in my mind. Miss Howard occupied very much the same position, so I used her name instead."
"Still, Mrs. Inglethorp might have done so. Why, that will, made on the afternoon of her death may----"
But Poirot's shake of the head was so energetic that I stopped.
"No, my friend. I have certain little ideas of my own about that will. But I can tell you this much--it was not in Miss Howard's favour."
I accepted his assurance, though I did not really see how he could be so positive about the matter.
"Well," I said, with a sigh, "we will acquit Miss Howard, then. It is partly your fault that I ever came to suspect her. It was what you said about her evidence at the inquest that set me off."
Poirot looked puzzled.
"What did I say about her evidence at the inquest?"
"Don't you remember? When I cited her and John Cavendish as being above suspicion?"
"Oh--ah--yes." He seemed a little confused, but recovered himself. "By the way, Hastings, there is something I want you to do for me."
"Certainly. What is it?"
"Next time you happen to be alone with Lawrence Cavendish, I want you to say this to him. 'I have a message for you, from Poirot. He says: "Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace!" ' Nothing more. Nothing less."
" 'Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace.' Is that right?" I asked, much mystified.
"Excellent."
"But what does it mean?"
"Ah, that I will leave you to find out. You have access to the facts. Just say that to him, and see what he says."
"Very well--but it's all extremely mysterious."
We were running into Tadminster now, and Poirot directed the car to the "Analytical Chemist."
Poirot hopped down briskly, and went inside. In a few minutes he was back again.
"There," he said. "That is all my business."
"What were you doing there?" I asked, in lively curiosity.
"I left something to be analysed."
"Yes, but what?"
"The sample of coco I took from the saucepan in the bedroom."
"But that has already been tested!" I cried, stupefied. "Dr. Bauerstein had it tested, and you yourself laughed at the possibility of there being strychnine in it."
"I know Dr. Bauerstein had it tested," replied Poirot quietly.
"Well, then?"
"Well, I have a fancy for having it analysed again, that is all."
And not another word on the subject could I drag out of him.
This proceeding of Poirot's, in respect of the coco, puzzled me intensely. I could see neither rhyme nor reason in it. However, my confidence in him, which at one time had rather waned, was fully restored since his belief in Alfred Inglethorp's innocence had been so triumphantly vindicated.
The funeral of Mrs. Inglethorp took place the following day, and on Monday, as I came down to a late breakfast, John drew me aside, and informed me that Mr. Inglethorp was leaving that morning, to take up his quarters at the Stylites Arms until he should have completed his plans.
"And really it's a great relief to think he's going, Hastings," continued my honest friend. "It was bad enough before, when we thought he'd done it, but I'm hanged if it isn't worse now, when we all feel guilty for having been so down on the fellow. The fact is, we've treated him abominably. Of course, things did look black against him. I don't see how anyone could blame us for jumping to the conclusions we did. Still, there it is, we were in the wrong, and now there's a beastly feeling that one ought to make amends; which is difficult, when one doesn't like the fellow a bit better than one did before. The whole thing's damned awkward! And I'm thankful he's had the tact to take himself off. It's a good thing Styles wasn't the mater's to leave to him. Couldn't bear to think of the fellow fording it here. He's welcome to her money."
"You'll be able to keep up the place all right?" I asked.
"Oh, yes. There are the death duties, of course, but half my father's money goes with the place, and Lawrence will stay with us for the present, so there is his share as well. We shall be pinched at first, of course, because, as I once told you, I am in a bit of a hole financially myself. Still, the Johnnies will wait now."
In the general relief at Inglethorp's approaching departure, we had the most genial breakfast we had experienced since the tragedy. Cynthia, whose young spirits were naturally buoyant, was looking quite her pretty self again, and we all, with the exception of Lawrence, who seemed unalterably gloomy and nervous, were quietly cheerful, at the opening of a new and hopeful future.
The papers, of course, had been full of the tragedy. Glaring headlines, sandwiched biographies of every member of the household, subtle innuendoes, the usual familiar tag about the police having a clue. Nothing was spared us. It was a slack time. The war was momentarily inactive, and the newspapers seized with avidity on this crime in fashionable life: "The Mysterious Affair at Styles" was the topic of the moment.
Naturally it was very annoying for the Cavendishes. The house was constantly besieged by reporters, who were consistently denied admission, but who continued to haunt the village and the grounds, where they lay in wait with cameras, for any unwary members of the household. We all lived in a blast of publicity. The Scotland Yard men came and went, examining, questioning, lynx-eyed and reserved of tongue. Towards what end they were working, we did not know. Had they any clue, or would the whole thing remain in the category of undiscovered crimes?
After breakfast, Dorcas came up to me rather mysteriously, and asked if she might have a few words with me.
"Certainly. What is it, Dorcas?"
"Well, it's just this, sir. You'll be seeing the Belgian gentleman to-day perhaps?" I nodded. "Well, sir, you know how he asked me so particular if the mistress, or anyone else, had a green dress?"
"Yes, yes. You have found one?" My interest was aroused.
"No, not that, sir. But since then I've remembered what the young gentlemen"--John and Lawrence were still the "young gentlemen" to Dorcas--"call the 'dressing-up box.' It's up in the front attic, sir. A great chest, full of old clothes and fancy dresses, and what not. And it came to me sudden like that there might be a green dress amongst them. So, if you'd tell the Belgian gentleman----"
"I will tell him, Dorcas," I promised.
"Thank you very much, sir. A very nice gentleman he is, sir. And quite a different class from them two detectives from London, what goes prying about, and asking questions. I don't hold with foreigners as a rule, but from what the newspapers say I make out as how these brave Belges isn't the ordinary run of foreigners, and certainly he's a most polite spoken gentleman."
Dear old Dorcas! As she stood there, with her honest face upturned to mine, I thought what a fine specimen she was of the old-fashioned servant that is so fast dying out.
I thought I might as well go down to the village at once, and look up Poirot; but I met him half-way, coming up to the house, and at once gave him Dorcas's message.
"Ah, the brave Dorcas! We will look at the chest, although--but no matter--we will examine it all the same."
We entered the house by one of the windows. There was no one in the hall, and we went straight up to the attic.
Sure enough, there was the chest, a fine old piece, all studded with brass nails, and full to overflowing with every imaginable type of garment.
Poirot bundled everything out on the floor with scant ceremony. There were one or two green fabrics of varying shades; but Poirot shook his head over them all. He seemed somewhat apathetic in the search, as though he expected no great results from it. Suddenly he gave an exclamation.
"What is it?"
"Look!"
The chest was nearly empty, and there, reposing right at the bottom, was a magnificent black beard.
"Oho!" said Poirot. "Oho!" He turned it over in his hands, examining it closely. "New," he remarked. "Yes, quite new."
After a moment's hesitation, he replaced it in the chest, heaped all the other things on top of it as before, and made his way briskly downstairs. He went straight to the pantry, where we found Dorcas busily polishing her silver.
Poirot wished her good morning with Gallic politeness, and went on:
"We have been looking through that chest, Dorcas. I am much obliged to you for mentioning it. There is, indeed, a fine collection there. Are they often used, may I ask?"
"Well, sir, not very often nowadays, though from time to time we do have what the young gentlemen call 'a dress-up night.' And very funny it is sometimes, sir. Mr. Lawrence, he's wonderful. Most comic! I shall never forget the night he came down as the Char of Persia, I think he called it--a sort of Eastern King it was. He had the big paper knife in his hand, and 'Mind, Dorcas,' he says, 'you'll have to be very respectful. This is my specially sharpened scimitar, and it's off with your head if I'm at all displeased with you!' Miss Cynthia, she was what they call an Apache, or some such name--a Frenchified sort of cut-throat, I take it to be. A real sight she looked. You'd never have believed a pretty young lady like that could have made herself into such a ruffian. Nobody would have known her."
"These evenings must have been great fun," said Poirot genially. "I suppose Mr. Lawrence wore that fine black beard in the chest upstairs, when he was Shah of Persia?"
"He did have a beard, sir," replied Dorcas, smiling. "And well I know it, for he borrowed two skeins of my black wool to make it with! And I'm sure it looked wonderfully natural at a distance. I didn't know as there was a beard up there at all. It must have been got quite lately, I think. There was a red wig, I know, but nothing else in the way of hair. Burnt corks they use mostly--though 'tis messy getting it off again. Miss Cynthia was a nigger once, and, oh, the trouble she had."
"So Dorcas knows nothing about that black beard," said Poirot thoughtfully, as we walked out into the hall again.
"Do you think it is _the_ one?" I whispered eagerly.
Poirot nodded.
"I do. You notice it had been trimmed?"
"No."
"Yes. It was cut exactly the shape of Mr. Inglethorp's, and I found one or two snipped hairs. Hastings, this affair is very deep."
"Who put it in the chest, I wonder?"
"Some one with a good deal of intelligence," remarked Poirot dryly. "You realize that he chose the one place in the house to hide it where its presence would not be remarked? Yes, he is intelligent. But we must be more intelligent. We must be so intelligent that he does not suspect us of being intelligent at all."
I acquiesced.
"There, mon ami, you will be of great assistance to me."
I was pleased with the compliment. There had been times when I hardly thought that Poirot appreciated me at my true worth.
"Yes," he continued, staring at me thoughtfully, "you will be invaluable."
This was naturally gratifying, but Poirot's next words were not so welcome.
"I must have an ally in the house," he observed reflectively.
"You have me," I protested.
"True, but you are not sufficient."
I was hurt, and showed it. Poirot hurried to explain himself.
"You do not quite take my meaning. You are known to be working with me. I want somebody who is not associated with us in any way."
"Oh, I see. How about John?"
"No, I think not."
"The dear fellow isn't perhaps very bright," I said thoughtfully.
"Here comes Miss Howard," said Poirot suddenly. "She is the very person. But I am in her black books, since I cleared Mr. Inglethorp. Still, we can but try."
With a nod that was barely civil, Miss Howard assented to Poirot's request for a few minutes' conversation.
We went into the little morning-room, and Poirot closed the door.
"Well, Monsieur Poirot," said Miss Howard impatiently, "what is it? Out with it. I'm busy."
"Do you remember, mademoiselle, that I once asked you to help me?"
"Yes, I do." The lady nodded. "And I told you I'd help you with pleasure--to hang Alfred Inglethorp."
"Ah!" Poirot studied her seriously. "Miss Howard, I will ask you one question. I beg of you to reply to it truthfully."
"Never tell lies," replied Miss Howard.
"It is this. Do you still believe that Mrs. Inglethorp was poisoned by her husband?"
"What do you mean?" she asked sharply. "You needn't think your pretty explanations influence me in the slightest. I'll admit that it wasn't he who bought strychnine at the chemist's shop. What of that? I dare say he soaked fly paper, as I told you at the beginning."
"That is arsenic--not strychnine," said Poirot mildly.
"What does that matter? Arsenic would put poor Emily out of the way just as well as strychnine. If I'm convinced he did it, it doesn't matter a jot to me _how_ he did it."
"Exactly. _If_ you are convinced he did it," said Poirot quietly. "I will put my question in another form. Did you ever in your heart of hearts believe that Mrs. Inglethorp was poisoned by her husband?"
"Good heavens!" cried Miss Howard. "Haven't I always told you the man is a villain? Haven't I always told you he would murder her in her bed? Haven't I always hated him like poison?"
"Exactly," said Poirot. "That bears out my little idea entirely."
"What little idea?"
"Miss Howard, do you remember a conversation that took place on the day of my friend's arrival here? He repeated it to me, and there is a sentence of yours that has impressed me very much. Do you remember affirming that if a crime had been committed, and anyone you loved had been murdered, you felt certain that you would know by instinct who the criminal was, even if you were quite unable to prove it?"
"Yes, I remember saying that. I believe it too. I suppose you think it nonsense?"
"Not at all."
"And yet you will pay no attention to my instinct against Alfred Inglethorp."
"No," said Poirot curtly. "Because your instinct is not against Mr. Inglethorp."
"What?"
"No. You wish to believe he committed the crime. You believe him capable of committing it. But your instinct tells you he did not commit it. It tells you more--shall I go on?"
She was staring at him, fascinated, and made a slight affirmative movement of the hand.
"Shall I tell you why you have been so vehement against Mr. Inglethorp? It is because you have been trying to believe what you wish to believe. It is because you are trying to drown and stifle your instinct, which tells you another name----"
"No, no, no!" cried Miss Howard wildly, flinging up her hands. "Don't say it! Oh, don't say it! It isn't true! It can't be true. I don't know what put such a wild--such a dreadful--idea into my head!"
"I am right, am I not?" asked Poirot.
"Yes, yes; you must be a wizard to have guessed. But it can't be so--it's too monstrous, too impossible. It must be Alfred Inglethorp."
Poirot shook his head gravely.
"Don't ask me about it," continued Miss Howard, "because I shan't tell you. I won't admit it, even to myself. I must be mad to think of such a thing."
Poirot nodded, as if satisfied.
"I will ask you nothing. It is enough for me that it is as I thought. And I--I, too, have an instinct. We are working together towards a common end."
"Don't ask me to help you, because I won't. I wouldn't lift a finger to--to----" She faltered.
"You will help me in spite of yourself. I ask you nothing--but you will be my ally. You will not be able to help yourself. You will do the only thing that I want of you."
"And that is?"
"You will watch!"
Evelyn Howard bowed her head.
"Yes, I can't help doing that. I am always watching--always hoping I shall be proved wrong."
"If we are wrong, well and good," said Poirot. "No one will be more pleased than I shall. But, if we are right? If we are right, Miss Howard, on whose side are you then?"
"I don't know, I don't know----"
"Come now."
"It could be hushed up."
"There must be no hushing up."
"But Emily herself----" She broke off.
"Miss Howard," said Poirot gravely, "this is unworthy of you."
Suddenly she took her face from her hands.
"Yes," she said quietly, "that was not Evelyn Howard who spoke!" She flung her head up proudly. "_This_ is Evelyn Howard! And she is on the side of Justice! Let the cost be what it may." And with these words, she walked firmly out of the room.
"There," said Poirot, looking after her, "goes a very valuable ally. That woman, Hastings, has got brains as well as a heart."
I did not reply.
"Instinct is a marvellous thing," mused Poirot. "It can neither be explained nor ignored."
"You and Miss Howard seem to know what you are talking about," I observed coldly. "Perhaps you don't realize that I am still in the dark."
"Really? Is that so, mon ami?"
"Yes. Enlighten me, will you?"
Poirot studied me attentively for a moment or two. Then, to my intense surprise, he shook his head decidedly.
"No, my friend."
"Oh, look here, why not?"
"Two is enough for a secret."
"Well, I think it is very unfair to keep back facts from me."
"I am not keeping back facts. Every fact that I know is in your possession. You can draw your own deductions from them. This time it is a question of ideas."
"Still, it would be interesting to know."
Poirot looked at me very earnestly, and again shook his head.
"You see," he said sadly, "_you_ have no instincts."
"It was intelligence you were requiring just now," I pointed out.
"The two often go together," said Poirot enigmatically.
The remark seemed so utterly irrelevant that I did not even take the trouble to answer it. But I decided that if I made any interesting and important discoveries--as no doubt I should--I would keep them to myself, and surprise Poirot with the ultimate result.
There are times when it is one's duty to assert oneself.
一阵由于惊呆的沉默。我们当中最少感到意外的贾普第一个开了腔。
“我得说，”他大声说，“你真行！的确如此，波洛先生！你的这些证人都没有搞错吧，我想？”
“那儿的话！我已经列了一张表——开了他们的姓名、地址。当然，你得去看看他们。不过你会发现一点没有错。”
“我相信这一点，”贾普放低了声音。“我非常感激你。差一点要把他给凭空地逮捕起来了。”他转身朝着英格里桑说：“可是，请原谅，先生，你为什么不在审讯时说出全部情况呢？”
“我来告诉你为什么，”波洛打断了他的话。“据某种谣传——”
“这是个最恶毒的、彻头彻尾的谣言，”阿弗雷德·英格里桑声音颤抖地打断说。
“英格里桑先生迫切希望不要有眼下在传的这种流言蜚语。我说得对吗？”
“很对，”英格里桑点点头，说。“我可怜的埃米莉还没安葬，我迫切希望这种谣言不再出现，这你会感到奇怪吗？”
“我和你想法不同，先生，”贾普说，“在我，与其因谋杀被捕，宁愿不管有多少流言了。我冒昧地认为，就连你那位可怜的太太，也许都会这样看的。要是没有波洛先生在这儿，你完全有可能已经被捕了，一点不假！”
“我也许是太愚蠢了，”英格里桑咕哝说。“可是你不知道，巡官先生，我已经受够迫害和诽谤了。”说着，他朝伊夫琳·霍华德狠狠地瞪了一眼。
“先生，”贾普敏捷地转身朝向约翰，说，“对不起，现在我想去看看老太太的卧室，接下去我还要和佣人们简单聊一聊。不必你多费神了。有波洛先生在这儿，他会给我引路的。”
一待他们都走出房间，波洛就转身对我示意，要我跟他上楼。到了楼上，他抓住我的手臂，把我拉到一旁。
“快，到另一侧去。站在那儿——就在厚呢盖着的门这一边。在我到来之前，别走动。”随后，他迅速回转身；重又和两个侦探一起走了。
我遵从他的指示，到了厚呢盖着的门旁边的位置上，我闹不清在这一要求的后面有什么安排。干么我一定站在这么个特指的地点守着呢？我深思地朝前面的过道注视着。我脑子里出现了一个想法。除了辛西娅·穆多契的之外，所有人的房间都在左侧。是不是有什么和这有关呢？我得报告谁来谁往吗？我忠实地站在自己的岗位上。几分钟过去了。没有一个人来。什么事都没有发生。
很可能过了约摸二十来分钟，波洛上我这儿来了。
“你没走动吧？”
“没有，我一直象块磐石似地安在这几。什么事都没发生。”
“嗨！”他是高兴呢，还是失望？“你一点东西都没有看到？”
“没有。”
“你也许听到什么了吧？猛地一撞——呢，朋友？”
“没有。”
“这可能么？嘿，我这是在自找烦恼！我一向不算笨的，只是轻轻做了个手势，”——我懂得波洛的手势——“我用左手掀翻了床边的桌子！”
他看上去如此孩子般地苦恼而又垂头丧气，于是我连忙安慰他。
“不要紧，老朋友。这有什么关系？你楼下的胜利鼓励着你哪。我可以告诉你，那使我们大家都感到意外。在英格里桑和雷克斯太太的这一不正当关系中，一定还有比我们想到的更多的情况，所以才使得他如此顽固地不肯开口。现在你打算怎么办？伦敦警察厅两位伙计哪儿去啦？”
“下楼和佣人们谈话去了。我给他们着了我们所有的证据。我对贾普很失望。他拿不出什么办法！”
“喂！”我朝窗外看看，说。“鲍斯坦医生在这儿。我认为你对他的看法是对的，波洛。我也不喜欢他。”
“此人挺机灵，”波洛沉思着说。
“哦，机灵得象魔鬼！我得说，看到他星期二进屋时的那股狼狈相，我真高兴极了。你一定从来没有见到过这样的场面！”于是我把那天医生的冒险活动描绘了一番。“他看上去十足象个田里的稻草人！从头到脚一身泥。”
“那未，你看到他了？”
“是呀，当然看到了。他不愿进来——那时刚吃好晚饭——可是英格里桑先生定要他进来。”
“什么？”波洛使劲地抓住了我的肩膀。“星期二傍晚鲍斯坦医生在这儿？在这儿？你从来没有告诉过我呀？你为什么不告诉我？为什么？为什么？”
他简直象要发疯似的。
“我亲爱的波洛，”我劝告说，“我从来没有想到，你会对这感兴趣的呀，我不知道它有什么重要。”
“什么重要？它头等重要！这么说，鲍斯坦医生星期二晚上——谋杀的这个晚上——在这儿。哈斯丁呀，你还没懂吗？这改变了一切——一切！”
我从来没有看到过他这样心烦意乱。他松开了抓住我的手，机械地摆弄着一对烛台，嘴里仍自言自语地喃喃叨念着：“是呀，这改变了一切——一切！”
“突然，他似乎做出了一个决定。”
“好吧！”他说。“我们必须马上行动。卡文迪什先生在哪儿？”
约瀚正在吸烟室里。波洛径直到了他那里。
“卡文迪什先生，我要去塔明斯特办件重要的事，有个新线索。我可以乘你的汽车吗？”
“哦，当然可以。你是说马上？”
“是的，对不起。”
约翰按了按铃，吩咐把车开过来。十分钟后，我们就已乘车经过园林，疾驰在前往塔明斯特的公路上了。
“波洛，”我顺从地说，“也许现在你可以告诉我有关这一切了吧？”
“好吧，朋友，有许多情况你自己是可以猜测到的。当然，你也了解，现在英格里桑先生解脱了，整个形势已经大大改变。我们面临的是完全新的问题。现在我们知道的，没有去买过毒药的有一个人。我们已经排除掉那些虚构的线索，现在得找到真正的线索。我已经查明，除了那位正在和你打网球的卡文迪什太太外，这家人家的任何一个人星期一傍晚都有可能冒充了英格里桑先生。同时，我们已经听过他的陈述，他把咖啡放在过道里了。审讯时，没有一个人对此多加注意——可是现在，它有着十分不同的意义。我们必须查明最后到底是谁把那杯咖啡送给英格里桑太太的，或者是在它搁在那儿时，有谁经过过道。据你说，只有两个人我们可以肯定说她们没有走近过那杯咖啡——就是卡文迪什太太，还有辛西娅小姐。”
“是的，是那样，”我感到心情变得无法形容的轻松。玛丽·卡文迪什当然不应该受到怀疑。
“在解脱阿弗雷德·英格里桑的过程中，”波洛继续说，“我还来不及仔细考虑，就被迫摊牌了。当我也许被认为是在迫踪他的时候，罪犯可能已放松了警惕，可是现在，他会加倍地小心。是的——会加倍小心。”他突然转身朝我问道：“如实告诉我，哈斯丁，你有没有怀疑什么人？”
我犹豫着。老实说，那天早上我脑子里曾经有一、两次闪过一个念头，这念头本身是轻率的，过份的。我已经因其荒谬而加以排斥，然而它仍固执地保留着。
“你不能把这叫做怀疑。”我喃喃地说。“它是十分可笑的。”
“说吧，”波洛鼓励地催促说，“别害怕，把你的想法说出来。你得一直注意你的直觉。”
“那好吧，”我脱口说出，“这说来是荒谬的——不过，我总怀疑霍华德小姐没有说出她所知道的全部情况！”
“霍华德小姐？…
“是的——你要笑我了——”
“一点也不。我干么要笑？”
“我总觉得，”我继续象犯了错误似他说，“我们有点把她搁在可能的怀疑范围之外了，单凭她已经离开了这儿这一点。可是，离这儿毕竟只有十五英里呀。车子半小时就能到。我们能肯定说发生谋杀那天晚上她一定不在斯泰尔斯么？”
“是呀，我的朋友，”波洛出乎意外地说，“我们能肯定。我的第一个行动就是打电话给她工作的那个医院。”
“是么？”
“是的，我获悉，星期二那天，她做下午班，而——突然来了一个伤员护送队——她欣然提出继续留着做夜班，这一提议被十分感激地接受了。事情就是这样。”
“哦！”我感到相当狼狈。“说实在，”我继续说，“她那么出奇地激烈反对英格里桑，倒使我怀疑起她来了。我总觉得，她事事都反对他。因此，我有一个想法，有关烧毁遗嘱方面。她也许知道点什么。也许是她烧掉了这份新的遗嘱，把它错当成比较早的于他有利的那份了。她也恨死他了。”
“你认为她的激烈反常吗？”
“是——的。她太激烈了。我实在怀疑她在这个问题上是否神志正常。”
波洛使劲地摇着头。
“不，不，这你方向完全不对头了。霍华德小姐脑子既没有毛病，智力也没有衰退。她是个神志健全、身强力壮的杰出典范。她的神志完全正常。”
“然而她恨英格里桑恨得简直象个疯子了。我的想法是——毫无疑问，这是个很可笑的想法——她想要毒死他——而由于某种原因，英格里桑太太把它给误服了。可是我一点都想不出这可能是怎么发生的。我这整个想法都是极其荒谬可笑的。”
“有一点，你还是对的。应该怀疑每一个人，然后从逻辑上加以验证，直到你自己完全满意，他们确实无罪，这样做始终是明智的。那未，有没有什么理由控告霍华德小姐蓄意毒死英格里桑太太呢？”
“什么！她很忠诚于她的呀！”我惊叫起来。
“嘿！嘿！”波洛急躁地大声说。“你说话象个孩子。要是霍华德小姐有能耐毒死这位老大太，她也就完全有本领装出她对她的忠诚。不，我们必须看看别的方面。你的设想是完全正确的，她反对阿弗雷德·英格里桑的程度已经激烈到不正常了；但是你从中得出的推论是完全错误的。我已经得出了我自己的推论，我相信这是正确的，不过眼下我还不愿说，”他停了一下，然后继续说：“现在，在我看来，说霍华德小姐是个凶手，还有一个难以迈越的障碍。”
“是什么呢？”
“英格里桑太大的死对霍华德小姐毫无好处。因为没有目的的谋杀是没有的。”
我考虑了一下。
“英格里桑太太会不会有可能写过一份于她有利的遗嘱？”
波洛摇摇头。
“可是你自己不是就对韦尔斯先生提到过这种可能吗？”
波洛笑了起来。
“那是有原因的。我不想提到我脑子里实际上想的那个人的名字。而霍华德小姐所处的地位与之有很多相同的地方，所以我就用她的名字来代替了。”
“不过，英格里桑太太也许真的写过。唔，她死那天下午写的那张遗嘱可能——”
可是。波洛的头摇得那么用劲，我只好停下不说了。
“不，朋友，关于那份遗嘱，我有我自己的一些想法。这我可以告诉你许多话——那遗嘱对霍华德小姐没有利。”
我接受他的断言，虽然我并没有真正搞清楚，关于这件事他怎么会如此肯定。
“好吧，”我叹了一口气说，“那未我们得宣判霍华德小姐无罪啦。我之所以一直来怀疑她，部分是由于你的过错。是你说的关于她在审讯时的证词的话，使我引起的。”
波洛显得困惑不解。
“关于她在审讯时的证词，我说了什么啦？”
“你不记得了？当我举例说到她和约翰·卡文迪什可以排除在怀疑对象之外时？”
“啊——哈——是的。”他似乎有点慌乱，可是接着就恢复了镇静。“顺便说一下，有件事情我想要你给我办一下。”
“当然可以。是什么事？”
“下一次你碰上单独和劳伦斯·卡文迪什在一起时，我想要你对他说这样几句话：‘波洛要我带一个口信给你。他说：‘找到那种特大号咖啡怀，你就可以安心了！’不要多说，也不要少说。”
“‘找到那种特大号咖啡杯，你就可以安心了！’对吗？”我问道，心中十分迷惑不解。
“好极了。”
“可这是什么意思呀？”
“嗳，这我要交给你去发现了。你有机会接触到真相的。只是把这对他说一说，着看他说点什么。”
“这好倒是好，——可是实在太神秘了。”
这时，我们驶进了塔明斯特，波洛指点车子开到“分析化学师”家。
波洛轻快地跳下车子，走了进去。几分钟后他又回来了。
“瞧，”他说。”这就是我的全部工作。”
“你在干什么呀？”我非常好奇地问道。
“我留下一点东西进行分析。”
“我知道，可是到底是什么呀？”
“我从卧室长柄平底锅里取的试样。”
“那已经作过化验了呀！”我喊了起来，惊得发呆了。“鲍斯坦医生已经拿它化验过了，你自己当时还讥笑里面可能有士的宁的说法呢！”
“我知道鲍斯坦医生化验过，”波洛心平气和地回答说。
“那为什么？”
“嗯，我想到要再化验一下，就这么回事。”
有关这个问题，我没能从他那儿再掏出别的话来。
就可可这件事来说，波洛的这种举动使我极为困惑不解。对此，我感到莫明其妙，然而，我信任他，虽然这种信任曾经一度有所减弱，但是，自从他的阿弗雷德·英格里桑是无罪的看法成功地证明是正确的以来，它又完全恢复了。
英格里桑太太的葬礼在第二天举行，在星期一，当我下楼来吃晚早餐时，约翰把我拉到一旁，告诉我说，英格里桑先生这天早上就要离开，住到村民公堂去，要住到他得以完成自己的计划。
“想到他要走，实在是一个很大的宽慰，哈斯丁，”我的老实朋友继续说。“以前我们认为事情是他干的，这是非常不好的，而现在，当我们为过去对他那么厌恶而感到内疚时，也决不会更坏。事实是，我们讨厌他。当然，也就事事都对他板面孔了。我看任何人都不会责备我们结论下得武断。而要是我们犯错，现在仍旧这样，还有这种粗鲁的感情的话，就得改正；一个人对他一点也不比从前喜欢的话，那就难办了。这整个事情真是尴尬透了！所以我很感激他的识趣，自动地离开了！母亲没有把斯泰尔斯庄园遗赠给他，这是一件大好事。一想到这个人会在这儿逞威作福，就叫人没法忍受。那样他就可以随意地乱花母亲的钱了。”
“你真的能保住这地方吗？”我问道。
“哦，是的。当然，得付遗产税，可是我父亲的一半财产在这儿，眼下，劳伦斯可以和我们待在一起，也有他的一份。当然，开始时我们会感到拮据一些，因为，正如我曾告诉过你那样，我自己在财务方面还有点亏空。眼下那批家伙还在等着哩。”
由于英格里桑的即将离丢，大家都如释重负，我们吃了一顿发生惨事以来感到最为适意的早餐。辛西娅自然更加精神勃勃，轻松愉快，她看上去又如原来那么健美漂亮了。除了劳伦斯仿佛依然那么忧郁、胆怯外，我们大家都非常高兴，展现在眼前的是一片崭新的，满怀希望的前景。
不用说，报纸上已经连篇累牍地登满了这一惨案的消息。引人注目的大字标题，这家人家每个成员的简历，微妙的影射，以及惯用的、大家所熟悉的诸如“警方已有线索云云”之类的陈词滥调。对我们真是什么都不加吝惜。这是个无精打采的时日，战争一时打得不死不活，于是报纸就使劲地抓住上流社会生活中的这类犯罪行为大做文章，“斯泰尔斯庄园奇案”就是当时的话题。
这自然使卡文迪什家的人十分恼火。这座宅邸不断受到那批新闻记者的包围，他们虽然一直未被允许进入房子，但他们仍继续逗留在村子里，以及在庄园的庭园中。带着照相机埋伏着，等候拍摄这家人家的任何一个未加留神的成员。我们整天都生活在一股宣传的疾风之中。伦敦警察厅的人员来来往往，调查、询问，目光锐利，言语冷淡。至于他们搞出什么结果，我们则一无所知。他们是不是有了线索？还是整个事情仍然处于未被查明的罪行一类？
早餐之后，多卡斯相当神秘地走到我的眼前问我，她是否可以和我说几句话。
“当然可以，是什么事，多卡斯？”
“哦，是这么一回事，先生。今天您多半能见着那位比利时先生吧？”
我点点头。
“是这样，先生，您知道，他特意问过我，我的女主人或者别的什么人，是不是有件绿色的衣服？”
“对，对。你发现一件了吗？”这引起了我的注意。
“不，不是那么回事，先生。不过后来我想起，少爷他们（多卡斯仍旧把约翰和劳伦斯称作‘少爷’）有只什么‘化装箱’，它就在前屋的阁楼里，先生，是口大柜子，里面全装满旧时的衣服和各种化装服饰，什么都有。我突然想到那里面也许有件绿色的女服。因此，请您告诉一下那位比利时先生——”
“我会告诉他的，多卡斯，”我答应说。
“多谢您了，先生。他是一位非常和蔼的先生，他打听事情，问起问题来，和伦敦来的那两位侦探完全不一个样。我通常是不要看外国人的，可是从报纸上说的我了解到，这些勇敢的比利时人是些不同寻常的外国人。确实是这样，他就是一位说话非常和气的先生。”
亲爱的老多卡斯！当她站在那儿，一张诚实坦率的脸向上朝着我，我心里想，她是一个那正在迅速消失的老式女仆的多好的典范啊。
我考虑，我得马上去村子拜访波洛；可是，我在半路上碰上了他，他正来庄园，于是我立即将多卡斯的口信转告了他。
“啊，这位勇敢的多卡斯！我们得去看看那柜子，虽然——不过没有关系——我们还是可以检查的。”
我们通过一扇长窗进入了屋子。门厅里一个人也没有，于是我们就迳直爬上那间阁楼。
一点不错，是有一口柜子，是口精致的老式箱柜，上面全是黄铜的饰钉，里面装满一切可以想得出的衣着服饰。波洛毫不客气地把里面的东西一件件都草草扔到地板上。有一、两样深浅不同的绿色织物，可是波洛看后都摇摇头。他对这次搜查似乎有点冷淡，仿佛他估计到不会有什么大结果。突然，他惊叫了一声。
“那是什么？”
“瞧！”
柜子都快掏空了，就在柜底摊着一大绺漂亮的黑胡子。
“啊！”波洛喊道。“嘿，嗨！”他双手提着它翻看了一阵，仔细作了检查。“新的，”他说。“是的，全新的。”
他踌躇了一会后，把它放回到柜子里，又象原先一样在它上面堆上所有其它的东西，然后敏捷地走下楼来。他径直走向餐具室，我们在那儿找到了正在忙着擦银餐具的多卡斯。
波洛用一种法国人的殷勤态度向她问了好，然后说：
“我们刚才已经仔细查看过那只柜子了，多卡斯，我非常感谢你告诉我这件事。那里面的确收藏了不少东西。我想问问你，那些东西他们常用吗？”
“噢，先生，现今不很常用了，虽然我们还是经常搞，少爷们管它叫‘化装晚会’的那种活动。有时这种活动非常有趣，先生。劳伦斯先生，他扮演得真精彩。好笑极了！我永远不会忘记他扮成波斯查①下楼来的那个晚上。我记得他是那么叫的——这是个东方国家的国王什么的吧。他手握着一把厚纸板做的大刀子，冲我说：‘当心，多卡斯，你得对我恭恭敬敬。这是我的磨得特快的短弯刀。要是你惹得我生起气来，它就叫你脑袋搬家！’辛西娅小姐，他们管她叫阿巴希②，大概是这么个名字——我想这是个法国式的杀人凶手一类的角色吧，她看上去象真的一样。你决不会相信，一个象她那么年轻漂亮的小姐竟能扮成这样一个凶恶的暴徒。没有一个人能认出她来。”
“这些晚会一定有趣极了，”波洛亲切地说。“我想，那次劳伦斯扮成波斯沙时，是戴了柜子里那绺漂亮的黑胡子下楼来的吧？”
“他是戴了一绺胡子，先生，”多卡斯笑着回答说。
“这我全知道，因为为了做这玩意儿，他还向我借过两绞黑绒线呢。我敢说，站得稍远一点的话，它着上去简直象是真的，至于说楼上有一络假胡子，这我一点不知道。我想，那一定是一直后来才买的。头发方面，据我知道，只有一顶红假发，别的就没有了。他们多半是用烧过的软木炭的——虽然在把它洗去时，弄起来很脏。有一次，辛西娅扮一个黑人，哦，她就招了麻烦。”
“这么说多卡斯不知道那绺黑胡子，”当我们出来重又走到过道里时，波洛若有所思地说。
“你认为这就是那一绺？”我热切地低声问道。
波洛点点头。
“我是这么想。它已被修剪过了，你注意到没有？”
“没有。”
“剪过了。完全剪成了英格里桑先生的样子，而且我还发现了一、两根剪下的胡子。哈斯丁，这案子可奥妙哩。”
“我真纳闷，是谁把它放进柜子的呢？”
“是个非常聪明的人，”波洛冷冰冰地说。“他在这幢房子里选择这么一个不会被觉察的地方来藏放它，这你想得到吗？是的，他很聪明。但是我们应该更聪明。我们应该聪明得使他一点都想不到我们是聪明的。”
我默然表示同意。
“瞧，朋友，你对我帮助是很大的。”
听了这赞扬的话，我十分高兴。以前，有时我总感到波洛并没有了解我的真正的价值。
“是的，”他若有所思地注视着我，继续说。“你对我来说是十分宝贵的。”
这自然使我感到非常满意，可是波洛下面的话却叫人不那么高兴了。
“在这幢房子里我必须有一个助手，”他沉思着说。
“有我。”我表示。
“不错，可是你胜任不了。”
我的自尊心受到了伤害，而且表现出来了。波洛急忙解释说：
“你没有完全理解我的意思。大家都知道你正和我在一起工作。我需要一个在任何方面都和我们没有联系的人。”
“哦，我明白了。约翰怎么样？”
“不行。我看不行。
“这位老兄也许不太机灵，”我沉思着说。
“霍华德小姐来了，”波洛突然说。“她正是我所要的人。不过，自从我为英格里桑先生开脱罪责以来，我已失去她的好感了。但是，我们还是可以试一试。”
霍华德小姐点了点头，那是一种极为勉强的礼貌，她总算同意波洛的谈几分钟话的请求。
我们走进小休息室，波洛关上了门。
“好吧，波洛先生，”霍华德个姐不耐烦地说，“有什么事？说吧。我忙着呢。”
“你还记得吗，小姐，我曾经请求你帮助我？”
“是的，我记得。”女士点点头。“我曾告诉你，我很乐意帮助你——绞死阿弗雷德·英洛里桑。”
“啊！”波洛严肃地朝她仔细看着。“霍华德小姐，我想问你一个问题。我要求你能予以如实地回答。”
“从来不会说谎，”霍华德小姐回答说。
“是这么一个问题。你仍然认为英格里桑大太是她的丈夫毒死的吗？”
你这是什么意思？”她尖刻地反问道。“你别以为你那漂亮的解释会对我有丝毫影响。我承认到药店买士的宁的不是他。那有什么？我敢说，他浸泡了毒蝇纸，就象我一开始就告诉你的一样。”
“那是砒霜——不是士的宁，”波洛温和地说。
“那有什么关系？用来干掉可怜的埃米莉，砒霜和士的宁是完全一样的。既然我确信这是他干的，他怎么干，这对我来说毫无关系。”
“确实如此。既然你确信这是他干的，”波洛平静地说。“我想以另一种方式提出我的问题。你从内心来说，到底是不是认为英格里桑太太是她丈夫毒死的？”
“天哪！”霍华德小姐喊了起来。”我不是一直对你们说他是个坏蛋吗？我不是一直对你们说他会把她杀死在床上吗？我不是一直把他恨透了吗？”
“确实如此，”波洛说。“这完全证明了我的一个小小的想法。”
“什么小小的想法？”
“霍华德小姐，你还记得我的朋友刚到这儿那天进行的一次谈话吗？他对我说了，其中你有一句话对我的印象非常深刻。你曾断言，要是发生了犯罪行为，任何一个你所爱的人被谋杀了，你确信，你凭直觉就能知道谁是罪犯，即使你完全不能证实这一点，这你还记得吗？”
“是的，我记得是那么说的。而且我也相信是那样。我猜想，你认为这是胡说八道吧？”
“一点也不。”
“可是你并没有注意到我对阿弗雷德·英格里桑的直觉吧？”
“是的，”波洛直截了当地回答说。“因为你的直觉不是英格里桑先生。”
“什么？”
“是的。你想要相信他犯了罪。你相信他会犯这个罪。但是你的直觉告诉你，他没有犯这个罪。它更多地告诉你的是——我要说下去吗？”
她迷惑不解地注视着他，做了个稍稍表示肯定的手势。
“为什么你一直反对英格里桑先生这么激烈，这我来告诉你好么？这是因为你试图相信你想要相信的事情。这是因为你试图抑制往你的直觉，而你的直觉是告诉你另一个名字——”
“不，不，不！”霍华德小姐挥起双手激动地喊了起来。“别说！哦，别说！这不是真的！这不可能是真的！我不知道我的脑子里怎么会钻进这么个荒唐的——这么个可怕的——念头！”
“我说得对，还是不对？”波洛问道。
“对的，对的；你一定是个能猜善算的男巫。可是事情不可能是这样——这太荒谬了，太不可能了。这一定是阿弗雷德·英格里桑。”
波洛严肃地摇摇头。
“这事别问我了，”霍华德小姐继续说，“我不会告诉你的。我也不会承认，那怕对我自己。一想到这样的事，我就会发疯的。”
波洛点点头，仿佛感到满意。
“我不再问你什么了。对我来说，证实事情如我所想就足够了。我——我也有一种直觉。为了达到共同的目标，我们将携手一起工作。”
“别要求我帮助你，因为我不愿意。我连个小指头都不会提起来——到——”说到这儿她踌躇了。
“你会不由自主地帮助我的。我对你没有要求——但是你会成为我的助手。你不可能去帮助你自己的。你只会去做我希望你做的事情。”
“那是什么呢？”
“你会看到的！”
伊夫琳·霍华德低下了头。
“是的，我不能帮着做那种事情。我要一直等着——一直等到我被证实是错了。”
“要是我们错了，那也好，”波洛说。“没有一个人会比我更高兴的。可是，要是我们对了呢？要是我们对了，霍华德小姐，那时你站在谁的一边呢？”
“我不知道，我不知道——”
“好吧。”
“这事可以下作声张。”
“没有必要秘而不宣。”
“可是埃米莉本人——”她突然停下不说了。
“霍华德小姐，”波洛严肃地说，“这对你来说是不相称的。”
她突然仰起埋在手中的脸。
“是的，”她镇静地说，“那可不是伊夫琳·霍华德说的话！”她蓦地骄傲地把头向上一甩。这才是伊夫琳·霍华德的话！她要站在正义一边！要付多大代价就让它付多大代价吧！”说着，她跨着坚定的步伐走出了房间。
“瞧！”波洛看着她的背影说，“一个多有价值的助手。这个女人，哈斯丁，她是很有头脑，很有心眼的。”
我没有应声。
“直觉是一种不可思议的东西，”波洛若有所思地说。“它既没法解释，又不能忽视。”
“你和霍华德小姐似乎都知道你们在谈什么，”我冷冷地说。”也许你还没意识到我可仍在五里雾中。”
“真的？是这样，我的朋友？”
“是的。给我开导开导，行吗？“
波洛朝我仔细地打量了一会。接着，使我极为惊诧的是，他坚决地摇摆头。
“不行，我的朋友。”
“啊，瞧你，为什么不行？”
“一个秘密最多两人知。”
“嘿，我认为，对我也保密，这很不公平。”
“我没有保密。我知道的每一个事实，你都了解。你可以从中作出自己的推论。现在是个思考的问题。”
"My word," he cried, "you're the goods! And no mistake, Mr. Poirot! These witnesses of yours are all right, I suppose?"
"Voila! I have prepared a list of them--names and addresses. You must see them, of course. But you will find it all right."
"I'm sure of that." Japp lowered his voice. "I'm much obliged to you. A pretty mare's nest arresting him would have been." He turned to Inglethorp. "But, if you'll excuse me, sir, why couldn't you say all this at the inquest?"
"I will tell you why," interrupted Poirot. "There was a certain rumour----"
"A most malicious and utterly untrue one," interrupted Alfred Inglethorp in an agitated voice.
"And Mr. Inglethorp was anxious to have no scandal revived just at present. Am I right?"
"Quite right." Inglethorp nodded. "With my poor Emily not yet buried, can you wonder I was anxious that no more lying rumours should be started."
"Between you and me, sir," remarked Japp, "I'd sooner have any amount of rumours than be arrested for murder. And I venture to think your poor lady would have felt the same. And, if it hadn't been for Mr. Poirot here, arrested you would have been, as sure as eggs is eggs!"
"I was foolish, no doubt," murmured Inglethorp. "But you do not know, inspector, how I have been persecuted and maligned." And he shot a baleful glance at Evelyn Howard.
"Now, sir," said Japp, turning briskly to John, "I should like to see the lady's bedroom, please, and after that I'll have a little chat with the servants. Don't you bother about anything. Mr. Poirot, here, will show me the way."
As they all went out of the room, Poirot turned and made me a sign to follow him upstairs. There he caught me by the arm, and drew me aside.
"Quick, go to the other wing. Stand there--just this side of the baize door. Do not move till I come." Then, turning rapidly, he rejoined the two detectives.
I followed his instructions, taking up my position by the baize door, and wondering what on earth lay behind the request. Why was I to stand in this particular spot on guard? I looked thoughtfully down the corridor in front of me. An idea struck me. With the exception of Cynthia Murdoch's, every one's room was in this left wing. Had that anything to do with it? Was I to report who came or went? I stood faithfully at my post. The minutes passed. Nobody came. Nothing happened.
It must have been quite twenty minutes before Poirot rejoined me.
"You have not stirred?"
"No, I've stuck here like a rock. Nothing's happened."
"Ah!" Was he pleased, or disappointed? "You've seen nothing at all?"
"No."
"But you have probably heard something? A big bump--eh, mon ami?"
"No."
"Is it possible? Ah, but I am vexed with myself! I am not usually clumsy. I made but a slight gesture"--I know Poirot's gestures--"with the left hand, and over went the table by the bed!"
He looked so childishly vexed and crest-fallen that I hastened to console him.
"Never mind, old chap. What does it matter? Your triumph downstairs excited you. I can tell you, that was a surprise to us all. There must be more in this affair of Inglethorp's with Mrs. Raikes than we thought, to make him hold his tongue so persistently. What are you going to do now? Where are the Scotland Yard fellows?"
"Gone down to interview the servants. I showed them all our exhibits. I am disappointed in Japp. He has no method!"
"Hullo!" I said, looking out of the window. "Here's Dr. Bauerstein. I believe you're right about that man, Poirot. I don't like him."
"He is clever," observed Poirot meditatively.
"Oh, clever as the devil! I must say I was overjoyed to see him in the plight he was in on Tuesday. You never saw such a spectacle!" And I described the doctor's adventure. "He looked a regular scarecrow! Plastered with mud from head to foot."
"You saw him, then?"
"Yes. Of course, he didn't want to come in--it was just after dinner--but Mr. Inglethorp insisted."
"What?" Poirot caught me violently by the shoulders. "Was Dr. Bauerstein here on Tuesday evening? Here? And you never told me? Why did you not tell me? Why? Why?"
He appeared to be in an absolute frenzy.
"My dear Poirot," I expostulated, "I never thought it would interest you. I didn't know it was of any importance."
"Importance? It is of the first importance! So Dr. Bauerstein was here on Tuesday night--the night of the murder. Hastings, do you not see? That alters everything--everything!"
I had never seen him so upset. Loosening his hold of me, he mechanically straightened a pair of candlesticks, still murmuring to himself: "Yes, that alters everything--everything."
Suddenly he seemed to come to a decision.
"Allons!" he said. "We must act at once. Where is Mr. Cavendish?"
John was in the smoking-room. Poirot went straight to him.
"Mr. Cavendish, I have some important business in Tadminster. A new clue. May I take your motor?"
"Why, of course. Do you mean at once?"
"If you please."
John rang the bell, and ordered round the car. In another ten minutes, we were racing down the park and along the high road to Tadminster.
"Now, Poirot," I remarked resignedly, "perhaps you will tell me what all this is about?"
"Well, mon ami, a good deal you can guess for yourself. Of course you realize that, now Mr. Inglethorp is out of it, the whole position is greatly changed. We are face to face with an entirely new problem. We know now that there is one person who did not buy the poison. We have cleared away the manufactured clues. Now for the real ones. I have ascertained that anyone in the household, with the exception of Mrs. Cavendish, who was playing tennis with you, could have personated Mr. Inglethorp on Monday evening. In the same way, we have his statement that he put the coffee down in the hall. No one took much notice of that at the inquest--but now it has a very different significance. We must find out who did take that coffee to Mrs. Inglethorp eventually, or who passed through the hall whilst it was standing there. From your account, there are only two people whom we can positively say did not go near the coffee--Mrs. Cavendish, and Mademoiselle Cynthia."
"Yes, that is so." I felt an inexpressible lightening of the heart. Mary Cavendish could certainly not rest under suspicion.
"In clearing Alfred Inglethorp," continued Poirot, "I have been obliged to show my hand sooner than I intended. As long as I might be thought to be pursuing him, the criminal would be off his guard. Now, he will be doubly careful. Yes--doubly careful." He turned to me abruptly. "Tell me, Hastings, you yourself--have you no suspicions of anybody?"
I hesitated. To tell the truth, an idea, wild and extravagant in itself, had once or twice that morning flashed through my brain. I had rejected it as absurd, nevertheless it persisted.
"You couldn't call it a suspicion," I murmured. "It's so utterly foolish."
"Come now," urged Poirot encouragingly. "Do not fear. Speak your mind. You should always pay attention to your instincts."
"Well then," I blurted out, "it's absurd--but I suspect Miss Howard of not telling all she knows!"
"Miss Howard?"
"Yes--you'll laugh at me----"
"Not at all. Why should I?"
"I can't help feeling," I continued blunderingly; "that we've rather left her out of the possible suspects, simply on the strength of her having been away from the place. But, after all, she was only fifteen miles away. A car would do it in half an hour. Can we say positively that she was away from Styles on the night of the murder?"
"Yes, my friend," said Poirot unexpectedly, "we can. One of my first actions was to ring up the hospital where she was working."
"Well?"
"Well, I learnt that Miss Howard had been on afternoon duty on Tuesday, and that--a convoy coming in unexpectedly--she had kindly offered to remain on night duty, which offer was gratefully accepted. That disposes of that."
"Oh!" I said, rather nonplussed. "Really," I continued, "it's her extraordinary vehemence against Inglethorp that started me off suspecting her. I can't help feeling she'd do anything against him. And I had an idea she might know something about the destroying of the will. She might have burnt the new one, mistaking it for the earlier one in his favour. She is so terribly bitter against him."
"You consider her vehemence unnatural?"
"Y--es. She is so very violent. I wondered really whether she is quite sane on that point."
Poirot shook his head energetically.
"No, no, you are on a wrong tack there. There is nothing weak-minded or degenerate about Miss Howard. She is an excellent specimen of well-balanced English beef and brawn. She is sanity itself."
"Yet her hatred of Inglethorp seems almost a mania. My idea was--a very ridiculous one, no doubt--that she had intended to poison him--and that, in some way, Mrs. Inglethorp got hold of it by mistake. But I don't at all see how it could have been done. The whole thing is absurd and ridiculous to the last degree."
"Still you are right in one thing. It is always wise to suspect everybody until you can prove logically, and to your own satisfaction, that they are innocent. Now, what reasons are there against Miss Howard's having deliberately poisoned Mrs. Inglethorp?"
"Why, she was devoted to her!" I exclaimed.
"Tcha! Tcha!" cried Poirot irritably. "You argue like a child. If Miss Howard were capable of poisoning the old lady, she would be quite equally capable of simulating devotion. No, we must look elsewhere. You are perfectly correct in your assumption that her vehemence against Alfred Inglethorp is too violent to be natural; but you are quite wrong in the deduction you draw from it. I have drawn my own deductions, which I believe to be correct, but I will not speak of them at present." He paused a minute, then went on. "Now, to my way of thinking, there is one insuperable objection to Miss Howard's being the murderess."
"And that is?"
"That in no possible way could Mrs. Inglethorp's death benefit Miss Howard. Now there is no murder without a motive."
I reflected.
"Could not Mrs. Inglethorp have made a will in her favour?" Poirot shook his head.
"But you yourself suggested that possibility to Mr. Wells?"
Poirot smiled.
"That was for a reason. I did not want to mention the name of the person who was actually in my mind. Miss Howard occupied very much the same position, so I used her name instead."
"Still, Mrs. Inglethorp might have done so. Why, that will, made on the afternoon of her death may----"
But Poirot's shake of the head was so energetic that I stopped.
"No, my friend. I have certain little ideas of my own about that will. But I can tell you this much--it was not in Miss Howard's favour."
I accepted his assurance, though I did not really see how he could be so positive about the matter.
"Well," I said, with a sigh, "we will acquit Miss Howard, then. It is partly your fault that I ever came to suspect her. It was what you said about her evidence at the inquest that set me off."
Poirot looked puzzled.
"What did I say about her evidence at the inquest?"
"Don't you remember? When I cited her and John Cavendish as being above suspicion?"
"Oh--ah--yes." He seemed a little confused, but recovered himself. "By the way, Hastings, there is something I want you to do for me."
"Certainly. What is it?"
"Next time you happen to be alone with Lawrence Cavendish, I want you to say this to him. 'I have a message for you, from Poirot. He says: "Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace!" ' Nothing more. Nothing less."
" 'Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace.' Is that right?" I asked, much mystified.
"Excellent."
"But what does it mean?"
"Ah, that I will leave you to find out. You have access to the facts. Just say that to him, and see what he says."
"Very well--but it's all extremely mysterious."
We were running into Tadminster now, and Poirot directed the car to the "Analytical Chemist."
Poirot hopped down briskly, and went inside. In a few minutes he was back again.
"There," he said. "That is all my business."
"What were you doing there?" I asked, in lively curiosity.
"I left something to be analysed."
"Yes, but what?"
"The sample of coco I took from the saucepan in the bedroom."
"But that has already been tested!" I cried, stupefied. "Dr. Bauerstein had it tested, and you yourself laughed at the possibility of there being strychnine in it."
"I know Dr. Bauerstein had it tested," replied Poirot quietly.
"Well, then?"
"Well, I have a fancy for having it analysed again, that is all."
And not another word on the subject could I drag out of him.
This proceeding of Poirot's, in respect of the coco, puzzled me intensely. I could see neither rhyme nor reason in it. However, my confidence in him, which at one time had rather waned, was fully restored since his belief in Alfred Inglethorp's innocence had been so triumphantly vindicated.
The funeral of Mrs. Inglethorp took place the following day, and on Monday, as I came down to a late breakfast, John drew me aside, and informed me that Mr. Inglethorp was leaving that morning, to take up his quarters at the Stylites Arms until he should have completed his plans.
"And really it's a great relief to think he's going, Hastings," continued my honest friend. "It was bad enough before, when we thought he'd done it, but I'm hanged if it isn't worse now, when we all feel guilty for having been so down on the fellow. The fact is, we've treated him abominably. Of course, things did look black against him. I don't see how anyone could blame us for jumping to the conclusions we did. Still, there it is, we were in the wrong, and now there's a beastly feeling that one ought to make amends; which is difficult, when one doesn't like the fellow a bit better than one did before. The whole thing's damned awkward! And I'm thankful he's had the tact to take himself off. It's a good thing Styles wasn't the mater's to leave to him. Couldn't bear to think of the fellow fording it here. He's welcome to her money."
"You'll be able to keep up the place all right?" I asked.
"Oh, yes. There are the death duties, of course, but half my father's money goes with the place, and Lawrence will stay with us for the present, so there is his share as well. We shall be pinched at first, of course, because, as I once told you, I am in a bit of a hole financially myself. Still, the Johnnies will wait now."
In the general relief at Inglethorp's approaching departure, we had the most genial breakfast we had experienced since the tragedy. Cynthia, whose young spirits were naturally buoyant, was looking quite her pretty self again, and we all, with the exception of Lawrence, who seemed unalterably gloomy and nervous, were quietly cheerful, at the opening of a new and hopeful future.
The papers, of course, had been full of the tragedy. Glaring headlines, sandwiched biographies of every member of the household, subtle innuendoes, the usual familiar tag about the police having a clue. Nothing was spared us. It was a slack time. The war was momentarily inactive, and the newspapers seized with avidity on this crime in fashionable life: "The Mysterious Affair at Styles" was the topic of the moment.
Naturally it was very annoying for the Cavendishes. The house was constantly besieged by reporters, who were consistently denied admission, but who continued to haunt the village and the grounds, where they lay in wait with cameras, for any unwary members of the household. We all lived in a blast of publicity. The Scotland Yard men came and went, examining, questioning, lynx-eyed and reserved of tongue. Towards what end they were working, we did not know. Had they any clue, or would the whole thing remain in the category of undiscovered crimes?
After breakfast, Dorcas came up to me rather mysteriously, and asked if she might have a few words with me.
"Certainly. What is it, Dorcas?"
"Well, it's just this, sir. You'll be seeing the Belgian gentleman to-day perhaps?" I nodded. "Well, sir, you know how he asked me so particular if the mistress, or anyone else, had a green dress?"
"Yes, yes. You have found one?" My interest was aroused.
"No, not that, sir. But since then I've remembered what the young gentlemen"--John and Lawrence were still the "young gentlemen" to Dorcas--"call the 'dressing-up box.' It's up in the front attic, sir. A great chest, full of old clothes and fancy dresses, and what not. And it came to me sudden like that there might be a green dress amongst them. So, if you'd tell the Belgian gentleman----"
"I will tell him, Dorcas," I promised.
"Thank you very much, sir. A very nice gentleman he is, sir. And quite a different class from them two detectives from London, what goes prying about, and asking questions. I don't hold with foreigners as a rule, but from what the newspapers say I make out as how these brave Belges isn't the ordinary run of foreigners, and certainly he's a most polite spoken gentleman."
Dear old Dorcas! As she stood there, with her honest face upturned to mine, I thought what a fine specimen she was of the old-fashioned servant that is so fast dying out.
I thought I might as well go down to the village at once, and look up Poirot; but I met him half-way, coming up to the house, and at once gave him Dorcas's message.
"Ah, the brave Dorcas! We will look at the chest, although--but no matter--we will examine it all the same."
We entered the house by one of the windows. There was no one in the hall, and we went straight up to the attic.
Sure enough, there was the chest, a fine old piece, all studded with brass nails, and full to overflowing with every imaginable type of garment.
Poirot bundled everything out on the floor with scant ceremony. There were one or two green fabrics of varying shades; but Poirot shook his head over them all. He seemed somewhat apathetic in the search, as though he expected no great results from it. Suddenly he gave an exclamation.
"What is it?"
"Look!"
The chest was nearly empty, and there, reposing right at the bottom, was a magnificent black beard.
"Oho!" said Poirot. "Oho!" He turned it over in his hands, examining it closely. "New," he remarked. "Yes, quite new."
After a moment's hesitation, he replaced it in the chest, heaped all the other things on top of it as before, and made his way briskly downstairs. He went straight to the pantry, where we found Dorcas busily polishing her silver.
Poirot wished her good morning with Gallic politeness, and went on:
"We have been looking through that chest, Dorcas. I am much obliged to you for mentioning it. There is, indeed, a fine collection there. Are they often used, may I ask?"
"Well, sir, not very often nowadays, though from time to time we do have what the young gentlemen call 'a dress-up night.' And very funny it is sometimes, sir. Mr. Lawrence, he's wonderful. Most comic! I shall never forget the night he came down as the Char of Persia, I think he called it--a sort of Eastern King it was. He had the big paper knife in his hand, and 'Mind, Dorcas,' he says, 'you'll have to be very respectful. This is my specially sharpened scimitar, and it's off with your head if I'm at all displeased with you!' Miss Cynthia, she was what they call an Apache, or some such name--a Frenchified sort of cut-throat, I take it to be. A real sight she looked. You'd never have believed a pretty young lady like that could have made herself into such a ruffian. Nobody would have known her."
"These evenings must have been great fun," said Poirot genially. "I suppose Mr. Lawrence wore that fine black beard in the chest upstairs, when he was Shah of Persia?"
"He did have a beard, sir," replied Dorcas, smiling. "And well I know it, for he borrowed two skeins of my black wool to make it with! And I'm sure it looked wonderfully natural at a distance. I didn't know as there was a beard up there at all. It must have been got quite lately, I think. There was a red wig, I know, but nothing else in the way of hair. Burnt corks they use mostly--though 'tis messy getting it off again. Miss Cynthia was a nigger once, and, oh, the trouble she had."
"So Dorcas knows nothing about that black beard," said Poirot thoughtfully, as we walked out into the hall again.
"Do you think it is _the_ one?" I whispered eagerly.
Poirot nodded.
"I do. You notice it had been trimmed?"
"No."
"Yes. It was cut exactly the shape of Mr. Inglethorp's, and I found one or two snipped hairs. Hastings, this affair is very deep."
"Who put it in the chest, I wonder?"
"Some one with a good deal of intelligence," remarked Poirot dryly. "You realize that he chose the one place in the house to hide it where its presence would not be remarked? Yes, he is intelligent. But we must be more intelligent. We must be so intelligent that he does not suspect us of being intelligent at all."
I acquiesced.
"There, mon ami, you will be of great assistance to me."
I was pleased with the compliment. There had been times when I hardly thought that Poirot appreciated me at my true worth.
"Yes," he continued, staring at me thoughtfully, "you will be invaluable."
This was naturally gratifying, but Poirot's next words were not so welcome.
"I must have an ally in the house," he observed reflectively.
"You have me," I protested.
"True, but you are not sufficient."
I was hurt, and showed it. Poirot hurried to explain himself.
"You do not quite take my meaning. You are known to be working with me. I want somebody who is not associated with us in any way."
"Oh, I see. How about John?"
"No, I think not."
"The dear fellow isn't perhaps very bright," I said thoughtfully.
"Here comes Miss Howard," said Poirot suddenly. "She is the very person. But I am in her black books, since I cleared Mr. Inglethorp. Still, we can but try."
With a nod that was barely civil, Miss Howard assented to Poirot's request for a few minutes' conversation.
We went into the little morning-room, and Poirot closed the door.
"Well, Monsieur Poirot," said Miss Howard impatiently, "what is it? Out with it. I'm busy."
"Do you remember, mademoiselle, that I once asked you to help me?"
"Yes, I do." The lady nodded. "And I told you I'd help you with pleasure--to hang Alfred Inglethorp."
"Ah!" Poirot studied her seriously. "Miss Howard, I will ask you one question. I beg of you to reply to it truthfully."
"Never tell lies," replied Miss Howard.
"It is this. Do you still believe that Mrs. Inglethorp was poisoned by her husband?"
"What do you mean?" she asked sharply. "You needn't think your pretty explanations influence me in the slightest. I'll admit that it wasn't he who bought strychnine at the chemist's shop. What of that? I dare say he soaked fly paper, as I told you at the beginning."
"That is arsenic--not strychnine," said Poirot mildly.
"What does that matter? Arsenic would put poor Emily out of the way just as well as strychnine. If I'm convinced he did it, it doesn't matter a jot to me _how_ he did it."
"Exactly. _If_ you are convinced he did it," said Poirot quietly. "I will put my question in another form. Did you ever in your heart of hearts believe that Mrs. Inglethorp was poisoned by her husband?"
"Good heavens!" cried Miss Howard. "Haven't I always told you the man is a villain? Haven't I always told you he would murder her in her bed? Haven't I always hated him like poison?"
"Exactly," said Poirot. "That bears out my little idea entirely."
"What little idea?"
"Miss Howard, do you remember a conversation that took place on the day of my friend's arrival here? He repeated it to me, and there is a sentence of yours that has impressed me very much. Do you remember affirming that if a crime had been committed, and anyone you loved had been murdered, you felt certain that you would know by instinct who the criminal was, even if you were quite unable to prove it?"
"Yes, I remember saying that. I believe it too. I suppose you think it nonsense?"
"Not at all."
"And yet you will pay no attention to my instinct against Alfred Inglethorp."
"No," said Poirot curtly. "Because your instinct is not against Mr. Inglethorp."
"What?"
"No. You wish to believe he committed the crime. You believe him capable of committing it. But your instinct tells you he did not commit it. It tells you more--shall I go on?"
She was staring at him, fascinated, and made a slight affirmative movement of the hand.
"Shall I tell you why you have been so vehement against Mr. Inglethorp? It is because you have been trying to believe what you wish to believe. It is because you are trying to drown and stifle your instinct, which tells you another name----"
"No, no, no!" cried Miss Howard wildly, flinging up her hands. "Don't say it! Oh, don't say it! It isn't true! It can't be true. I don't know what put such a wild--such a dreadful--idea into my head!"
"I am right, am I not?" asked Poirot.
"Yes, yes; you must be a wizard to have guessed. But it can't be so--it's too monstrous, too impossible. It must be Alfred Inglethorp."
Poirot shook his head gravely.
"Don't ask me about it," continued Miss Howard, "because I shan't tell you. I won't admit it, even to myself. I must be mad to think of such a thing."
Poirot nodded, as if satisfied.
"I will ask you nothing. It is enough for me that it is as I thought. And I--I, too, have an instinct. We are working together towards a common end."
"Don't ask me to help you, because I won't. I wouldn't lift a finger to--to----" She faltered.
"You will help me in spite of yourself. I ask you nothing--but you will be my ally. You will not be able to help yourself. You will do the only thing that I want of you."
"And that is?"
"You will watch!"
Evelyn Howard bowed her head.
"Yes, I can't help doing that. I am always watching--always hoping I shall be proved wrong."
"If we are wrong, well and good," said Poirot. "No one will be more pleased than I shall. But, if we are right? If we are right, Miss Howard, on whose side are you then?"
"I don't know, I don't know----"
"Come now."
"It could be hushed up."
"There must be no hushing up."
"But Emily herself----" She broke off.
"Miss Howard," said Poirot gravely, "this is unworthy of you."
Suddenly she took her face from her hands.
"Yes," she said quietly, "that was not Evelyn Howard who spoke!" She flung her head up proudly. "_This_ is Evelyn Howard! And she is on the side of Justice! Let the cost be what it may." And with these words, she walked firmly out of the room.
"There," said Poirot, looking after her, "goes a very valuable ally. That woman, Hastings, has got brains as well as a heart."
I did not reply.
"Instinct is a marvellous thing," mused Poirot. "It can neither be explained nor ignored."
"You and Miss Howard seem to know what you are talking about," I observed coldly. "Perhaps you don't realize that I am still in the dark."
"Really? Is that so, mon ami?"
"Yes. Enlighten me, will you?"
Poirot studied me attentively for a moment or two. Then, to my intense surprise, he shook his head decidedly.
"No, my friend."
"Oh, look here, why not?"
"Two is enough for a secret."
"Well, I think it is very unfair to keep back facts from me."
"I am not keeping back facts. Every fact that I know is in your possession. You can draw your own deductions from them. This time it is a question of ideas."
"Still, it would be interesting to know."
Poirot looked at me very earnestly, and again shook his head.
"You see," he said sadly, "_you_ have no instincts."
"It was intelligence you were requiring just now," I pointed out.
"The two often go together," said Poirot enigmatically.
The remark seemed so utterly irrelevant that I did not even take the trouble to answer it. But I decided that if I made any interesting and important discoveries--as no doubt I should--I would keep them to myself, and surprise Poirot with the ultimate result.
There are times when it is one's duty to assert oneself.
一阵由于惊呆的沉默。我们当中最少感到意外的贾普第一个开了腔。
“我得说，”他大声说，“你真行！的确如此，波洛先生！你的这些证人都没有搞错吧，我想？”
“那儿的话！我已经列了一张表——开了他们的姓名、地址。当然，你得去看看他们。不过你会发现一点没有错。”
“我相信这一点，”贾普放低了声音。“我非常感激你。差一点要把他给凭空地逮捕起来了。”他转身朝着英格里桑说：“可是，请原谅，先生，你为什么不在审讯时说出全部情况呢？”
“我来告诉你为什么，”波洛打断了他的话。“据某种谣传——”
“这是个最恶毒的、彻头彻尾的谣言，”阿弗雷德·英格里桑声音颤抖地打断说。
“英格里桑先生迫切希望不要有眼下在传的这种流言蜚语。我说得对吗？”
“很对，”英格里桑点点头，说。“我可怜的埃米莉还没安葬，我迫切希望这种谣言不再出现，这你会感到奇怪吗？”
“我和你想法不同，先生，”贾普说，“在我，与其因谋杀被捕，宁愿不管有多少流言了。我冒昧地认为，就连你那位可怜的太太，也许都会这样看的。要是没有波洛先生在这儿，你完全有可能已经被捕了，一点不假！”
“我也许是太愚蠢了，”英格里桑咕哝说。“可是你不知道，巡官先生，我已经受够迫害和诽谤了。”说着，他朝伊夫琳·霍华德狠狠地瞪了一眼。
“先生，”贾普敏捷地转身朝向约翰，说，“对不起，现在我想去看看老太太的卧室，接下去我还要和佣人们简单聊一聊。不必你多费神了。有波洛先生在这儿，他会给我引路的。”
一待他们都走出房间，波洛就转身对我示意，要我跟他上楼。到了楼上，他抓住我的手臂，把我拉到一旁。
“快，到另一侧去。站在那儿——就在厚呢盖着的门这一边。在我到来之前，别走动。”随后，他迅速回转身；重又和两个侦探一起走了。
我遵从他的指示，到了厚呢盖着的门旁边的位置上，我闹不清在这一要求的后面有什么安排。干么我一定站在这么个特指的地点守着呢？我深思地朝前面的过道注视着。我脑子里出现了一个想法。除了辛西娅·穆多契的之外，所有人的房间都在左侧。是不是有什么和这有关呢？我得报告谁来谁往吗？我忠实地站在自己的岗位上。几分钟过去了。没有一个人来。什么事都没有发生。
很可能过了约摸二十来分钟，波洛上我这儿来了。
“你没走动吧？”
“没有，我一直象块磐石似地安在这几。什么事都没发生。”
“嗨！”他是高兴呢，还是失望？“你一点东西都没有看到？”
“没有。”
“你也许听到什么了吧？猛地一撞——呢，朋友？”
“没有。”
“这可能么？嘿，我这是在自找烦恼！我一向不算笨的，只是轻轻做了个手势，”——我懂得波洛的手势——“我用左手掀翻了床边的桌子！”
他看上去如此孩子般地苦恼而又垂头丧气，于是我连忙安慰他。
“不要紧，老朋友。这有什么关系？你楼下的胜利鼓励着你哪。我可以告诉你，那使我们大家都感到意外。在英格里桑和雷克斯太太的这一不正当关系中，一定还有比我们想到的更多的情况，所以才使得他如此顽固地不肯开口。现在你打算怎么办？伦敦警察厅两位伙计哪儿去啦？”
“下楼和佣人们谈话去了。我给他们着了我们所有的证据。我对贾普很失望。他拿不出什么办法！”
“喂！”我朝窗外看看，说。“鲍斯坦医生在这儿。我认为你对他的看法是对的，波洛。我也不喜欢他。”
“此人挺机灵，”波洛沉思着说。
“哦，机灵得象魔鬼！我得说，看到他星期二进屋时的那股狼狈相，我真高兴极了。你一定从来没有见到过这样的场面！”于是我把那天医生的冒险活动描绘了一番。“他看上去十足象个田里的稻草人！从头到脚一身泥。”
“那未，你看到他了？”
“是呀，当然看到了。他不愿进来——那时刚吃好晚饭——可是英格里桑先生定要他进来。”
“什么？”波洛使劲地抓住了我的肩膀。“星期二傍晚鲍斯坦医生在这儿？在这儿？你从来没有告诉过我呀？你为什么不告诉我？为什么？为什么？”
他简直象要发疯似的。
“我亲爱的波洛，”我劝告说，“我从来没有想到，你会对这感兴趣的呀，我不知道它有什么重要。”
“什么重要？它头等重要！这么说，鲍斯坦医生星期二晚上——谋杀的这个晚上——在这儿。哈斯丁呀，你还没懂吗？这改变了一切——一切！”
我从来没有看到过他这样心烦意乱。他松开了抓住我的手，机械地摆弄着一对烛台，嘴里仍自言自语地喃喃叨念着：“是呀，这改变了一切——一切！”
“突然，他似乎做出了一个决定。”
“好吧！”他说。“我们必须马上行动。卡文迪什先生在哪儿？”
约瀚正在吸烟室里。波洛径直到了他那里。
“卡文迪什先生，我要去塔明斯特办件重要的事，有个新线索。我可以乘你的汽车吗？”
“哦，当然可以。你是说马上？”
“是的，对不起。”
约翰按了按铃，吩咐把车开过来。十分钟后，我们就已乘车经过园林，疾驰在前往塔明斯特的公路上了。
“波洛，”我顺从地说，“也许现在你可以告诉我有关这一切了吧？”
“好吧，朋友，有许多情况你自己是可以猜测到的。当然，你也了解，现在英格里桑先生解脱了，整个形势已经大大改变。我们面临的是完全新的问题。现在我们知道的，没有去买过毒药的有一个人。我们已经排除掉那些虚构的线索，现在得找到真正的线索。我已经查明，除了那位正在和你打网球的卡文迪什太太外，这家人家的任何一个人星期一傍晚都有可能冒充了英格里桑先生。同时，我们已经听过他的陈述，他把咖啡放在过道里了。审讯时，没有一个人对此多加注意——可是现在，它有着十分不同的意义。我们必须查明最后到底是谁把那杯咖啡送给英格里桑太太的，或者是在它搁在那儿时，有谁经过过道。据你说，只有两个人我们可以肯定说她们没有走近过那杯咖啡——就是卡文迪什太太，还有辛西娅小姐。”
“是的，是那样，”我感到心情变得无法形容的轻松。玛丽·卡文迪什当然不应该受到怀疑。
“在解脱阿弗雷德·英格里桑的过程中，”波洛继续说，“我还来不及仔细考虑，就被迫摊牌了。当我也许被认为是在迫踪他的时候，罪犯可能已放松了警惕，可是现在，他会加倍地小心。是的——会加倍小心。”他突然转身朝我问道：“如实告诉我，哈斯丁，你有没有怀疑什么人？”
我犹豫着。老实说，那天早上我脑子里曾经有一、两次闪过一个念头，这念头本身是轻率的，过份的。我已经因其荒谬而加以排斥，然而它仍固执地保留着。
“你不能把这叫做怀疑。”我喃喃地说。“它是十分可笑的。”
“说吧，”波洛鼓励地催促说，“别害怕，把你的想法说出来。你得一直注意你的直觉。”
“那好吧，”我脱口说出，“这说来是荒谬的——不过，我总怀疑霍华德小姐没有说出她所知道的全部情况！”
“霍华德小姐？…
“是的——你要笑我了——”
“一点也不。我干么要笑？”
“我总觉得，”我继续象犯了错误似他说，“我们有点把她搁在可能的怀疑范围之外了，单凭她已经离开了这儿这一点。可是，离这儿毕竟只有十五英里呀。车子半小时就能到。我们能肯定说发生谋杀那天晚上她一定不在斯泰尔斯么？”
“是呀，我的朋友，”波洛出乎意外地说，“我们能肯定。我的第一个行动就是打电话给她工作的那个医院。”
“是么？”
“是的，我获悉，星期二那天，她做下午班，而——突然来了一个伤员护送队——她欣然提出继续留着做夜班，这一提议被十分感激地接受了。事情就是这样。”
“哦！”我感到相当狼狈。“说实在，”我继续说，“她那么出奇地激烈反对英格里桑，倒使我怀疑起她来了。我总觉得，她事事都反对他。因此，我有一个想法，有关烧毁遗嘱方面。她也许知道点什么。也许是她烧掉了这份新的遗嘱，把它错当成比较早的于他有利的那份了。她也恨死他了。”
“你认为她的激烈反常吗？”
“是——的。她太激烈了。我实在怀疑她在这个问题上是否神志正常。”
波洛使劲地摇着头。
“不，不，这你方向完全不对头了。霍华德小姐脑子既没有毛病，智力也没有衰退。她是个神志健全、身强力壮的杰出典范。她的神志完全正常。”
“然而她恨英格里桑恨得简直象个疯子了。我的想法是——毫无疑问，这是个很可笑的想法——她想要毒死他——而由于某种原因，英格里桑太太把它给误服了。可是我一点都想不出这可能是怎么发生的。我这整个想法都是极其荒谬可笑的。”
“有一点，你还是对的。应该怀疑每一个人，然后从逻辑上加以验证，直到你自己完全满意，他们确实无罪，这样做始终是明智的。那未，有没有什么理由控告霍华德小姐蓄意毒死英格里桑太太呢？”
“什么！她很忠诚于她的呀！”我惊叫起来。
“嘿！嘿！”波洛急躁地大声说。“你说话象个孩子。要是霍华德小姐有能耐毒死这位老大太，她也就完全有本领装出她对她的忠诚。不，我们必须看看别的方面。你的设想是完全正确的，她反对阿弗雷德·英格里桑的程度已经激烈到不正常了；但是你从中得出的推论是完全错误的。我已经得出了我自己的推论，我相信这是正确的，不过眼下我还不愿说，”他停了一下，然后继续说：“现在，在我看来，说霍华德小姐是个凶手，还有一个难以迈越的障碍。”
“是什么呢？”
“英格里桑太大的死对霍华德小姐毫无好处。因为没有目的的谋杀是没有的。”
我考虑了一下。
“英格里桑太太会不会有可能写过一份于她有利的遗嘱？”
波洛摇摇头。
“可是你自己不是就对韦尔斯先生提到过这种可能吗？”
波洛笑了起来。
“那是有原因的。我不想提到我脑子里实际上想的那个人的名字。而霍华德小姐所处的地位与之有很多相同的地方，所以我就用她的名字来代替了。”
“不过，英格里桑太太也许真的写过。唔，她死那天下午写的那张遗嘱可能——”
可是。波洛的头摇得那么用劲，我只好停下不说了。
“不，朋友，关于那份遗嘱，我有我自己的一些想法。这我可以告诉你许多话——那遗嘱对霍华德小姐没有利。”
我接受他的断言，虽然我并没有真正搞清楚，关于这件事他怎么会如此肯定。
“好吧，”我叹了一口气说，“那未我们得宣判霍华德小姐无罪啦。我之所以一直来怀疑她，部分是由于你的过错。是你说的关于她在审讯时的证词的话，使我引起的。”
波洛显得困惑不解。
“关于她在审讯时的证词，我说了什么啦？”
“你不记得了？当我举例说到她和约翰·卡文迪什可以排除在怀疑对象之外时？”
“啊——哈——是的。”他似乎有点慌乱，可是接着就恢复了镇静。“顺便说一下，有件事情我想要你给我办一下。”
“当然可以。是什么事？”
“下一次你碰上单独和劳伦斯·卡文迪什在一起时，我想要你对他说这样几句话：‘波洛要我带一个口信给你。他说：‘找到那种特大号咖啡怀，你就可以安心了！’不要多说，也不要少说。”
“‘找到那种特大号咖啡杯，你就可以安心了！’对吗？”我问道，心中十分迷惑不解。
“好极了。”
“可这是什么意思呀？”
“嗳，这我要交给你去发现了。你有机会接触到真相的。只是把这对他说一说，着看他说点什么。”
“这好倒是好，——可是实在太神秘了。”
这时，我们驶进了塔明斯特，波洛指点车子开到“分析化学师”家。
波洛轻快地跳下车子，走了进去。几分钟后他又回来了。
“瞧，”他说。”这就是我的全部工作。”
“你在干什么呀？”我非常好奇地问道。
“我留下一点东西进行分析。”
“我知道，可是到底是什么呀？”
“我从卧室长柄平底锅里取的试样。”
“那已经作过化验了呀！”我喊了起来，惊得发呆了。“鲍斯坦医生已经拿它化验过了，你自己当时还讥笑里面可能有士的宁的说法呢！”
“我知道鲍斯坦医生化验过，”波洛心平气和地回答说。
“那为什么？”
“嗯，我想到要再化验一下，就这么回事。”
有关这个问题，我没能从他那儿再掏出别的话来。
就可可这件事来说，波洛的这种举动使我极为困惑不解。对此，我感到莫明其妙，然而，我信任他，虽然这种信任曾经一度有所减弱，但是，自从他的阿弗雷德·英格里桑是无罪的看法成功地证明是正确的以来，它又完全恢复了。
英格里桑太太的葬礼在第二天举行，在星期一，当我下楼来吃晚早餐时，约翰把我拉到一旁，告诉我说，英格里桑先生这天早上就要离开，住到村民公堂去，要住到他得以完成自己的计划。
“想到他要走，实在是一个很大的宽慰，哈斯丁，”我的老实朋友继续说。“以前我们认为事情是他干的，这是非常不好的，而现在，当我们为过去对他那么厌恶而感到内疚时，也决不会更坏。事实是，我们讨厌他。当然，也就事事都对他板面孔了。我看任何人都不会责备我们结论下得武断。而要是我们犯错，现在仍旧这样，还有这种粗鲁的感情的话，就得改正；一个人对他一点也不比从前喜欢的话，那就难办了。这整个事情真是尴尬透了！所以我很感激他的识趣，自动地离开了！母亲没有把斯泰尔斯庄园遗赠给他，这是一件大好事。一想到这个人会在这儿逞威作福，就叫人没法忍受。那样他就可以随意地乱花母亲的钱了。”
“你真的能保住这地方吗？”我问道。
“哦，是的。当然，得付遗产税，可是我父亲的一半财产在这儿，眼下，劳伦斯可以和我们待在一起，也有他的一份。当然，开始时我们会感到拮据一些，因为，正如我曾告诉过你那样，我自己在财务方面还有点亏空。眼下那批家伙还在等着哩。”
由于英格里桑的即将离丢，大家都如释重负，我们吃了一顿发生惨事以来感到最为适意的早餐。辛西娅自然更加精神勃勃，轻松愉快，她看上去又如原来那么健美漂亮了。除了劳伦斯仿佛依然那么忧郁、胆怯外，我们大家都非常高兴，展现在眼前的是一片崭新的，满怀希望的前景。
不用说，报纸上已经连篇累牍地登满了这一惨案的消息。引人注目的大字标题，这家人家每个成员的简历，微妙的影射，以及惯用的、大家所熟悉的诸如“警方已有线索云云”之类的陈词滥调。对我们真是什么都不加吝惜。这是个无精打采的时日，战争一时打得不死不活，于是报纸就使劲地抓住上流社会生活中的这类犯罪行为大做文章，“斯泰尔斯庄园奇案”就是当时的话题。
这自然使卡文迪什家的人十分恼火。这座宅邸不断受到那批新闻记者的包围，他们虽然一直未被允许进入房子，但他们仍继续逗留在村子里，以及在庄园的庭园中。带着照相机埋伏着，等候拍摄这家人家的任何一个未加留神的成员。我们整天都生活在一股宣传的疾风之中。伦敦警察厅的人员来来往往，调查、询问，目光锐利，言语冷淡。至于他们搞出什么结果，我们则一无所知。他们是不是有了线索？还是整个事情仍然处于未被查明的罪行一类？
早餐之后，多卡斯相当神秘地走到我的眼前问我，她是否可以和我说几句话。
“当然可以，是什么事，多卡斯？”
“哦，是这么一回事，先生。今天您多半能见着那位比利时先生吧？”
我点点头。
“是这样，先生，您知道，他特意问过我，我的女主人或者别的什么人，是不是有件绿色的衣服？”
“对，对。你发现一件了吗？”这引起了我的注意。
“不，不是那么回事，先生。不过后来我想起，少爷他们（多卡斯仍旧把约翰和劳伦斯称作‘少爷’）有只什么‘化装箱’，它就在前屋的阁楼里，先生，是口大柜子，里面全装满旧时的衣服和各种化装服饰，什么都有。我突然想到那里面也许有件绿色的女服。因此，请您告诉一下那位比利时先生——”
“我会告诉他的，多卡斯，”我答应说。
“多谢您了，先生。他是一位非常和蔼的先生，他打听事情，问起问题来，和伦敦来的那两位侦探完全不一个样。我通常是不要看外国人的，可是从报纸上说的我了解到，这些勇敢的比利时人是些不同寻常的外国人。确实是这样，他就是一位说话非常和气的先生。”
亲爱的老多卡斯！当她站在那儿，一张诚实坦率的脸向上朝着我，我心里想，她是一个那正在迅速消失的老式女仆的多好的典范啊。
我考虑，我得马上去村子拜访波洛；可是，我在半路上碰上了他，他正来庄园，于是我立即将多卡斯的口信转告了他。
“啊，这位勇敢的多卡斯！我们得去看看那柜子，虽然——不过没有关系——我们还是可以检查的。”
我们通过一扇长窗进入了屋子。门厅里一个人也没有，于是我们就迳直爬上那间阁楼。
一点不错，是有一口柜子，是口精致的老式箱柜，上面全是黄铜的饰钉，里面装满一切可以想得出的衣着服饰。波洛毫不客气地把里面的东西一件件都草草扔到地板上。有一、两样深浅不同的绿色织物，可是波洛看后都摇摇头。他对这次搜查似乎有点冷淡，仿佛他估计到不会有什么大结果。突然，他惊叫了一声。
“那是什么？”
“瞧！”
柜子都快掏空了，就在柜底摊着一大绺漂亮的黑胡子。
“啊！”波洛喊道。“嘿，嗨！”他双手提着它翻看了一阵，仔细作了检查。“新的，”他说。“是的，全新的。”
他踌躇了一会后，把它放回到柜子里，又象原先一样在它上面堆上所有其它的东西，然后敏捷地走下楼来。他径直走向餐具室，我们在那儿找到了正在忙着擦银餐具的多卡斯。
波洛用一种法国人的殷勤态度向她问了好，然后说：
“我们刚才已经仔细查看过那只柜子了，多卡斯，我非常感谢你告诉我这件事。那里面的确收藏了不少东西。我想问问你，那些东西他们常用吗？”
“噢，先生，现今不很常用了，虽然我们还是经常搞，少爷们管它叫‘化装晚会’的那种活动。有时这种活动非常有趣，先生。劳伦斯先生，他扮演得真精彩。好笑极了！我永远不会忘记他扮成波斯查①下楼来的那个晚上。我记得他是那么叫的——这是个东方国家的国王什么的吧。他手握着一把厚纸板做的大刀子，冲我说：‘当心，多卡斯，你得对我恭恭敬敬。这是我的磨得特快的短弯刀。要是你惹得我生起气来，它就叫你脑袋搬家！’辛西娅小姐，他们管她叫阿巴希②，大概是这么个名字——我想这是个法国式的杀人凶手一类的角色吧，她看上去象真的一样。你决不会相信，一个象她那么年轻漂亮的小姐竟能扮成这样一个凶恶的暴徒。没有一个人能认出她来。”
“这些晚会一定有趣极了，”波洛亲切地说。“我想，那次劳伦斯扮成波斯沙时，是戴了柜子里那绺漂亮的黑胡子下楼来的吧？”
“他是戴了一绺胡子，先生，”多卡斯笑着回答说。
“这我全知道，因为为了做这玩意儿，他还向我借过两绞黑绒线呢。我敢说，站得稍远一点的话，它着上去简直象是真的，至于说楼上有一络假胡子，这我一点不知道。我想，那一定是一直后来才买的。头发方面，据我知道，只有一顶红假发，别的就没有了。他们多半是用烧过的软木炭的——虽然在把它洗去时，弄起来很脏。有一次，辛西娅扮一个黑人，哦，她就招了麻烦。”
“这么说多卡斯不知道那绺黑胡子，”当我们出来重又走到过道里时，波洛若有所思地说。
“你认为这就是那一绺？”我热切地低声问道。
波洛点点头。
“我是这么想。它已被修剪过了，你注意到没有？”
“没有。”
“剪过了。完全剪成了英格里桑先生的样子，而且我还发现了一、两根剪下的胡子。哈斯丁，这案子可奥妙哩。”
“我真纳闷，是谁把它放进柜子的呢？”
“是个非常聪明的人，”波洛冷冰冰地说。“他在这幢房子里选择这么一个不会被觉察的地方来藏放它，这你想得到吗？是的，他很聪明。但是我们应该更聪明。我们应该聪明得使他一点都想不到我们是聪明的。”
我默然表示同意。
“瞧，朋友，你对我帮助是很大的。”
听了这赞扬的话，我十分高兴。以前，有时我总感到波洛并没有了解我的真正的价值。
“是的，”他若有所思地注视着我，继续说。“你对我来说是十分宝贵的。”
这自然使我感到非常满意，可是波洛下面的话却叫人不那么高兴了。
“在这幢房子里我必须有一个助手，”他沉思着说。
“有我。”我表示。
“不错，可是你胜任不了。”
我的自尊心受到了伤害，而且表现出来了。波洛急忙解释说：
“你没有完全理解我的意思。大家都知道你正和我在一起工作。我需要一个在任何方面都和我们没有联系的人。”
“哦，我明白了。约翰怎么样？”
“不行。我看不行。
“这位老兄也许不太机灵，”我沉思着说。
“霍华德小姐来了，”波洛突然说。“她正是我所要的人。不过，自从我为英格里桑先生开脱罪责以来，我已失去她的好感了。但是，我们还是可以试一试。”
霍华德小姐点了点头，那是一种极为勉强的礼貌，她总算同意波洛的谈几分钟话的请求。
我们走进小休息室，波洛关上了门。
“好吧，波洛先生，”霍华德个姐不耐烦地说，“有什么事？说吧。我忙着呢。”
“你还记得吗，小姐，我曾经请求你帮助我？”
“是的，我记得。”女士点点头。“我曾告诉你，我很乐意帮助你——绞死阿弗雷德·英洛里桑。”
“啊！”波洛严肃地朝她仔细看着。“霍华德小姐，我想问你一个问题。我要求你能予以如实地回答。”
“从来不会说谎，”霍华德小姐回答说。
“是这么一个问题。你仍然认为英格里桑大太是她的丈夫毒死的吗？”
你这是什么意思？”她尖刻地反问道。“你别以为你那漂亮的解释会对我有丝毫影响。我承认到药店买士的宁的不是他。那有什么？我敢说，他浸泡了毒蝇纸，就象我一开始就告诉你的一样。”
“那是砒霜——不是士的宁，”波洛温和地说。
“那有什么关系？用来干掉可怜的埃米莉，砒霜和士的宁是完全一样的。既然我确信这是他干的，他怎么干，这对我来说毫无关系。”
“确实如此。既然你确信这是他干的，”波洛平静地说。“我想以另一种方式提出我的问题。你从内心来说，到底是不是认为英格里桑太太是她丈夫毒死的？”
“天哪！”霍华德小姐喊了起来。”我不是一直对你们说他是个坏蛋吗？我不是一直对你们说他会把她杀死在床上吗？我不是一直把他恨透了吗？”
“确实如此，”波洛说。“这完全证明了我的一个小小的想法。”
“什么小小的想法？”
“霍华德小姐，你还记得我的朋友刚到这儿那天进行的一次谈话吗？他对我说了，其中你有一句话对我的印象非常深刻。你曾断言，要是发生了犯罪行为，任何一个你所爱的人被谋杀了，你确信，你凭直觉就能知道谁是罪犯，即使你完全不能证实这一点，这你还记得吗？”
“是的，我记得是那么说的。而且我也相信是那样。我猜想，你认为这是胡说八道吧？”
“一点也不。”
“可是你并没有注意到我对阿弗雷德·英格里桑的直觉吧？”
“是的，”波洛直截了当地回答说。“因为你的直觉不是英格里桑先生。”
“什么？”
“是的。你想要相信他犯了罪。你相信他会犯这个罪。但是你的直觉告诉你，他没有犯这个罪。它更多地告诉你的是——我要说下去吗？”
她迷惑不解地注视着他，做了个稍稍表示肯定的手势。
“为什么你一直反对英格里桑先生这么激烈，这我来告诉你好么？这是因为你试图相信你想要相信的事情。这是因为你试图抑制往你的直觉，而你的直觉是告诉你另一个名字——”
“不，不，不！”霍华德小姐挥起双手激动地喊了起来。“别说！哦，别说！这不是真的！这不可能是真的！我不知道我的脑子里怎么会钻进这么个荒唐的——这么个可怕的——念头！”
“我说得对，还是不对？”波洛问道。
“对的，对的；你一定是个能猜善算的男巫。可是事情不可能是这样——这太荒谬了，太不可能了。这一定是阿弗雷德·英格里桑。”
波洛严肃地摇摇头。
“这事别问我了，”霍华德小姐继续说，“我不会告诉你的。我也不会承认，那怕对我自己。一想到这样的事，我就会发疯的。”
波洛点点头，仿佛感到满意。
“我不再问你什么了。对我来说，证实事情如我所想就足够了。我——我也有一种直觉。为了达到共同的目标，我们将携手一起工作。”
“别要求我帮助你，因为我不愿意。我连个小指头都不会提起来——到——”说到这儿她踌躇了。
“你会不由自主地帮助我的。我对你没有要求——但是你会成为我的助手。你不可能去帮助你自己的。你只会去做我希望你做的事情。”
“那是什么呢？”
“你会看到的！”
伊夫琳·霍华德低下了头。
“是的，我不能帮着做那种事情。我要一直等着——一直等到我被证实是错了。”
“要是我们错了，那也好，”波洛说。“没有一个人会比我更高兴的。可是，要是我们对了呢？要是我们对了，霍华德小姐，那时你站在谁的一边呢？”
“我不知道，我不知道——”
“好吧。”
“这事可以下作声张。”
“没有必要秘而不宣。”
“可是埃米莉本人——”她突然停下不说了。
“霍华德小姐，”波洛严肃地说，“这对你来说是不相称的。”
她突然仰起埋在手中的脸。
“是的，”她镇静地说，“那可不是伊夫琳·霍华德说的话！”她蓦地骄傲地把头向上一甩。这才是伊夫琳·霍华德的话！她要站在正义一边！要付多大代价就让它付多大代价吧！”说着，她跨着坚定的步伐走出了房间。
“瞧！”波洛看着她的背影说，“一个多有价值的助手。这个女人，哈斯丁，她是很有头脑，很有心眼的。”
我没有应声。
“直觉是一种不可思议的东西，”波洛若有所思地说。“它既没法解释，又不能忽视。”
“你和霍华德小姐似乎都知道你们在谈什么，”我冷冷地说。”也许你还没意识到我可仍在五里雾中。”
“真的？是这样，我的朋友？”
“是的。给我开导开导，行吗？“
波洛朝我仔细地打量了一会。接着，使我极为惊诧的是，他坚决地摇摆头。
“不行，我的朋友。”
“啊，瞧你，为什么不行？”
“一个秘密最多两人知。”
“嘿，我认为，对我也保密，这很不公平。”
“我没有保密。我知道的每一个事实，你都了解。你可以从中作出自己的推论。现在是个思考的问题。”