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  "Poirot is rather odd at first sight, I admit," Hastings agreed. "And he has all kinds of little foibles. For instance, he has an absolute passion for neatness of any kind. If he sees an ornament set crookedly, or a speck of dust, or even a slight disarray in someone's attire, it's absolute torture to him."

  "You make such a wonderful contrast to each other," Barbara said, laughing.

  "Poirot's methods of detection are very much his own, you know," Hastings continued. "Order and method are his gods. He has a great disdain for tangible evidence, things like footprints and cigarette ash, you know what I mean. In fact he maintains that, taken by themselves, they would never enable a detective to solve a problem. The true work, he says, is done from within. And then he taps that egg-shaped head of his, and remarks with great satisfaction, 'The little grey cells of the brain – always remember the little grey cells, mon ami.'"

  "Oh, I think he's a poppet," Barbara declared. "But not as sweet as you, with your 'What a delightful room!'"

  "But it is a delightful room," Hastings insisted, sounding rather nettled.

  "Personally, I don't agree with you," said Barbara. She took his hand and tried to pull him towards the open French windows. "Anyway, you've had quite enough of it for now. Come along."

  "You don't understand," Hastings declared, taking his hand away from her. "I promised Poirot."

  Barbara spoke slowly. "You promised Monsieur Poirot that you would not leave this room? But why?"

  "I can't tell you that."

  "Oh!" Barbara was silent for a moment or two, and then her manner changed. She moved behind Hastings and began to recite, in an exaggerated dramatic voice, 'The boy stood on the burning deck -'"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "'Whence all but he had fled.' Well, my pet?"

  "I simply cannot understand you," Hastings declared in exasperation.

  "Why should you understand me? Oh, you really are a delight," declared Barbara, slipping her arm through his. "Come and be vamped. Really, you know, I think you're adorable."

  "You're pulling my leg."

  "Not at all," Barbara insisted. "I'm crazy about you. You're positively pre-war."

  She pulled him to the French windows, and this time Hastings allowed himself to yield to the pressure of her arm.

  "You really are an extraordinary person," he told her. "You're quite different from any girl I've ever met."

  "I'm delighted to hear it. That's a very good sign," said Barbara, as they now stood, face to face, framed in the open windows.

  "A good sign?"

  "Yes, it makes a girl feel hopeful."

  Hastings blushed, and Barbara laughed light-heartedly as she dragged him out into the garden.

  Chapter 16

  After Barbara's exit with Hastings into the garden, the library remained unoccupied for no longer than a moment or two. Then the door to the hall opened, and Miss Amory entered, carrying a small work-bag. She went over to the settee, put the bag down, knelt, and began to feel at the back of the seat. As she did so, Dr Carelli entered by the other door, carrying a hat and a small suitcase. Seeing Miss Amory, Carelli stopped and murmured a word of apology at having intruded upon her.

  Miss Amory rose from the settee, looking a trifle flustered. "I was searching for a knitting needle," she explained unnecessarily, brandishing her discovery as she spoke. "It had slipped down behind the seat." Then, taking in the significance of his suitcase, she asked, "Are you leaving us, Dr Carelli?"

  Carelli put his hat and suitcase on a chair. "I feel I can no longer trespass on your hospitality," he announced.

  Obviously delighted, Miss Amory was polite enough to murmur, "Well, of course, if you feel like that -" Then, remembering the situation in which the occupants of the house currently found themselves, she added, "But I thought there were some tiresome formalities -" Her voice trailed off indecisively.

  "Oh, that is all arranged," Carelli assured her.

  "Well, if you feel you must go -"

  "I do, indeed."

  "Then I will order the car," Miss Amory declared briskly, moving to the bell above the fireplace.

  "No, no," Carelli insisted. "That, too, is all arranged."

  "But you've even had to carry your suitcase down yourself. Really, the servants! They're all demoralized, completely demoralized!" She returned to the settee and took her knitting from her bag. "They can't concentrate, Dr Carelli. They cannot keep their heads. So curious, is it not?"

  Looking distinctly on edge, Carelli replied offhandedly, "Very curious." He glanced at the telephone.

  Miss Amory began to knit, keeping up a flow of aimless conversation as she did so. "I suppose you are catching the twelve-fifteen. You mustn't run it too fine. Not that I want to fuss, of course. I always say that fussing over -"

  "Yes, indeed," Dr Carelli interrupted peremptorily, "but there is plenty of time, I think. I – I wondered if I might use the telephone?"

  Miss Amory looked up momentarily. "Oh, yes, of course," she said, as she continued to knit. It seemed not to have occurred to her that Dr Carelli might have wanted to make his telephone call in private.

  "Thank you," murmured Carelli, moving to the desk and making a pretence of looking up a number in the telephone directory. He glanced across impatiently at Miss Amory. "I think your niece was looking for you," he remarked.

  Miss Amory's only reaction to this information was to talk about her niece while continuing with her knitting undisturbed.

  "Dear Barbara!" she exclaimed. "Such a sweet creature. You know, she leads rather a sad life here, far too dull for a young girl. Well, well, things will be different now, I dare say." She dwelt pleasurably on this thought for a moment, before continuing, "Not that I haven't done all I could. But what a girl needs is a little gaiety. All the Beeswax in the world won't make up for that."

  Dr Carelli's face was a study in incomprehension, mixed with more than a little irritation. "Beeswax?" he felt obliged to ask.

  "Yes, Beeswax – or is it Beemax? Vitamins, you know, or at least that's what it says on the tin. A and B and C and D. All of them, except the one that keeps you from having beriberi. And I really think there's no need for that, if one is living in England. It's not a disease one encounters here. It comes, I believe, from polishing the rice in native countries. So interesting. I made Mr Raynor take it – Beeswax, I mean – after breakfast every day. He was looking pale, poor young fellow. I tried to make Lucia take it, too, but she wouldn't." Miss Amory shook her head disapprovingly.

  "And to think, when I was a girl, I was strictly forbidden to eat caramels because of the Beeswax – I mean Beemax. Times change, you know. Times do change."

  Though he attempted to disguise the fact, by now Dr Carelli was positively fuming. "Yes, yes, Miss Amory," he replied as politely as he could manage. Moving towards her, he tried a somewhat more direct approach. "I think your niece is calling you."

  "Calling me?"

  "Yes. Do you not hear?"

  Miss Amory listened. "No – no," she confessed. "How curious." She rolled up her knitting. "You must have keen ears, Dr Carelli. Not that my hearing is bad. Indeed, I've been told that -"

  She dropped her ball of wool, and Carelli picked it up for her. "Thank you so much," she said. "All the Amorys have keen hearing, you know." She rose from the settee. "My father kept his faculties in the most remarkable way. He could read without glasses when he was eighty." She dropped the ball of wool again, and again Carelli stooped to retrieve it for her.

  "Oh, thank you so much," Miss Amory continued. "A remarkable man, Dr Carelli. My father, I mean. Such a remarkable man. He always slept in a four-poster featherbed; and the windows of his bedroom were never opened. The night air, he used to say, was most injurious. Unfortunately, when he had an attack of gout he was nursed by a young woman who insisted on the window being opened at the top, and my poor father died of it."

  She dropped the ball of wool yet again. This time, after picking it up, Carelli planted it firmly in he
r hand and led her to the door. Miss Amory moved slowly, talking all the time. "I do not care at all for hospital nurses, Dr Carelli," she informed him. "They gossip about their cases, they drink far too much tea, and they always upset the servants."

  "Very true, dear lady, very true," Carelli agreed hastily, opening the door for her.

  "Thank you so much," Miss Amory said as he propelled her out of the room. Shutting the door after her, Carelli moved quickly to the desk and lifted the telephone receiver. After a pause, he spoke into it softly but urgently. "This is Market Cleve three-oh-four. I want London… Soho double-eight-five-three… no, five-three, that's right… Eh?… Will you call me?… Right."

  He replaced the receiver and then stood biting his nails impatiently. After a moment he crossed to the door of the study, opened it, and entered the room. Hardly had he done so, when Edward Raynor came into the library from the hall. Glancing around the room, Raynor strolled casually to the fireplace. He touched the vase of spills on the mantelpiece, and as he did so, Carelli strolled into the room again from the study. As Carelli closed the study door, Raynor turned and saw him.

  "I didn't know you were in here," said the secretary.

  "I'm waiting for a phone call," Carelli explained.

  "Oh!"

  After a pause, Carelli spoke again. "When did the police inspector come?"

  "About twenty minutes ago, I believe. Have you seen him?"

  "Only in the distance," replied Carelli.

  "He's a Scotland Yard man," Raynor informed him. "Apparently, he happened to be down in the neighbourhood clearing up some other case, so he was called in by the local police."

  "That was a piece of luck, eh?" observed Carelli.

  "Wasn't it?" The telephone rang, and Raynor moved towards it. Walking quickly ahead of him to the phone, Carelli said, "I think that will be my call." He looked at Raynor. "I wonder if you'd mind -"

  "Certainly, my dear fellow," the secretary assured him. "I'll clear out."

  Raynor left the room, and Carelli lifted the receiver. He spoke quietly. "Hello?… Is that Miguel?… Yes?… No, damn it, I haven't. It's been impossible… No, you don't understand, the old gentleman died last night… I'm leaving at once… Japp's here… Japp. You know, the Scotland Yard man… No, I've not met him yet… I hope so, too… At the usual place, nine-thirty tonight… Right."

  Replacing the receiver, Carelli moved to the recess, picked up his suitcase, put on his hat, and went towards the French windows. At that moment, Hercule Poirot entered from the garden, and he and Carelli collided. "I beg your pardon," said the Italian.

  "Not at all," replied Poirot politely, continuing to block the way out.

  "If you would allow me to pass -"

  "Impossible," said Poirot mildly. "Quite impossible."

  "I insist."

  "I shouldn't," murmured Poirot with a friendly smile.

  Suddenly, Carelli charged at Poirot. The little detective stepped briskly aside, tripping Carelli up neatly with an unexpected movement, and taking the Italian doctor's suitcase from him at the same time. At that moment, Japp slid into the room behind Poirot, and Carelli fell into the Inspector's arms.

  "Hello, what's all this?" exclaimed Inspector Japp, "Why, bless me if it isn't Tonio!"

  "Ah!" Poirot gave a little laugh as he moved away from them both. "I thought, my dear Japp, that you would probably be able to give a name to this gentleman."

  "Oh, I know all about him," Japp affirmed. "Tonio's quite a public character. Aren't you, Tonio? I'll bet you were surprised at Monsieur Poirot's move just then. What do you call that stuff, Poirot? Ju-jitsu or such-like, isn't it? Poor old Tonio!"

  As Poirot placed the Italian's suitcase on the table and opened it, Carelli growled at Japp, "You've got nothing against me. You can't hold me."

  "I wonder," said the Inspector. "I'll bet we won't have far to look for the man who stole that formula, and did in the old gentleman." Turning to Poirot, he added, "That formula is absolutely bang in Tonio's line, and since we've found him trying to make a getaway, I shouldn't be surprised if he's got the goods on him this minute."

  "I agree with you," declared Poirot.

  Japp ran his hands over Carelli, while Poirot went through the suitcase.

  "Well?" Japp asked Poirot.

  "Nothing," the detective replied, closing the suitcase. "Nothing. I am disappointed."

  "You think yourselves very clever, do you not?" snarled Carelli. "But I could tell you -"

  Poirot interrupted him, speaking quietly and significantly. "You could, perhaps, but it would be very unwise."

  Startled, Carelli exclaimed, "What do you mean?"

  "Monsieur Poirot's quite right," Japp declared. "You'd better keep your mouth shut." Moving to the hall door, he opened it and called, "Johnson!" The young constable put his head around the door. "Get the whole family together for me, will you?" Japp asked him. "I want them all here."

  "Yes, sir," said Johnson as he left the room.

  "I protest! I -" Carelli gasped. Suddenly, he grabbed his suitcase and made a dash towards the French windows.

  Japp rushed after him, grabbed him, and threw him onto the settee, taking the suitcase from him as he did so. "No one's hurt you yet, so don't squeal," Japp barked at the now thoroughly cowed Italian.

  Poirot strolled towards the French windows. "Please don't go away now, Poirot," Japp called after him, putting Carelli's suitcase down by the coffee-table. "This should be very interesting."

  "No, no, my dear Japp, I am not leaving," Poirot assured him. "I shall be right here. This family gathering, as you say, will be most interesting indeed."

  Chapter 17

  A few minutes later, when the Amory family began to assemble in the library, Carelli was still seated on the settee, looking rather sullen, while Poirot continued to hover by the French windows. Barbara Amory, with Hastings in tow, returned from the garden through the French windows, and Barbara moved to share the settee with Carelli, while Hastings went to stand by Poirot's side. Poirot whispered to his colleague, "It would be helpful, Hastings, if you would make a note – a mental note, you understand – of where they all choose to sit."

  "Helpful? How?" asked Hastings.

  "Psychologically, my friend," was Poirot's only reply.

  When Lucia entered the room, Hastings watched her as she sat on a chair near the center table. Richard arrived with his aunt, Miss Amory, who sat on the stool as Richard moved close to the table to keep a protective eye on his wife. Edward Raynor was the last to arrive, taking up a position behind the arm-chair. He was followed into the room by the constable, Johnson, who shut the door and stood close to it.

  Richard Amory introduced Inspector Japp to those two members of the family whom Japp had not already met.

  "My aunt, Miss Amory," he announced, "and my cousin, Miss Barbara Amory."

  Acknowledging the introduction, Barbara asked, "What's all the excitement, Inspector?"

  Japp avoided her question. "Now, I think we're all here, are we not?" he remarked, moving to the fireplace.

  Miss Amory looked bewildered and a little apprehensive.

  "I don't quite understand," she said to Richard. "What is this – this gentleman doing here?"

  "I think perhaps I ought to tell you something," Richard answered her. "You see, Aunt Caroline – and all of you," he added, glancing around the room, "Dr Graham has discovered that my father was – poisoned."

  "What?" exclaimed Raynor sharply. Miss Amory gave a cry of horror.

  "He was poisoned with hyoscine," Richard continued.

  Raynor gave a start. "With hyoscine? Why, I saw -"

  He stopped dead, looking at Lucia.

  Taking a step towards him, Inspector Japp asked, "What did you see, Mr Raynor?"

  The secretary looked embarrassed. "Nothing – at least -" he began uncertainly. His voice trailed off into silence.

  "I'm sorry, Mr Raynor," Japp insisted, "but I've got to have the truth. Come now, everyone realiz
es you're keeping something back."

  "It's nothing, really," said the secretary. "I mean, there's obviously some quite reasonable explanation."

  "Explanation for what, Mr Raynor?" asked Japp.

  Raynor still hesitated.

  "Well?" Japp prompted him.

  "It was only that -" Raynor paused again, and then made up his mind to continue. "It was only that I saw Mrs Amory emptying out some of those little tablets into her hand."

  "When was this?" Japp asked him.

  "Last night. I was coming out of Sir Claud's study. The others were busy with the gramophone. They were all clustered around it. I noticed her pick up a tube of tablets – I thought it was the hyoscine – and pour most of them out into the palm of her hand. Then Sir Claud called me back into the study for something."

  "Why didn't you mention this before?" asked Japp.

  Lucia began to speak, but the Inspector silenced her.

  "One minute, please, Mrs Amory," he insisted. "I'd like to hear from Mr Raynor first."

  "I never thought of it again," Raynor told him. "It was only when Mr Amory said just now that Sir Claud had been poisoned with hyoscine that it came back to me. Of course, I realize it's perfectly all right. It was just the coincidence that startled me. The tablets might not have been hyoscine at all. It could have been one of the other tubes that she was handling."

  Japp now turned to Lucia. "Well, ma'am," he asked, "what have you got to say about it?"

  Lucia seemed quite composed as she answered, "I wanted something to make me sleep."

  Addressing Raynor again, Japp asked, "You say she pretty well emptied the tube?"

  "It seemed so to me," said Raynor.

  Japp turned again to Lucia. "You wouldn't have needed so many tablets to make you sleep. One or two would have been sufficient. What did you do with the rest?"

  Lucia thought for a moment before replying, "I can't remember."