Black Coffee hp-7 Read online

  "No," Miss Amory told him. "Lucia poured out the coffee."

  "When was that, exactly?"

  "It must have been just after we were talking about those dreadful drugs."

  "Did Mrs Amory take the coffee to Sir Claud herself?"

  Caroline Amory paused for thought. "No -" she finally decided.

  "No?" asked Poirot. "Then who did?"

  "I don't know – I'm not sure – let me see, now. Oh yes, I remember! Sir Claud's coffee-cup was on the table beside Lucia's own cup. I remember that, because Mr Raynor was carrying the cup to Sir Claud in the study, and Lucia called him back and said he had taken the wrong cup – which really was very silly, because they were both exactly the same – black, without sugar."

  "So," Poirot observed, "Monsieur Raynor took the coffee to Sir Claud?"

  "Yes – or, at least – no, that's right, Richard took it from him, because Barbara wanted to dance with Mr Raynor."

  "Oh! So Monsieur Amory took the coffee to his father."

  "Yes, that's correct," Miss Amory confirmed.

  "Ah!" exclaimed Poirot. "Tell me, what had Monsieur Amory been doing just before that? Dancing?"

  "Oh, no," Miss Amory replied. "He had been packing away the drugs. Putting them all back in the box tidily, you know."

  "I see, I see. Sir Claud, then, drank his coffee in his study?"

  "I suppose he began to do so," Miss Amory remembered. "But he came back in here with the cup in his hand. I remember his complaining about the taste, saying that it was bitter. And I assure you, Monsieur Poirot, it was the very best coffee. A special mixture that I had ordered myself from the Army and Navy Stores in London. You know, that wonderful department store in Victoria Street. It's so convenient, not far from the railway station. And I -"

  She broke off as the door opened and Edward Raynor entered.

  "Am I interrupting?" the secretary asked. "I am so sorry. I wanted to speak to Monsieur Poirot, but I can come back later."

  "No, no," declared Poirot. "I have finished putting this poor lady upon the rack!"

  Miss Amory rose. "I'm afraid I haven't been able to tell you anything useful," she apologized, as she went to the door.

  Poirot rose and walked ahead of her. "You have told me a great deal, mademoiselle. More than you realize, perhaps," he assured Miss Amory as he opened the door for her.

  Chapter 13

  After seeing Miss Amory out, Poirot turned his attention to Edward Raynor. "Now, Monsieur Raynor," he said as he gestured the secretary to a chair, "let me hear what you have to tell me."

  Raynor sat down and regarded Poirot earnestly. "Mr Amory has just told me the news about Sir Claud. The cause of his death, I mean. This is a most extraordinary business, monsieur."

  "It has come as a shock to you?" asked Poirot.

  "Certainly. I never suspected such a thing."

  Approaching him, Poirot handed Raynor the key that he had found, watching the secretary keenly as he did so.

  "Have you ever seen this key before, Monsieur Raynor?" he asked.

  Raynor took the key and turned it about in his hands with a puzzled air. "It looks rather like the key of Sir Claud's safe," he observed. "But I understand from Mr Amory that Sir Claud's key was in its proper place on his chain." He handed the key back to Poirot.

  "Yes, this is a key to the safe in Sir Claud's study, but it is a duplicate key," Poirot told him, adding slowly and with emphasis, "a duplicate which was lying on the floor beside the chair you occupied last night."

  Raynor looked at the detective unflinchingly. "If you think it was I who dropped it, you are mistaken," he declared.

  Poirot regarded him searchingly for a moment, and then nodded his head as if satisfied. "I believe you," he said.

  Moving briskly to the settee, he sat and rubbed his hands together. "Now, let us get to work, Monsieur Raynor. You were Sir Claud's confidential secretary, were you not?"

  "That is correct."

  "Then you knew a lot about his work?"

  "Yes. I have a certain amount of scientific training, and I occasionally helped him with his experiments."

  "Do you know anything," asked Poirot, "that can throw light upon this unfortunate affair?"

  Raynor took a letter from his pocket. "Only this," he replied as he rose, moved across to Poirot and handed him the letter. "One of my tasks was to open and sort out all of Sir Claud's correspondence. This came two days ago."

  Poirot took the letter and read it aloud. "'You are nourishing a viper in your bosom.' Bosom?" he queried, turning to Hastings before continuing, "'Beware of Selma Goetz and her brood. Your secret is known. Be on your guard.' It is signed 'Watcher.' H'm, very picturesque and dramatic. Hastings, you will enjoy this," Poirot remarked, passing the letter to his friend.

  "What I would like to know," declared Edward Raynor, "is this. Who is Selma Goetz?"

  Leaning back and putting his fingertips together, Poirot announced, "I think I can satisfy your curiosity, monsieur. Selma Goetz was the most successful international spy ever known. She was also a very beautiful woman. She worked for Italy, for France, for Germany, and eventually, I believe, for Russia. Yes, she was an extraordinary woman, Selma Goetz."

  Raynor stepped back a pace, and spoke sharply. "Was?"

  "She is dead," Poirot declared. "She died in Genoa, last November." He retrieved the letter from Hastings, who had been shaking his head over it with a perplexed expression.

  "Then this letter must be a hoax," Raynor exclaimed.

  "I wonder," Poirot murmured. "'Selma Goetz and her brood,' it says. Selma Goetz left a daughter, Monsieur Raynor, a very beautiful girl. Since her mother's death she has disappeared completely." He put the letter in his pocket.

  "Could it be possible that -?" Raynor began, then paused.

  "Yes? You were going to say something, monsieur?" Poirot prompted him.

  Moving to the detective, Raynor spoke eagerly. "Mrs Amory's Italian maid. She brought her from Italy with her, a very pretty girl. Vittoria Muzio, her name is. Could she possibly be this daughter of Selma Goetz?"

  "Ah, it is an idea, that." Poirot sounded impressed.

  "Let me send her to you," Raynor suggested, turning to go.

  Poirot rose. "No, no, a little minute. Above all, we must not alarm her. Let me speak to Madame Amory first. She will be able to tell me something about this girl."

  "Perhaps you are right," Raynor agreed. "I'll tell Mrs Amory at once."

  The secretary left the room with the air of a determined man, and Hastings approached Poirot in great excitement.

  "That's it, Poirot! Carelli and the Italian maid in collusion, working for a foreign government. Don't you agree?"

  Deep in thought, Poirot paid his colleague no heed.

  "Poirot? Don't you think so? I said, it must be Carelli and the maid working together."

  "Ah, yes, that is exactly what you would say, my friend."

  Hastings looked affronted. "Well, what is your idea?" he asked Poirot in an injured tone.

  "There are several questions to be answered, my dear Hastings. Why was Madame Amory's necklace stolen two months ago? Why did she refuse to call in the police on that occasion? Why -?"

  He broke off as Lucia Amory entered the room, carrying her handbag. "I understand you wanted to see me, Monsieur Poirot. Is that correct?" she asked.

  "Yes, madame. I would like simply to ask you a few questions." He indicated a chair by the table. "Won't you sit down?"

  Lucia moved to the chair and sat, as Poirot turned to Hastings. "My friend, the garden outside that window is very fine," Poirot observed, taking Hastings by the arm and propelling him gently towards the French windows. Hastings looked distinctly reluctant to leave, but Poirot's insistence, though gentle, was firm. "Yes, my friend. Observe the beauties of nature. Do not ever lose a chance of observing the beauties of nature."

  Somewhat unwillingly, Hastings allowed himself to be bundled out of doors. Then, the day being warm and sunny, he decided to make
the best of his present situation and explore the Amorys' garden. Ambling across the lawn, he made his way towards a hedge beyond which a formal garden looked extremely inviting.

  As he walked along the length of the hedge, Hastings became aware of voices quite close by, voices which, as he approached, he recognized as those of Barbara Amory and Dr Graham, who were, it seemed, enjoying a tête-а-tête on a bench, just the other side of the hedge. In the hope that he might overhear something relevant to Sir Claud Amory's death or the disappearance of the formula that would be useful for Poirot to know, Hastings stopped to listen.

  "- perfectly clear that he thinks his beautiful young cousin can do better for herself than a country doctor. That seems to be the basis of his lack of enthusiasm for our seeing each other," Kenneth Graham was saying.

  "Oh, I know Richard can be an old stick-in-the-mud at times, and carry on like someone twice his age," Barbara's voice replied. "But I don't think you ought to allow yourself to be affected by it, Kenny. I certainly don't take any notice of him."

  "Well, I shan't either," said Dr Graham. "But look here, Barbara, I asked you to meet me out here because I wanted to talk to you privately, without being seen or heard by the family. First of all, I ought to tell you that there can be no doubt about it, your uncle was poisoned last night."

  "Oh, yes?" Barbara sounded bored.

  "You don't seem at all surprised to hear that."

  "Oh, I suppose I'm surprised. After all, members of one's family don't get poisoned every day, do they? But I have to admit that I'm not particularly upset that he's dead. In fact, I think I'm glad."

  "Barbara!"

  "Now, don't you start pretending you're surprised to hear that, Kenny. You've listened to me going on about the mean old so-and-so on countless occasions. He didn't really care for any of us, he was only interested in his mouldy old experiments. He treated Richard very badly, and he wasn't particularly welcoming to Lucia when Richard brought her back from Italy as his bride. And Lucia is so sweet, and so absolutely right for Richard."

  "Barbara, darling, I have to ask you this. Now, I promise that anything you say to me will go no further. I'll protect you if necessary. But tell me, do you know something – anything at all – about your uncle's death? Have you any reason to suspect that Richard, for example, might have felt so desperate about his financial situation that he would think of killing his father in order to get his hands now on what would eventually be his inheritance?"

  "I don't want to continue this conversation, Kenny. I thought you asked me out here to whisper sweet nothings to me, not to accuse my cousin of murder."

  "Darling, I'm not accusing Richard of anything. But you must admit there's something wrong here. Richard doesn't seem to want a police investigation into his father's death. It's almost as though he were afraid of what it might reveal. There's no way he can stop the police from taking over, of course, but he's made it perfectly clear that he's furious with me for having instigated an official investigation. I was only doing my duty as a doctor, after all. How could I possibly have signed a death certificate stating that Sir Claud had died of a heart attack? For heaven's sake, there was absolutely nothing wrong with his heart when I last gave him a regular check-up only a few weeks ago."

  "Kenny, I don't want to hear any more. I'm going indoors. You'll make your own way out through the garden, won't you? I'll see you around."

  "Barbara, I only want -" But she had already gone, and Dr Graham emitted a deep sigh that was almost a groan.

  At that moment, Hastings thought it expedient to retrace his steps quickly back to the house without being seen by either of them.

  Chapter 14

  Back in the library, it was only after Hastings, propelled by Hercule Poirot, had made his unwilling exit into the garden that the little detective turned his attention again to Lucia Amory, first taking care to close the French windows.

  Lucia looked at Poirot anxiously. "You want to ask me about my maid, I understand, Monsieur Poirot. That is what Mr Raynor told me. But she is a very good girl. I am sure there is nothing wrong with her."

  "Madame," Poirot replied, "it is not about your maid that I wish to speak to you."

  Lucia sounded startled as she began, "But Mr Raynor said -"

  Poirot interrupted her. "I am afraid I allowed Mr Raynor to think so for reasons of my own."

  "Well, what is it then?" Lucia's voice was guarded now.

  "Madame," Poirot observed, "you paid me a very pretty compliment yesterday. You said that, "when you first saw me – you said – that you trusted me."

  "Well?"

  "Well, madame, I ask you to trust me now!"

  "What do you mean?"

  Poirot observed her solemnly. "You have youth, beauty, admiration, love – all the things a woman wants and craves. But there is one thing, madame, that you lack – a father confessor! Let Papa Poirot offer himself for the post."

  Lucia was about to speak when Poirot interrupted her.

  "Now, think well before you refuse, madame. It was at your request that I remained here. I stayed to serve you. I still wish to serve you."

  With a sudden flash of temperament, Lucia replied, "You can serve me best now by going, monsieur."

  "Madame," Poirot continued imperturbably, "do you know that the police have been called in?"

  "The police?"

  "Yes."

  "But by whom? And why?"

  "Dr Graham and the other doctors, his colleagues," Poirot told her, "have discovered that Sir Claud Amory was poisoned."

  "Ah, no! No! Not that!" Lucia sounded more horrified than surprised.

  "Yes. So you see, madame, there is very little time for you to decide on the most prudent course of action. At present, I serve you. Later, I may have to serve justice."

  Lucia's eyes searched Poirot's face as though trying to decide whether to confide in him. At last, "What do you want me to do?" she asked falteringly.

  Poirot sat and faced her. "What will you?" he murmured to himself, and then, addressing Lucia, he suggested gently, "Why not simply tell me the truth, madame?"

  Lucia paused. Stretching out her hand towards him, she began, "I – I -" She paused again, irresolutely, and then her expression hardened. "Really, Monsieur Poirot, I am at a loss to understand you."

  Poirot eyed her keenly. "Ah! It is to be like that, is it? I am very sorry."

  Her composure somewhat regained, Lucia spoke coldly. "If you will tell me what you want with me, I will answer any questions you wish to ask."

  "So!" the little detective exclaimed. "You pit your wits against Hercule Poirot, do you? Very well, then. Be assured, however, madame, that we shall get at the truth just the same." He tapped the table. "But by a less pleasant process."

  "I have nothing to conceal," Lucia told him defiantly.

  Taking from his pocket the letter Edward Raynor had given him, Poirot handed it to Lucia. "A few days ago, Sir Claud received this anonymous letter," he informed her.

  Lucia glanced through the letter, apparently unmoved.

  "Well, what of it?" she commented as she handed it back to Poirot.

  "Have you ever heard the name Selma Goetz, before?"

  "Never! Who is she?" asked Lucia.

  "She died – in Genoa – last November," said Poirot.

  "Indeed?"

  "Perhaps you met her there," Poirot remarked, replacing the letter in his pocket. "In fact, I think you did."

  "I was never in Genoa in my life," Lucia insisted sharply.

  "Then, if anyone were to say that they had seen you there?"

  "They would – they would be mistaken."

  Poirot persisted. "But I understand, madame, that you first met your husband in Genoa?"

  "Did Richard say that? How stupid of him! We met first in Milan."

  "Then the woman you were with in Genoa -"

  Lucia interrupted him angrily. "I tell you, I was never in Genoa!"

  "Ah, pardon!" exclaimed Poirot. "Of course, you said so
just now. Yet it is odd!"

  "What is odd?"

  Poirot closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. His voice came purringly from between his lips. "I will tell you a little story, madame," he announced, taking out a pocketbook.

  "I have a friend who does the photography for certain London journals. He takes – how do you say? – the snapshots of contessas and other fashionable ladies who bathe themselves on fashionable beaches. That sort of thing." Poirot searched in the pocket-book before continuing, "Last November, this friend of mine, he finds himself in Genoa, and he recognizes a very notorious lady. The Baronne de Giers, she calls herself at this time, and she is the chère amie of a very noted French diplomat. The world talks, but that does not matter to the lady, because the diplomat, he talks also, and that is what she wants. He is more amorous than discreet, you understand -" Poirot broke off with an innocent air. "I do not bore you, I hope, madame?"

  "Not at all, but I hardly see the point of this story."

  Looking through the contents of his pocketbook, Poirot continued. "I am arriving at the point, I assure you, madame. My friend, he shows me a snapshot he has taken. We agree with each other that the Baronne de Giers is une très belle femme, and we are not at all surprised at the behavior of the diplomat."

  "Is that all?"

  "No, madame. You see, the lady was not alone. She was photographed walking with her daughter, and that daughter, madame, had a very beautiful face, and one, moreover, that it would not be at all easy to forget." Poirot rose, made his most gallant bow, and closed his pocket-book. "Of course, I recognized that face as soon as I arrived here."

  Lucia looked at Poirot and drew her breath in sharply.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed. After a moment, she pulled herself together, and laughed. "My dear Monsieur Poirot, what a curious mistake. Of course, I see the point of all your questions now. I remember the Baronne de Giers perfectly, and her daughter as well. The daughter was rather a dull girl, but the mother fascinated me. I was quite romantic about her, and went out walking with her on several occasions. I think my devotion amused her. That was doubtless how the mistake arose. That is how someone thought that I must be the woman's daughter." Lucia sank back in her chair.