"Does it not strike you as unlikely that a man who had committed acrime should keep the evidence of it in an unlocked drawer for anyone tofind?"
"He might have stowed them there in a hurry."
"But you have just said it was a whole week since the crime. He wouldhave had ample time to remove them and destroy them."
"Perhaps."
"There is no perhaps about it. Would he, or would he not have had plentyof time to remove and destroy them?"
"Yes."
"Was the pile of underclothes under which the things were hidden heavyor light?"
"Heavyish."
"In other words, it was winter underclothing. Obviously, the prisonerwould not be likely to go to that drawer?"
"Perhaps not."
"Kindly answer my question. Would the prisoner, in the hottest week of ahot summer, be likely to go to a drawer containing winter underclothing.Yes, or no?"
"No."
"In that case, is it not possible that the articles in question mighthave been put there by a third person, and that the prisoner was quiteunaware of their presence?"
"I should not think it likely."
"But it is possible?"
"Yes."
"That is all."
More evidence followed. Evidence as to the financial difficulties inwhich the prisoner had found himself at the end of July. Evidence asto his intrigue with Mrs. Raikes--poor Mary, that must have been bitterhearing for a woman of her pride. Evelyn Howard had been right in herfacts, though her animosity against Alfred Inglethorp had caused her tojump to the conclusion that he was the person concerned.
Lawrence Cavendish was then put into the box. In a low voice, in answerto Mr. Philips' questions, he denied having ordered anything fromParkson's in June. In fact, on June 29th, he had been staying away, inWales.
Instantly, Sir Ernest's chin was shooting pugnaciously forward.
"You deny having ordered a black beard from Parkson's on June 29th?"
"I do."
"Ah! In the event of anything happening to your brother, who willinherit Styles Court?"
The brutality of the question called a flush to Lawrence's pale face.The judge gave vent to a faint murmur of disapprobation, and theprisoner in the dock leant forward angrily.
Heavywether cared nothing for his client's anger.
"Answer my question, if you please."
"I suppose," said Lawrence quietly, "that I should."
"What do you mean by you 'suppose'? Your brother has no children. You_would_ inherit it, wouldn't you?"
"Yes."
"Ah, that's better," said Heavywether, with ferocious geniality. "Andyou'd inherit a good slice of money too, wouldn't you?"
"Really, Sir Ernest," protested the judge, "these questions are notrelevant."
Sir Ernest bowed, and having shot his arrow proceeded.
"On Tuesday, the 17th July, you went, I believe, with another guest, tovisit the dispensary at the Red Cross Hospital in Tadminster?"
"Yes."
"Did you--while you happened to be alone for a few seconds--unlock thepoison cupboard, and examine some of the bottles?"
"I--I--may have done so."
"I put it to you that you did do so?"
"Yes."
Sir Ernest fairly shot the next question at him.
"Did you examine one bottle in particular?"
"No, I do not think so."
"Be careful, Mr. Cavendish. I am referring to a little bottle ofHydro-chloride of Strychnine."
Lawrence was turning a sickly greenish colour.
"N--o--I am sure I didn't."
"Then how do you account for the fact that you left the unmistakableimpress of your finger-prints on it?"
The bullying manner was highly efficacious with a nervous disposition.
"I--I suppose I must have taken up the bottle."
"I suppose so too! Did you abstract any of the contents of the bottle?"
"Certainly not."
"Then why did you take it up?"
"I once studied to be a doctor. Such things naturally interest me."
"Ah! So poisons 'naturally interest' you, do they? Still, you waited tobe alone before gratifying that 'interest' of yours?"
"That was pure chance. If the others had been there, I should have donejust the same."
"Still, as it happens, the others were not there?"
"No, but----"
"In fact, during the whole afternoon, you were only alone for a coupleof minutes, and it happened--I say, it happened--to be during those twominutes that you displayed your 'natural interest' in Hydro-chloride ofStrychnine?"
Lawrence stammered pitiably.
"I--I----"
With a satisfied and expressive countenance, Sir Ernest observed:
"I have nothing more to ask you, Mr. Cavendish."
This bit of cross-examination had caused great excitement in court. Theheads of the many fashionably attired women present were busily laidtogether, and their whispers became so loud that the judge angrilythreatened to have the court cleared if there was not immediate silence.
There was little more evidence. The hand-writing experts were calledupon for their opinion of the signature of "Alfred Inglethorp" in thechemist's poison register. They all declared unanimously that it wascertainly not his hand-writing, and gave it as their view that it mightbe that of the prisoner disguised. Cross-examined, they admitted that itmight be the prisoner's hand-writing cleverly counterfeited.
Sir Ernest Heavywether's speech in opening the case for the defencewas not a long one, but it was backed by the full force of his emphaticmanner. Never, he said, in the course of his long experience, had heknown a charge of murder rest on slighter evidence. Not only was itentirely circumstantial, but the greater part of it was practicallyunproved. Let them take the testimony they had heard and sift itimpartially. The strychnine had been found in a drawer in the prisoner'sroom. That drawer was an unlocked one, as he had pointed out, and hesubmitted that there was no evidence to prove that it was the prisonerwho had concealed the poison there. It was, in fact, a wicked andmalicious attempt on the part of some third person to fix the crimeon the prisoner. The prosecution had been unable to produce a shred ofevidence in support of their contention that it was the prisoner whoordered the black beard from Parkson's. The quarrel which had takenplace between prisoner and his stepmother was freely admitted, but bothit and his financial embarrassments had been grossly exaggerated.
His learned friend--Sir Ernest nodded carelessly at Mr. Philips--hadstated that if the prisoner were an innocent man, he would havecome forward at the inquest to explain that it was he, and not Mr.Inglethorp, who had been the participator in the quarrel. He thought thefacts had been misrepresented. What had actually occurred was this.The prisoner, returning to the house on Tuesday evening, had beenauthoritatively told that there had been a violent quarrel between Mr.and Mrs. Inglethorp. No suspicion had entered the prisoner's headthat anyone could possibly have mistaken his voice for that of Mr.Inglethorp. He naturally concluded that his stepmother had had twoquarrels.
The prosecution averred that on Monday, July 16th, the prisoner hadentered the chemist's shop in the village, disguised as Mr. Inglethorp.The prisoner, on the contrary, was at that time at a lonely spot calledMarston's Spinney, where he had been summoned by an anonymous note,couched in blackmailing terms, and threatening to reveal certain mattersto his wife unless he complied with its demands. The prisoner had,accordingly, gone to the appointed spot, and after waiting there vainlyfor h
alf an hour had returned home. Unfortunately, he had met with noone on the way there or back who could vouch for the truth of his story,but luckily he had kept the note, and it would be produced as evidence.
As for the statement relating to the destruction of the will, theprisoner had formerly practiced at the Bar, and was perfectly well awarethat the will made in his favour a year before was automatically revokedby his stepmother's remarriage. He would call evidence to show who diddestroy the will, and it was possible that that might open up quite anew view of the case.
Finally, he would point out to the jury that there was evidence againstother people besides John Cavendish. He would direct their attention tothe fact that the evidence against Mr. Lawrence Cavendish was quite asstrong, if not stronger than that against his brother.
He would now call the prisoner.
John acquitted himself well in the witness-box. Under Sir Ernest'sskilful handling, he told his tale credibly and well. The anonymous notereceived by him was produced, and handed to the jury to examine. Thereadiness with which he admitted his financial difficulties, and thedisagreement with his stepmother, lent value to his denials.
At the close of his examination, he paused, and said:
"I should like to make one thing clear. I utterly reject and disapproveof Sir Ernest Heavywether's insinuations against my brother. My brother,I am convinced, had no more to do with the crime than I have."
Sir Ernest merely smiled, and noted with a sharp eye that John's protesthad produced a very favourable impression on the jury.
Then the cross-examination began.
"I understand you to say that it never entered your head that thewitnesses at the inquest could possibly have mistaken your voice forthat of Mr. Inglethorp. Is not that very surprising?"
"No, I don't think so. I was told there had been a quarrel between mymother and Mr. Inglethorp, and it never occurred to me that such was notreally the case."
"Not when the servant Dorcas repeated certain fragments of theconversation--fragments which you must have recognized?"
"I did not recognize them."
"Your memory must be unusually short!"
"No, but we were both angry, and, I think, said more than we meant. Ipaid very little attention to my mother's actual words."
Mr. Philips' incredulous sniff was a triumph of forensic skill. Hepassed on to the subject of the note.
"You have produced this note very opportunely. Tell me, is there nothingfamiliar about the hand-writing of it?"
"Not that I know of."
"Do you not think that it bears a marked resemblance to your ownhand-writing--carelessly disguised?"
"No, I do not think so."
"I put it to you that it is your own hand-writing!"
"No."
"I put it to you that, anxious to prove an alibi, you conceived the ideaof a fictitious and rather incredible appointment, and wrote this noteyourself in order to bear out your statement!"
"No."
"Is it not a fact that, at the time you claim to have been waiting aboutat a solitary and unfrequented spot, you were really in the chemist'sshop in Styles St. Mary, where you purchased strychnine in the name ofAlfred Inglethorp?"
"No, that is a lie."
"I put it to you that, wearing a suit of Mr. Inglethorp's clothes, witha black beard trimmed to resemble his, you were there--and signed theregister in his name!"
"That is absolutely untrue."
"Then I will leave the remarkable similarity of hand-writing betweenthe note, the register, and your own, to the consideration of the jury,"said Mr. Philips, and sat down with the air of a man who has done hisduty, but who was nevertheless horrified by such deliberate perjury.
After this, as it was growing late, the case was adjourned till Monday.
Poirot, I noticed, was looking profoundly discouraged. He had thatlittle frown between the eyes that I knew so well.
"What is it, Poirot?" I inquired.
"Ah, _mon ami_, things are going badly, badly."
In spite of myself, my heart gave a leap of relief. Evidently there wasa likelihood of John Cavendish being acquitted.
When we reached the house, my little friend waved aside Mary's offer oftea.
"No, I thank you, madame. I will mount to my room."
I followed him. Still frowning, he went across to the desk and took outa small pack of patience cards. Then he drew up a chair to the table,and, to my utter amazement, began solemnly to build card houses!
My jaw dropped involuntarily, and he said at once:
"No, _mon ami_, I am not in my second childhood! I steady my nerves,that is all. This employment requires precision of the fingers. Withprecision of the fingers goes precision of the brain. And never have Ineeded that more than now!"
"What is the trouble?" I asked.
With a great thump on the table, Poirot demolished his carefully builtup edifice.
"It is this, _mon ami!_ That I can build card houses seven stories high,but I cannot"--thump--"find"--thump--"that last link of which I spoke toyou."
I could not quite tell what to say, so I held my peace, and he beganslowly building up the cards again, speaking in jerks as he did so.
"It is done--so! By placing--one card--on another--withmathematical--precision!"
I watched the card house rising under his hands, story by story. Henever hesitated or faltered. It was really almost like a conjuringtrick.
"What a steady hand you've got," I remarked. "I believe I've only seenyour hand shake once."
"On an occasion when I was enraged, without doubt," observed Poirot,with great placidity.
"Yes indeed! You were in a towering rage. Do you remember? It was whenyou discovered that the lock of the despatch-case in Mrs. Inglethorp'sbedroom had been forced. You stood by the mantel-piece, twiddling thethings on it in your usual fashion, and your hand shook like a leaf! Imust say----"
But I stopped suddenly. For Poirot, uttering a hoarse and inarticulatecry, again annihilated his masterpiece of cards, and putting his handsover his eyes swayed backwards and forwards, apparently suffering thekeenest agony.
"Good heavens, Poirot!" I cried. "What is the matter? Are you takenill?"
"No, no," he gasped. "It is--it is--that I have an idea!"
"Oh!" I exclaimed, much relieved. "One of your 'little ideas'?"
"Ah, _ma foi_, no!" replied Poirot frankly. "This time it is an ideagigantic! Stupendous! And you--_you_, my friend, have given it to me!"
Suddenly clasping me in his arms, he kissed me warmly on both cheeks,and before I had recovered from my surprise ran headlong from the room.
Mary Cavendish entered at that moment.
"What is the matter with Monsieur Poirot? He rushed past me crying out:'A garage! For the love of Heaven, direct me to a garage, madame!' And,before I could answer, he had dashed out into the street."
I hurried to the window. True enough, there he was, tearing down thestreet, hatless, and gesticulating as he went. I turned to Mary with agesture of despair.
"He'll be stopped by a policeman in another minute. There he goes, roundthe corner!"
Our eyes met, and we stared helplessly at one another.
"What can be the matter?"
I shook my head.
"I don't know. He was building card houses, when suddenly he said he hadan idea, and rushed off as you saw."
"Well," said Mary, "I expect he will be back before dinner."
But night fell, and Poirot had not returned.