Poirot gave a flamboyant twist to his moustache, and carefully brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. Then, ‘It is just a – no doubt foolish – idea of mine,’ the little detective finally replied. ‘You see, someone told me the other day a most amusing story. The story of the empty bottle – there was nothing in it.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand you,’ Richard Amory declared.
Picking up the envelope from the table, Poirot murmured, ‘I just wondered . . .’ He glanced at Richard, who took the envelope from him, and looked inside.
‘It’s empty!’ Richard exclaimed. Screwing up the envelope, he threw it on the table and looked searchingly at Lucia, who moved away from him. ‘Then,’ he continued uncertainly, ‘I suppose we must be searched – we . . .’
Richard’s voice trailed away, and he looked around the room as though seeking guidance. He was met with looks of confusion from Barbara and her aunt, indignation from Edward Raynor and blandness from Dr Carelli. Lucia continued to avoid his eye.
‘Why do you not take my advice, monsieur?’ Poirot suggested. ‘Do nothing until the doctor comes. Tell me,’ he asked, pointing towards the study, ‘that doorway, where does he go?’
‘That’s my father’s study in there,’ Richard told him. Poirot crossed the room to the door, put his head around it to look into the study, and then turned back into the library, nodding as though satisfied.
‘I see,’ he murmured. Then, addressing Richard, he added, ‘Eh bien, monsieur. I see no need why any of you should remain in this room if you would prefer not to.’
There was a general stir of relief. Dr Carelli was the first to move. ‘It is understood, of course,’ Poirot announced, looking at the Italian doctor, ‘that no one should leave the house.’
‘I will hold myself responsible for that,’ Richard declared as Barbara and Raynor left together, followed by Carelli. Caroline Amory lingered by her brother’s chair. ‘Poor dear Claud,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Poor dear Claud.’
Poirot approached her. ‘You must have courage, mademoiselle,’ he told her. ‘The shock to you has been great, I know.’
Miss Amory looked at him with tears in her eyes. ‘I’m so glad that I ordered the cook to prepare fried sole tonight,’ she said. ‘It was one of my brother’s favourite dishes.’
With a brave attempt to look serious and to match the solemnity of her delivery, Poirot answered, ‘Yes, yes, that must be a real comfort to you, I am sure.’ He shepherded Miss Amory out of the room. Richard followed his aunt out and, after a moment’s hesitation, Lucia made a brisk exit. Poirot and Hastings were left alone in the room with the body of Sir Claud.
Chapter 7
As soon as the room was empty, Hastings addressed Poirot eagerly. ‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked.
‘Shut the door, please, Hastings,’ was the only reply he received. As his friend complied, Poirot shook his head slowly and looked around the room. He moved about, casting an eye over the furniture and occasionally looking down at the floor. Suddenly, he stooped down to examine the overturned chair, the chair in which the secretary Edward Raynor had been sitting when the lights had gone out. From beneath the chair Poirot picked up a small object.
‘What have you found?’
Hastings asked him. ‘A key,’ Poirot replied. ‘It looks to me as though it might be the key to a safe. I observed a safe in Sir Claud’s study. Will you have the goodness, Hastings, to try this key and tell me if it fits?’
Hastings took the key from Poirot, and went into the study with it. Meanwhile, Poirot approached the body of the scientist and, feeling in the trouser pocket, removed from it a bunch of keys, each of which he examined closely. Hastings returned, informing Poirot that, indeed, the key fitted the safe in the study. ‘I think I can guess what happened,’ Hastings continued. ‘I imagine Sir Claud must have dropped it, and – er –’
He broke off, and Poirot slowly shook his head, doubtfully. ‘No, no, mon ami, give me the key, please,’ he requested, frowning to himself as though perplexed. He took the key from Hastings and compared it with one of the keys on the bunch. Then, putting them back in the dead scientist’s pocket, he held up the single key. ‘This,’ he told Hastings, ‘is a duplicate. It is, indeed, clumsily made, but no doubt it served its purpose.’
In great excitement, Hastings exclaimed, ‘Then that means –’
He was stopped by a warning gesture from Poirot. The sound of a key being turned in the lock of the door which led to the front hall and the staircase to the upper floors of the house was heard. As the two men turned, it opened slowly, and Tredwell, the butler, stood in the doorway.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Tredwell as he came into the room and shut the door behind him. ‘The master told me to lock this door, as well as the other one leading from this room, until you arrived. The master . . .’ He stopped, on seeing the motionless figure of Sir Claud in the chair.
‘I am afraid your master is dead,’ Poirot told him. ‘May I ask your name?’
‘Tredwell, sir.’ The servant moved to the front of the desk, looking at the body of his master. ‘Oh dear. Poor Sir Claud!’ he murmured. Turning to Poirot, he added, ‘Do please forgive me, sir, but it’s such a shock. May I ask what happened? Is it – murder?’
‘Why should you ask that?’ said Poirot.
Lowering his voice, the butler replied, ‘There have been strange things happening this evening, sir.’
‘Oh?’ exclaimed Poirot, as he exchanged glances with Hastings. ‘Tell me about these strange things.’
‘Well, I hardly know where to begin, sir,’ Tredwell replied. ‘I – I think I first felt that something was wrong when the Italian gentleman came to tea.’
‘The Italian gentleman?’
‘Dr Carelli, sir.’
‘He came to tea unexpectedly?’ asked Poirot.
‘Yes, sir, and Miss Amory asked him to stay, seeing as how he was a friend of Mrs Richard’s. But if you ask me, sir –’
He stopped, and Poirot gently prompted him. ‘Yes?’
‘I hope you will understand, sir,’ said Tredwell, ‘that it is not my custom to gossip about the family. But seeing that the master is dead . . .’
He paused again, and Poirot murmured sympathetically, ‘Yes, yes, I understand. I am sure you were very attached to your master.’ Tredwell nodded, and Poirot continued, ‘Sir Claud sent for me in order to tell me something. You must tell me all you can.’
‘Well, then,’ Tredwell responded, ‘in my opinion, sir, Mrs Richard Amory did not want the Italian gentleman asked to dinner. I observed her face when Miss Amory gave the invitation.’
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‘What is your own impression of Dr Carelli?’ asked Poirot.
‘Dr Carelli, sir,’ replied the butler rather haughtily, ‘is not one of us.’
Not quite understanding Tredwell’s remark, Poirot looked enquiringly at Hastings who turned away to hide a smile. Throwing his colleague a glance of mild reproof, Poirot turned again to Tredwell. The butler’s countenance remained perfectly serious.
‘Did you feel,’ Poirot queried, ‘that there was something odd about Dr Carelli’s coming to the house in the way that he did?’
‘Precisely, sir. It wasn’t natural, somehow. And it was after he arrived that the trouble began, with the master telling me earlier this evening to send for you, and giving orders about the doors being locked. Mrs Richard, too, hasn’t been herself all the evening. She had to leave the dinner-table. Mr Richard, he was very upset about it.’
‘Ah,’ said Poirot, ‘she had to leave the table? Did she come into this room?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Tredwell replied.
Poirot looked around the room. His eye alighted on the handbag which Lucia had left on the table. ‘One of the ladies has left her bag, I see,’ he observed, as he picked it up.
Moving closer to him to look at the handbag, Tredwell told Poirot, ‘That is Mrs Richard’s, sir.’
‘Yes,’ Hastings confirmed. ‘I noticed her laying it down there just before she left the room.’
‘Just before she left the room, eh?’ said Poirot. ‘How curious.’ He put the bag down on the settee, frowned perplexedly, and stood apparently lost in thought.
‘About locking the doors, sir,’ Tredwell continued after a brief pause. ‘The master told me –’
Suddenly starting out of his reverie, Poirot interrupted the butler. ‘Yes, yes, I must hear all about that. Let us go through here,’ he suggested, indicating the door to the front of the house.
Tredwell went to the door, followed by Poirot. Hastings, however, declared rather importantly, ‘I think I’ll stay here.’