‘Oh, no,’ replied Caroline Amory. ‘She came into this room. I settled her here on the sofa, and then I went back to the dining-room, leaving Richard with her. Young husbands and wives, you know, Monsieur Poirot! Not that young men are nearly so romantic as they used to be when I was a girl! Oh dear! I remember a young fellow called Aloysius Jones. We used to play croquet together. Foolish fellow – foolish fellow! But there, I’m wandering from the point again. We were talking about Richard and Lucia. A very handsome couple they make, don’t you think so, Monsieur Poirot? He met her in Italy, you know – on the Italian lakes – last November. It was love at first sight. They were married within a week. She was an orphan, alone in the world. Very sad, although I sometimes wonder whether it wasn’t a blessing in disguise. If she’d had a lot of foreign relations – that would be a bit trying, don’t you think? After all, you know what foreigners are! They – oh!’ She suddenly broke off, turning in her chair to look at Poirot in embarrassed dismay. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon!’
‘Not at all, not at all,’ murmured Poirot, with an amused glance at Hastings.
‘So stupid of me,’ Miss Amory apologized, highly flustered. ‘I didn’t mean – of course, it’s so different in your case. “Les braves Belges”, as we used to say during the war.’
‘Please, do not concern yourself,’ Poirot assured her. After a pause, he continued, as though her mention of the war had reminded him, ‘I believe – that is – I understand that the box of drugs above the bookcase is a relic of the war. You were all examining it last night, were you not?’
‘Yes, that’s right. So we were.’
‘Now, how did that come about?’ enquired Poirot.
Miss Amory considered for a moment, before replying. ‘Now, how did it happen? Ah, yes, I remember. I said I wished I had some sal volatile, and Barbara got the box down to look through it, and then the gentlemen came in, and Dr Carelli frightened me to death with the things he said.’
Hastings began to show great interest in the turn being taken by the discussion, and Poirot prompted Miss Amory to continue. ‘You mean the things Dr Carelli said about the drugs? He looked through them and examined them thoroughly, I suppose?’
‘Yes,’ Miss Amory confirmed, ‘and he held one glass tube up, something with a most innocent name – bromide, I think – which I have often taken for sea-sickness – and he said it would kill twelve strong men!’
‘Hyoscine hydrobromide?’ asked Poirot.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Was it hyoscine hydrobromide that Dr Carelli was referring to?’
‘Yes, yes, that was it,’ Miss Amory exclaimed. ‘How clever of you! And then Lucia took it from him, and repeated something he had said – about a dreamless sleep. I detest this modern neurotic poetry. I always say that, ever since dear Lord Tennyson died, no one has written poetry of any –’
‘Oh dear,’ muttered Poirot.
‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Miss Amory.
‘Ah, I was just thinking of the dear Lord Tennyson. But please go on. What happened next?’
‘Next?’
‘You were telling us about last night. Here, in this room –’
‘Ah, yes. Well, Barbara wanted to put on an extremely vulgar song. On the gramophone, I mean. Fortunately, I stopped her.’
‘I see,’ murmured Poirot. ‘And this little tube that the doctor held up – was it full?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Miss Amory replied without hesitation. ‘Because, when the doctor made his quotation about dreamless sleep, he said that half the tablets in the tube would be sufficient.’
Miss Amory got up from her chair, and moved away from the table. ‘You know, Monsieur Poirot,’ she continued as Poirot rose to join her, ‘I’ve said all along that I didn’t like that man. That Dr Carelli. There’s something about him – not sincere – and so oily in manner. Of course, I couldn’t say anything in front of Lucia, since he is supposed to be a friend of hers, but I did not like him. You see, Lucia is so trusting! I’m certain that the man must have wormed his way into her confidence with a view to getting asked to the house and stealing the formula.’
Poirot regarded Miss Amory quizzically before he asked, ‘You have no doubt, then, that it was Dr Carelli who stole Sir Claud’s formula?’
Miss Amory looked at the detective in surprise. ‘Dear Monsieur Poirot!’ she exclaimed. ‘Who else could have done so? He was the only stranger present. Naturally, my brother would not have liked to accuse a guest, so he made an opportunity for the document to be returned. I thought it was very delicately done. Very delicately indeed!’
‘Quite so,’ Poirot agreed tactfully, putting a friendly arm around Miss Amory’s shoulder, to that lady’s evident displeasure. ‘Now, mademoiselle, I am going to try a little experiment in which I would like your co-operation.’ He removed his arm from her. ‘Where were you sitting last night when the lights went out?’
‘There!’ Miss Amory declared, indicating the settee.
‘Then, would you be so good as to sit there once again?’
Miss Amory moved to the settee, and sat. ‘Now, mademoiselle,’ announced Poirot, ‘I want you to make a strong effort of the imagination! Shut your eyes, if you please.’
Miss Amory did as she was asked. ‘That is right,’ Poirot continued. ‘Now, imagine that you are back again where you were last night. It is dark. You can see nothing. But you can hear. Throw yourself back.’
Interpreting his words literally, Miss Amory flung herself backwards on the settee. ‘No, no,’ said Poirot. ‘I mean, throw your mind back. What can you hear? That is right, cast your mind back. Now, tell me what you hear in the darkness.’
Impressed by the detective’s evident earnestness, Miss Amory made an effort to do as he requested. Pausing for a moment, she then began to speak, slowly and in jerks. ‘Gasps,’ she said. ‘A lot of little gasps – and then the noise of a chair falling – and a metallic kind of clink –’
‘Was it like this?’ asked Poirot, taking a key from his pocket and throwing it down on the floor. It made no sound, and Miss Amory, after waiting for a few seconds, declared that she could hear nothing. ‘Well, like this, perhaps?’ Poirot tried again, retrieving the key from the floor and hitting it sharply against the coffee table.
‘Why, that’s exactly the sound I heard last night!’ Miss Amory exclaimed. ‘How curious!’
‘Continue, I pray you, mademoiselle,’ Poirot encouraged her.
‘Well, I heard Lucia scream and call out to Sir Claud. And then the knocking came on the door.’
‘That was all? You are sure?’
‘Yes, I think so – oh, wait a minute! Right at the beginning, there was a curious noise, like the tearing of silk. Somebody’s dress, I suppose.’
‘Whose dress, do you think?’ asked Poirot. ‘It must have been Lucia’s. It wouldn’t have been Barbara’s, because she was sitting right next to me, here.’
‘That is curious,’ murmured Poirot thoughtfully.
‘And that really is all,’ Miss Amory concluded. ‘May I open my eyes now?’
‘Oh yes, certainly, mademoiselle.’ As she did so, Poirot asked her, ‘Who poured out Sir Claud’s coffee? Was it you?’
‘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 obser
ved, ‘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 –’