“And say what? What is there to say—before the event? That someone has murder in their heart? I tell you, mon enfant, if one human being is determined to kill another human being—”
“You could warn the victim,” insisted Pamela.
“Sometimes,” said Hercule Poirot, “warnings are useless.”
Pamela said slowly, “You could warn the murderer—show him that you knew what was intended. . . .”
Poirot nodded appreciatively.
“Yes—a better plan, that. But even then you have to reckon with a criminal’s chief vice.”
“What is that?”
“Conceit. A criminal never believes that his crime can fail.”
“But it’s absurd—stupid,” cried Pamela. “The whole crime was childish! Why, the police arrested Douglas Gold at once last night.”
“Yes.” He added thoughtfully, “Douglas Gold is a very stupid young man.”
“Incredibly stupid! I hear that they found the rest of the poison—whatever it was—?”
“A form of stropanthin. A heart poison.”
“That they actually found the rest of it in his dinner jacket pocket?”
“Quite true.”
“Incredibly stupid!” said Pamela again. “Perhaps he meant to get rid of it—and the shock of the wrong person being poisoned paralysed him. What a scene it would make on the stage. The lover putting the stropanthin in the husband’s glass and then, just when his attention is elsewhere, the wife drinks it instead . . . Think of the ghastly moment when Douglas Gold turned round and realized he had killed the woman he loved. . . .”
She gave a little shiver.
“Your triangle. The Eternal Triangle! Who would have thought it would end like this?”
“I was afraid of it,” murmured Poirot.
Pamela turned on him.
“You warned her—Mrs. Gold. Then why didn’t you warn him as well?”
“You mean, why didn’t I warn Douglas Gold?”
“No. I mean Commander Chantry. You could have told him that he was in danger—after all, he was the real obstacle! I’ve no doubt Douglas Gold relied on being able to bully his wife into giving him a divorce—she’s a meek-spirited little woman and terribly fond of him. But Chantry is a mulish sort of devil. He was determined not to give Valentine her freedom.”
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
“It would have been no good my speaking to Chantry,” he said.
“Perhaps not,” Pamela admitted. “He’d probably have said he could look after himself and told you to go to the devil. But I do feel there ought to have been something one could have done.”
“I did think,” said Poirot slowly, “of trying to persuade Valentine Chantry to leave the island, but she would not have believed what I had to tell her. She was far too stupid a woman to take in a thing like that. Pauvre femme, her stupidity killed her.”
“I don’t believe it would have been any good if she had left the island,” said Pamela. “He would simply have followed her.”
“He?”
“Douglas Gold.”
“You think Douglas Gold would have followed her? Oh, no, mademoiselle, you are wrong—you are completely wrong. You have not yet appreciated the truth of this matter. If Valentine Chantry had left the island, her husband would have gone with her.”