‘I find the superintendent admirably thorough.’
Sugden said gloomily:
‘It won’t be any joke looking through this house for the missing diamonds. Never saw so many ornaments and knick-knacks in my life.’
‘The hiding-places are certainly abundant,’ Poirot agreed.
‘And there’s really nothing you would suggest, Poirot?’
The chief constable looked a little disappointed—rather like a man whose dog has refused to do its trick.
Poirot said:
‘You will permit that I take a line of my own?’
‘Certainly—certainly,’ said Johnson at the same moment as Superintendent Sugden said rather suspiciously:
‘What line?’
‘I would like,’ said Hercule Poirot, ‘to converse—very often—very frequently—with members of the family.’
‘You mean you’d like to have another shot at questioning them?’ asked the colonel, a little puzzled.
‘No, no, not to question—to converse!’
‘Why?’ asked Sugden.
Hercule Poirot waved an emphatic hand.
‘In conversation, points arise! If a human being converses much, it is impossible for him to avoid the truth!’
Sugden said:
‘Then you think someone is lying?’
Poirot sighed.
‘Mon cher, everyone lies—in parts like the egg of the English curate. It is profitable to separate the harmless lies from the vital ones.’
Colonel Johnson said sharply:
‘All the same, it’s incredible, you know. Here’s a particularly crude and brutal murder—and whom have we as suspects? Alfred Lee and his wife—both charming, well-bred, quiet people. George Lee, who’s a Member of Parliament and the essence of respectability. His wife? She’s just an ordinary modern lovely. David Lee seems a gentle creature and we’ve got his brother Harry’s word for it that he can’t stand the sight of blood. His wife seems a nice sensible woman—quite commonplace. Remains the Spanish niece and the man from South Africa. Spanish beauties have hot tempers, but I don’t see that attractive creature slitting the old man’s neck in cold blood, especially as from what has come out she had every reason to keep him alive—at any rate until he had signed a new will. Stephen Farr’s a possibility—that is to say, he may be a professional crook and have come here after the diamonds. The old man discovered the loss and Farr slit his throat to
keep him quiet. That could have been so—that gramophone alibi isn’t too good.’
Poirot shook his head.
‘My dear friend,’ he said. ‘Compare the physique of M. Stephen Farr and old Simeon Lee. If Farr decided to kill the old man he could have done it in a minute—Simeon Lee couldn’t possibly have put up that fight against him. Can one believe that that frail old man and that magnificent specimen of humanity struggled for some minutes overturning chairs and breaking china? To imagine such a thing is fantastic!’
Colonel Johnson’s eyes narrowed.
‘You mean,’ he said, ‘that it was a weak man who killed Simeon Lee?’
‘Or a woman!’ said the superintendent.
XVI
Colonel Johnson looked at his watch.