Poirot’s voice broke in hard as steel.
‘There is a case against every person here. We will, Mr George Lee, begin with the case against you. You had no love for your father! You kept on good terms with him for the sake of money. On the day of his death he threatened to cut down your allowance. You knew that on his death you would probably inherit a very substantial sum. There is the motive. After dinner you went, as you say, to telephone. You did telephone—but the call lasted only five minutes. After that you could easily have gone to your father’s room, chatted with him, and then attacked him and killed him. You left the room and turned the key from outside, for you hoped the affair would be put down to a burglar. You omitted, in your panic, to make sure that the window was fully open so as to support the burglar theory. That w
as stupid; but you are, if you will pardon my saying so, rather a stupid man!
‘However,’ said Poirot, after a brief pause during which George tried to speak and failed, ‘many stupid men have been criminals!’
He turned his eyes on Magdalene.
‘Madame, too, she also had a motive. She is, I think, in debt, and the tone of certain of your father’s remarks may—have caused her uneasiness. She, too, has no alibi. She went to telephone, but she did not telephone, and we have only her word for what she did do…
‘Then,’ he paused, ‘there is Mr David Lee. We have heard, not once but many times, of the revengeful tempers and long memories that went with the Lee blood. Mr David Lee did not forget or forgive the way his father had treated his mother. A final jibe directed at the dead lady may have been the last straw. David Lee is said to have been playing the piano at the time of the murder. By a coincidence he was playing the “Dead March”. But suppose somebody else was playing that “Dead March”, somebody who knew what he was going to do, and who approved his action?’
Hilda Lee said quietly:
‘That is an infamous suggestion.’
Poirot turned to her. ‘I will offer you another, madame. It was your hand that did the deed. It was you who crept upstairs to execute judgment on a man you considered beyond human forgiveness. You are of those, madame, who can be terrible in anger…’
Hilda said: ‘I did not kill him.’
Superintendent Sugden said brusquely:
‘Mr Poirot’s quite right. There is a possible case against everyone except Mr Alfred Lee, Mr Harry Lee, and Mrs Alfred Lee.’
Poirot said gently:
‘I should not even except those three…’
The superintendent protested: ‘Oh, come now, Mr Poirot!’
Lydia Lee said:
‘And what is the case against me, M. Poirot?’
She smiled a little as she spoke, her brows raised ironically.
Poirot bowed. He said:
‘Your motive, madame, I pass over. It is sufficiently obvious. As to the rest, you were wearing last night a flowered taffeta dress of a very distinctive pattern with a cape. I will remind you of the fact that Tressilian, the butler, is shortsighted. Objects at a distance are dim and vague to him. I will also point out that your drawing-room is big and lighted by heavily shaded lamps. On that night, a minute or two before the cries were heard, Tressilian came into the drawing-room to take away the coffee-cups. He saw you, as he thought, in a familiar attitude by the far window half concealed by the heavy curtains.’
Lydia Lee said: ‘He did see me.’
Poirot went on:
‘I suggest that it is possible that what Tressilian saw was the cape of your dress, arranged to show by the window curtain, as though you yourself were standing there.’
Lydia said: ‘I was standing there…’
Alfred said: ‘How dare you suggest—?’
Harry interrupted him.
‘Let him go on, Alfred. It’s our turn next. How do you suggest that dear Alfred killed his beloved father since we were both together in the dining-room at the time?’
Poirot beamed at him.
‘That,’ he said, ‘is very simple. An alibi gains in force accordingly as it is unwillingly given. You and your brother are on bad terms. It is well known. You jibe at him in public. He has not a good word to say for you! But, supposing that were all part of a very clever plot. Supposing that Alfred Lee is tired of dancing attendance upon an exacting taskmaster. Supposing that you and he have got together some time ago. Your plan is laid. You come home. Alfred appears to resent your presence. He shows jealousy and dislike of you. You show contempt for him. And then comes the night of the murder you have so cleverly planned together. One of you remains in the dining-room, talking and perhaps quarrelling aloud as though two people were there. The other goes upstairs and commits the crime…’