He turned to the others.
‘Do you remember, all of you, how each of you described the dying scream of Mr Lee in a different way? You, Mr Lee, described it as the cry of a man in mortal agony. Your wife and David Lee both used the expression: a soul in hell. Mrs David Lee, on the contrary, said it was the cry of someone who had no soul. She said it was inhuman, like a beast. It was Harry Lee who came nearest to the truth. He said it sounded like killing a pig.
‘Do you know those long pink bladders that are sold at fairs with faces painted on them called “Dying Pigs”? As the air rushes out they give forth an inhuman wail. That, Sugden, was your final touch. You arranged one of those in the room. The mouth of it was stopped up with a peg, but that peg was connected to the cord. When you pulled on the cord the peg came out and the pig began to deflate. On top of the falling furniture came the scream of the “Dying Pig”.’
He turned once more to the others.
‘You see now what it was that Pilar Estravados picked up? The superintendent had hoped to get there in time to retrieve that little wisp of rubber before anyone noticed it. However, he took it from Pilar quickly enough in his most official manner. But remember he never mentioned that incident to anyone. In itself, that was a singularly suspicious fact. I heard of it from Magdalene Lee and tackled him about it. He was prepared for that eventuality. He had snipped a piece from Mr Lee’s rubber spongebag and produced that, together with a wooden peg. Superficially it answered to the same description—a fragment of rubber and a piece of wood. It meant, as I realized at the time, absolutely nothing! But, fool that I was, I did not at once say; “This means nothing, so it cannot have been there, and Superintendent Sugden is lying…” No, I foolishly went on trying to find an explanation for it. It was not until Mademoiselle Estravados was playing with a balloon that burst, and she cried out that it must have been a burst balloon she picked up in Simeon Lee’s room, that I saw the truth.
‘You see now how everything fits in? The improbable struggle, which is necessary to establish a false time of death; the locked door—so that nobody shall find the body too soon; the dying man’s scream. The crime is now logical and reasonable.
‘But from the moment that Pilar Estravados cried aloud her discovery about the balloon, she was a source of danger to the murderer. And if that remark had been heard by him from the house (which it well might, for her voice was high and clear and the windows were open), she herself was in considerable danger. Already she had given the murderer one very nasty moment. She had said, speaking of old Mr Lee, “He must have been very good-looking when he was young.” And had added, speaking directly to Sugden: “Like you.” She meant that literally, and Sugden knew it. No wonder Sugden went purple in the face and nearly choked. It was so unexpected and so deadly dangerous. He hoped, after that, to fix the guilt on her, but it proved unexpectedly difficult, since, as the old man’s portionless granddaughter, she had obviously no motive for the crime. Later, when he overheard from the house her clear, high voice calling out its remark about the balloon, he decided on desperate measures. He set that booby trap when we were at lunch. Luckily, almost by a miracle, it failed…’
There was dead silence. Then Sugden said quietly:
‘When were you sure?’
Poirot said:
‘I was not quite sure till I brought home a false moustache and tried it on Simeon Lee’s picture. Then—the face that looked at me was yours.’
Sugden said:
‘God rot his soul in hell! I’m glad I did it!’
Part 7
December 28th
Lydia Lee said:
‘Pilar, I think you had better stay with us until we can arrange something definite for you.’
Pilar said meekly:
‘You are very good, Lydia. You are nice. You forgive people quite easily without making a fuss about it.’
Lydia said, smiling:
‘I still call you Pilar, though I suppose your name is something else.’
‘Yes, I am really Conchita Lopez.’
‘Conchita is a pretty name too.’
‘You are really almost too nice, Lydia. But you don’t need to be bothered by me. I am going to marry Stephen, and we are going to South Africa.’
Lydia said, smiling:
‘Well, that rounds off things very nicely.’
Pilar said timidly:
‘Since you have been so kind, do you think, Lydia, that one day we might come back and stay with you—perhaps for Christmas—and then we could have the crackers and the burning raisins and those shiny things on a tree and the little snowmen?’
‘Certainly, you shall come and have a real English Christmas.’
‘That will be lovely. You see, Lydia, I feel that this year it was not a nice Christmas at all.’