AGATHA CHRISTIE - HERCULE POIROTS CHRISTMAS
Complete and Unabridged
f^P^
Q
ULVERSCROFT
Leicester
Published in the United States
as Murder For Christmas
First published in Great Britain in 1938 by Collins Clear-Type Press,
London
First Large Print Edition
published December 1987
by arrangement with
William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd.,
London
British Library CIP Data
Christie, Agatha
Hercule Poirot's Christmas.--Large print ed.Ulverscroft
large print series: mystery
I. Tide
823'.912[F] PR6005.H66
ISBN 0-7089-1724-0
ETOBICOKE
PUBLIC LIBRARIES
BRENTWOOD
Published by IF . A. Thorpe (Publishing) Ltd.
Anstey, Leicestershire
Set by Rowland Phototypesetting Ltd.
Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
T. J. Press (Padstow) Ltd., Padstow, Cornwall
"Yet who would have thought the old
man to have so much blood in him?"
MACBETH
My Dear James
You have always been one of the most
faithful and kindly of my readers, and I
was therefore seriously perturbed when I
received from you a word of criticism.
You complained that my murders were
getting too refined—anaemic, in fact. You
yearned for a "good violent murder with lots
of blood." A murder where there was no
doubt about its being murder!
So this is your special story—written for
you. I hope it may please.
Your affectionate sister-in-law
Agatha

Part One
December 22nd
1
STEPHEN pulled up the collar of his
coat as he walked briskly along the
platform. Overhead a dim fog
clouded the station. Large engines hissed
superbly, throwing off clouds of steam into
the cold raw air. Everything was dirty and
smoke-grimed.
Stephen thought with revulsion:
"What a foul country--what a foul
city!"
His first excited reaction to London, its
shops, its restaurants, its well-dressed, attractive women, had faded. He saw it
now as a glittering rhinestone set in a
dingy setting.
Supposing he were back in South Africa
now. ... He felt a quick pang of homesickness.
Sunshine--blue skies--gardens
of flowers--cool blue flowers--hedges of
plumbago--blue convolvulus clinging to
every little shanty.
And here--dirt, grime, and endless, incessant crowds--moving, hurrying--
jostling. Busy ants running industriously
about their anthill.
For a moment he thought, "I wish I
hadn't come. ..."
Then he remembered his purpose and
his lips set back in a grim line. No, by
hell, he'd go on with it! He'd planned this
for years. He'd always meant to do--what
he was going to do. Yes, he'd go on with
it!
That momentary reluctance, that
sudden questioning of himself: "Why? Is
it worth it? Why dwell on the past? Why
not wipe out the whole thing?"--all that
was only weakness. He was not a boy--to
be turned this way and that by the whim
of the moment. He was a man of forty, assured, purposeful. He would go on with
it. He would do what he had come to
England to do.
He got on the train and passed along the
corridor looking for a place. He had waved
aside a porter and was carrying his own
raw-hide suitcase. He looked into carriage
after carriage. The train was full. It was
only three days before Christmas. Stephen
Farr looked distastefully at the crowded
carriages.
4
People! Incessant, innumerable people!
And all so--so--what was the word--so drab looking! So alike, so horribly alike!
Those that hadn't got faces like sheep had
faces like rabbits, he thought. Some of
them chattered and fussed. Some, heavily
middle-aged men, grunted. More like pigs, those. Even the girls, slender, egg-faced, scarlet-lipped, were of a depressing uniformity.

\^e thought with a sudden longing of
open veldt, sun-baked and lonely. . . .
And then, suddenly, he caught his
breath, looking into a carriage. This girl
was different. Black hair, rich creamy
pallor--eyes with the depth and darkness
of night in them. The sad proud eyes of
the South. ... It was all wrong that this
girl should be sitting in this train among
these dull, drab-looking people--all wrong
that she should be going into the dreary
midlands of England. She should have
been on a balcony, a rose between her lips, a piece of black lace draping her proud
head, and there should have been dust and
heat and the smell of blood--the smell of
the bull-ring--in the air. . . . She should
5
country as she had always heard. But they
were not at all gay—no, decidedly not gay.
That was a handsome man standing in
the corridor. . . . Pilar thought he was
very handsome. She liked his deeply
bronzed face and his high-bridged nose
and his square shoulders. More quickly
than any English girl, Pilar had seen that
the man admired her. She had not looked
at him once directly, but she knew
perfectly how often he had looked at her
and exactly how he had looked.
She registered the facts without m ich
interest or emotion. She came from a
country where men looked at women ?/ a
matter of course and did not disguise the
fact unduly. She wondered if he was an
Englishman and decided that he was not.
"He is too alive, too real, to be
English," Pilar decided. "And yet he is
fair. He may be perhaps Americano." He
was, she thought, rather like the actors she
had seen in Wild West films.
An attendant pushed his way along the
corridor.
"First lunch, please. First lunch. Take
your seats for first lunch."
The seven occupants of Pilar's carriage
8
all held tickets for the first lunch. They
rose in a body and the carriage was
suddenly deserted and peaceful.
Pilar quickly pulled up the window
which had been let down a couple of
inches at the top by a militant-looking,
grey-haired lady in the opposite corner.
Then she sprawled comfortably back on
her seat and peered out of the window at
the northern suburbs of London. She did
not turn her head at the sound of the door
sliding back. It was the man from the
corridor, and Pilar knew, of course, that
he had entered the carriage on purpose to
talk to her.
She continued to look pensively out of
the window.
Stephen Farr said:
"Would you like the window down at
all?"
Pilar replied demurely:
"On the contrary. I have just shut it."
She spoke English perfectly, but with a
slight accent.
During the pause that ensued, Stephen
thought:
"A delicious voice. It has the sun in
9
it. ... It is warm like a summer
night. ..."
Pilar thought:
"I like his voice. It is big and strong.
He is attractive--yes, he is attractive."
Stephen said: "The train is very full."
"Oh, yes, indeed. The people go away
from London, I suppose, because it is so
black there."
Pilar had not been brought up to believe
that it was a crime to talk to strange men
in trains. She could take care of herself
as well as any girl, but she had no rigid
taboos.
If Stephen had been brought up in
England he might have felt ill at ease at
entering into conversation with a young
girl. But Stephen was a friendly soul who
found it perfectly natural to talk to anyone
if he felt like it.
He smiled without any self-consciousness
and said:
"London's rather a terrible place, isn't
it?"
"Oh, yes. I do not like it at all."
"No more do I."
Pilar said: "You are not English, no?"
10
"I'm British, but I come from South
Africa."
"Oh, I see, that explains it."
"Have you just come from abroad?"
Pilar nodded. "I come from Spain."
Stephen was interested.
"From Spain, do you? You're Spanish,
then?"
"I am half Spanish. My mother was
English. That is why I talk English so
well."
"What about this war business?" asked
Stephen.
"It is very terrible, yes—very sad.
There has been damage done, quite a lot
—yes."
"Which side are you on?"
Pilar's politics seemed to be rather
vague. In the village where she came from,
she explained, nobody had paid very much
attention to the war. "It has not been near
us, you understand. The Mayor, he is, of
course, an officer of the Government, so
he is for the Government, and the priest
is for General Franco—but most of the
people are busy with the vines and the
land, they have not time to go into these
questions."
11
"So there wasn't any fighting round
you?"
Pilar said that there had not been. "But
then I drove in a car," she explained, "all
across the country and there was much
destruction. And I saw a bomb drop and
it blew up a car—yes, and another
destroyed a house. It was very exciting!"
Stephen Farr smiled a faintly twisted
smile.
"So that's how it seemed to you?"
"It was a nuisance, too," explained
Pilar. "Because I wanted to get on, and
the driver of my car, he was killed."
Stephen said, watching her:
"That didn't upset you?"
Pilar's great dark eyes opened very
wide.
"Everyone must die! That is so, is it
not? If it comes quickly from the sky—
bouff—like that, it is as well as any other
way. One is alive for a time—yes, and
then one is dead. That is what happens in
this world."
Stephen Farr laughed.
"I don't think you are a pacifist."
"You do not think I am what?" Pilar
12
seemed puzzled by a word which had not
previously entered her vocabulary.
"Do you forgive your enemies,
senorita?"
Pilar shook her head.
"I have no enemies. But if I had—"
"Well?"
He was watching her, fascinated
anew by the sweet, cruel upward-curving
mouth.
Pilar said gravely:
"If I had an enemy—if anyone hated me
and I hated them—then I would cut my
enemy's throat like this. ..."
She made a graphic gesture.
It was so swift and so crude that
Stephen Farr was momentarily taken
aback. He said:
"You are a bloodthirsty young woman!"
Pilar asked in a matter-of-fact tone:
"What would you do to your enemy?"
He started—stared at her, then laughed
aloud.
"I wonder—" he said. "I wonder!"
Pilar said disapprovingly:
"But surely—you know."
He checked his laughter, drew in his
breath and said in a low voice:
13
"Yes, I know. ..."
Then, with a rapid change of manner, he asked:
"What made you come to England?"
Pilar replied with a certain demureness.
"I am going to stay with my relations--
with my English relations."
"I see."
He leaned back in his seat, studying her
--wondering what these English relations
of whom she spoke were like--wondering
what they would make of this Spanish
stranger . . . trying to picture her in the
midst of some sober British family at
Christmas-time.
Pilar asked: "Is it nice. South Africa, yes?"
He began to talk to her about South
Africa. She listened with the pleased attention
of a child hearing a story. He enjoyed
her naive but shrewd questions and
amused himself by making a kind of exaggerated
fairy story of it all.
The return of the proper occupants of
the carriage put an end to this diversion.
He rose, smiled into her eyes, and made
his way out again into the corridor.
As he stood back for a minute in the
14
doorway, to allow an elderly lady to come
in, his eyes fell on the label of Pilar's obviously
foreign straw case. He read the name
with interest-- Miss Pilar Estravados-- then as his eye caught the address it
widened to incredulity and some other
feeling-- Gorston Hall, Longdale,
Addlesfield.
He half turned, staring at the girl with
a new expression--puzzled, resentful, suspicious. ... He went out into the
corridor and stood there smoking a cigarette
and frowning to himself. . . .
In the big blue and gold drawing-room at
Gorston Hall Alfred Lee and Lydia, his
wife, sat discussing their plans for
Christmas. Alfred was a squarely-built
man of middle-age with a gentle face and
mild brown eyes. His voice when he spoke
was quiet and precise with a very clear
enunciation. His head was sunk into his
shoulders and he gave a curious impression
of inertia. Lydia, his wife, was an energetic, lean greyhound of a woman. She was
amazingly thin, but all her movements had
a swift, startled grace about them.
There was no beauty in her careless,
E. 15
haggard face, but it had distinction. Her
voice was charming.
Alfred said:
"Father insists! There's nothing else to
it."
Lydia controlled a sudden impatient
movement. She said:
"Must you always give in to him?"
"He^s a very old man, my dear—"
"Oh, I know—1 know!"
"He expects to have his own way."
Lydia said dryly:
"Naturally, since he has always had it!
But some time or other, Alfred, you will
have to make a stand."
"What do you mean, Lydia?"
He stared at her, so palpably upset and
startled, that for a moment she bit her lip
and seemed doubtful whether to go on.
Alfred Lee repeated:
"What do you mean, Lydia?"
She shrugged her thin, graceful
shoulders.
She said, trying to choose her words
cautiously:
"Your father is—inclined to be—
tyrannical—"
"He^s old."
16
"And will grow older. And consequently
more tyrannical. Where will it end?
Already he dictates our lives to us
completely. We can't make a plan of our
own! If we do, it is always liable to be
upset."
Alfred said:
"Father expects to come first. He is very
good to us, remember."
"Oh! good to us!"
"Very good to us."
Alfred spoke with a trace of sternness.
Lydia said calmly:
"You mean financially?"
"Yes. His own wants are very simple.
But he never grudges us money. You can
spend what you like on dress and on this
house, and the bills are paid without a
murmur. He gave us a new car only last
week."
"As far as money goes, your father is
very generous, I admit," said Lydia. "But
in return he expects us to behave like
slaves."
"Slaves?"
"That's the word I used. You are his
slave, Alfred. If we have planned to go
away and father suddenly wishes us not to
17
go, you cancel the arrangements and
remain without a murmur! If the whim
takes him to send us away, we go. ...
We have no lives of our own—no
independence."
Her husband said distressfully:
"I wish you wouldn't talk like this,
Lydia. It is very ungrateful. My father has
done everything for us. ..."
She bit off a retort that was on her lips.
She shrugged those thin, graceful
shoulders once more.
Alfred said:
"You know, Lydia, the old man is very
fond of you—"
His wife said clearly and distinctly:
"I am not at all fond of him."
"Lydia, it distresses me to hear you say
things like that. It is so unkind—"
"Perhaps. But sometimes a compulsion
comes over one to speak the truth."
"If Father guessed—"
"Your father knows perfectly well that
I do not like him! It amuses him, I think."
"Really, Lydia, I am sure you are wrong
there. He has often told me how charming
your manner to him is."
"Naturally I've always been polite. I
18
always shall be. Pm just letting you know
what my real feelings are. I dislike your
father, Alfred. I think he is a malicious
and tyrannical old man. He bullies you
and presumes on your affection for him.
You ought to have stood up to him years
ago."
Alfred said sharply:
"That will do, Lydia. Please don't say
any more."
She sighed.
"I'm sorry. Perhaps I was wrong. . . .
Let's talk of our Christmas arrangements.
Do you think your brother David will
really come?"
"Why not?"
She shook her head doubtfully.
"David is—queer. He's not been inside
the house for years, remember. He was so
devoted to your mother—he's got some
feeling about this place."
"David always got on Father's nerves,"
said Alfred, "with his music and his
dreamy ways. Father was, perhaps, a bit
hard on him sometimes. But I think David
and Hilda will come all right. Christmas
time, you know."
"Peace and goodwill," said Lydia. Her
19
delicate mouth curved ironically. "I
wonder! George and Magdalene are
coming. They said they would probably
arrive to-morrow. I'm afraid Magdalene
will be frightfully bored."
Alfred said with some slight annoyance:
"Why my brother George ever married
a girl twenty years younger than himself I
can't think! George was always a fool!"
"He's very successful in his career," said Lydia. "His constituents like him. I
believe Magdalene works quite hard politically
for him."
Alfred said slowly:
"I don't think I like her very much. She
is very good-looking--but I sometimes
think she is like one of those beautiful
pears one gets--they have a rosy flush and
a rather waxen appearance--" He shook
his head.
"And they're bad inside?" said Lydia.
"How funny you should say that, Alfred!"
"Why funny?"
She answered:
"Because--usually--you are such a
gentle soul. You hardly ever say an unkind
thing about anyone. I get annoyed with
you sometimes because you're not
20
sufficiently--oh, what shall n nf
sufficiently suspicious--not ^ enough!"
Her husband smiled.
"The world, I always think, is as you
yourself make it."
Lydia said sharply:
"No! Evil is not only in one's mind. Evil
exists! You seem to have no consciousness
of the evil in the world. I have. I can feel
it. I've always felt it--here in this
house--" She bit her lips and turned
away.
Alfred said, "Lydia--"
But she raised a quick admonitory hand, her eyes looking past him at something
over his shoulder. Alfred turned.
A dark man with a smooth face was
standing there deferentially.
Lydia said sharply:
"What is it, Horbury?"
Horbury's voice was low, a mere deferential
murmur.
"It's Mr. Lee, madam. He asked me to
tell you that there would be two more
guests arriving for Christmas, and would
you have rooms prepared for them."
Lydia said, "Two more guests?"
21
Horbury said smoothly, "Yes, madam,
another gentleman and a young lady."
Alfred said wonderingly: "A young
lady?"
"That's what Mr. Lee said, sir."
Lydia said quickly:
"I will go up and see him—"
Horbury made one little step, it was a
mere ghost of a movement but it stopped
Lydia's rapid progress automatically.
"Excuse me, madam, but Mr. Lee is
having his afternoon sleep. He asked
specially that he should not be disturbed."
"I see," said Alfred. "Of course we
won't disturb him."
"Thank you, sir." Horbury withdrew.
Lydia said vehemently:
"How I dislike that man! He creeps
about the house like a cat! One never hears
him going or coming."
"I don't like him very much either. But
he knows his job. It's not so easy to get a
good male nurse attendant. And Father
likes him, that's the main thing."
"Yes, that's the main thing, as you say.
Alfred, what is this about a young lady?
What young lady?"
Her husband shook his head.
22
"I can't imagine. I can't even think of
anyone it might be likely to be."
They stared at each other. Then Lydia
said, with a sudden twist of her expressive
mouth:
"Do you know what I think, Alfred?"
"What?"
"I think your father has been bored
lately. I think he is planning a little
Christmas diversion for himself."
"By introducing two strangers into a
family gathering?"
"Oh! I don't know what the details are
--but I do fancy that your father is
preparing to--amuse himself."
"I hope he will get some pleasure out of
it," said Alfred gravely. "Poor old chap, tied by the leg, an invalid--after the
adventurous life he has led."
Lydia said slowly:
"After the--adventurous life he has
led."
The pause she made before the adjective
gave it some special though obscure significance.
Alfred seemed to feel it. He
flushed and looked unhappy.
She cried out suddenly:
"How he ever had a son like you, I can't

HPC3
23

imagine! You two are poles apart. And he
'fascinates you—you simply worship him!"
Alfred said with a trace of vexation:
"Aren't you going a little far, Lydia? It's
natural, I should say, for a son to love his
father. It would be very unnatural not to
do so."
Lydia said:
"In that case, most of the members of
this family are—unnatural! Oh, don't let's
argue! I apologise. I've hurt your feelings,
I know. Believe me, Alfred, I really didn't
mean to do that. I admire you enormously
for your—your—fidelity. Loyalty is such
a rare virtue in these days. Let us say,
shall we, that I am jealous? Women are
supposed to be jealous of their mothersin-law—why
not, then, of their fathersin-law?"
He
put a gentle arm round her.
"Your tongue runs away with you,
Lydia. There's no reason for you to be
jealous."
She gave him a quick remorseful kiss, a
delicate caress on the tip of his ear.
"I know. All the same, Alfred, I don't
believe I should have been in the least
24
jealous of your mother. I wish I'd known
her."
He sighed.
"She was a poor creature," he said.
His wife looked at him interestedly.
"So that's how she struck you ... as a
poor creature. . . . That's interesting."
He said dreamily:
"I remember her as nearly always
ill. . . . Often in tears. . . ." He shook
his head. "She had no spirit."
Still staring at him, she murmured very
softly:
"How odd ..."
But as he turned a questioning glance
on her, she shook her head quickly and
changed the subject.
"Since we are not allowed to know who
our mysterious guests are I shall go out
and finish my garden."
"It's very cold, my dear, a biting wind."
"I'll wrap up warmly."
She left the room. Alfred Lee, left
alone, stood for some minutes motionless,
frowning a little to himself, then he walked
over to the big window at the end of the
room. Outside was a terrace running the
whole length of the house. Here, after a
25
minute or two, he saw Lydia emerge,
carrying a flat basket. She was wearing a
big blanket coat. She set down the basket
and began to work at a square stone sink
slightly raised above ground level.
Her husband watched for some time. At
last he went out of the room, fetched
himself a coat and muffler, and emerged
on to the terrace by a side door. As he
walked along he passed various other stone
sinks arranged as miniature gardens, all
the products of Lydia's agile fingers.
One represented a desert scene with
smooth yellow sand, a little clump of green
palm trees in coloured tin, and a
procession of camels with one or two little
Arab figures. Some primitive mud houses
had been constructed of plasticine. There
was an Italian garden with terraces and
formal beds with flowers in coloured
sealing-wax. There was an arctic one, too,
with clumps of green glass for icebergs,
and a little cluster of penguins. Next came
a Japanese garden with a couple of
beautiful little stunted trees, looking-glass
arranged for water, and bridges modelled
out of plasticine.
He came at last to stand beside her
26
where she was at work. She had laid down
blue paper and covered it over with glass.
Round this were lumps of rock piled up.
At the moment she was pouring out coarse
pebbles from a little bag and forming them
into a beach. Between the rocks were some
small cactuses.
Lydia was murmuring to herself:
"Yes, that's exactly right—exactly what
I want."
Alfred said:
"What's this latest work of art?"
She started, for she had not heard him
come up.
"This? Oh, it's the Dead Sea, Alfred.
Do you like it?"
He said, "It's rather arid, isn't it?
Oughtn't there to be more vegetation?"
She shook her head.
"It's my idea of the Dead Sea. It is
dead, you see—"
"It's not so attractive as some of the
others."
"It's not meant to be specially
attractive."
Footsteps sounded on the terrace. An
elderly butler, white-haired and slightly
bowed, was coming towards them.
27
"Mrs. George Lee on the telephone, madam. She says will it be convenient if
she and Mr. George arrive by the fivetwenty
tomorrow?"
"Yes, tell her that will be quite all
right."
"Thank you, madam."
The butler hurried away. Lydia looked
after him with a softened expression on her
face.
"Dear old Tressilian. What a standby he
is! I can't imagine what we should do
without him."
Alfred agreed.
"He's one of the old school. He's been
with us nearly forty years. He's devoted to
us all."
Lydia nodded.
"Yes. He's like the faithful old retainers
of fiction. I believe he'd lie himself blue in
the face if it was necessary to protect one
of the family!"
Alfred said:
"I believe he would. . . . Yes, I believe
he would."
Lydia smoothed over the last bit of her
shingle.
"There," she said. "That's ready."
28
"Ready?" Alfred looked puzzled.
She laughed.
"For Christmas, silly! For this sentimental
family Christmas we're going to
have."
David was reading the letter. Once he
screwed it up into a ball and thrust it away
from him. Then, reaching for it, he
smoothed it out and read it again.
Quietly, without saying anything, his
wife, Hilda, watched him. She noted the
jerking muscle (or was it a nerve?) in his
temple, the slight tremor of the long
delicate hands, the nervous spasmodic
movements of his whole body. When he
pushed aside the lock of fair hair that
always tended to stray down over his forehead
and looked across at her with
appealing blue eyes she was ready.
"Hilda, what shall we do about it?"
Hilda hesitated a minute before
speaking. She had heard the appeal in his
voice. She knew how dependent he was
upon her--had always been ever since
their marriage--knew that she could probably
influence his decision finally and
29
decisively. But for just that reason she was
chary of pronouncing anything too final.
She said, and her voice had the calm, soothing quality that can be heard in the
voice of an experienced nannie in a
nursery:
"It depends on how you feel about it, David."
A broad woman, Hilda, not beautiful,
but with a certain magnetic quality. Something
about her like a Dutch picture.
Something warming and endearing in the
sound of her voice. Something strong
about her--the vital hidden strength that
appeals to weakness. An over-stout dumpy
middle-aged woman--not clever--not
brilliant--but with something about her
that you couldn't pass over. Force! Hilda
Lee had force!
David got up and began pacing up and
down. His hair was practically untouched
by grey. He was strangely boyish-looking.
His face had the mild quality of a Burne
Jones knight. It was, somehow, not very
real. . . .
He said, and his voice was wistful:
"You know how I feel about it, Hilda.
You must."
30
"I'm not sure."
"But I've told you—I've told you again
and again! How I hate it all—the house
and the country round and everything! It
brings back nothing but misery. I hated
every moment that I spent there! When I
think of it—of all that she suffered—my
mother ..."
His wife nodded sympathetically.
"She was so sweet, Hilda, and so
patient. Lying there, often in pain, but
bearing it—enduring everything. And
when I think of my father"—his face
darkened—"bringing all that misery into
her life—humiliating her—boasting of his
love affairs—constantly unfaithful to her
and never troubling to conceal it."
Hilda Lee said:
"She should not have put up with it.
She should have left him."
He said with a touch of reproof:
"She was too good to do that. She
thought it was her duty to remain.
Besides, it was her home—where else
should she go?"
"She could have made a life of her
own."
David said fretfully:
31
"Not in those days! You don't understand.
Women didn't behave like that.
They put up with things. They endured
patiently. She had us to consider. Even if
she divorced my father, what would have
happened? He would probably have
married again. There might have been a
second family. Our interests might have
gone to the wall. She had to think of all
those considerations.''
Hilda did not answer.
David went on:
"No, she did right. She was a saint! She
endured to the end--uncomplainingly."
Hilda said, "Not quite uncomplainingly
or you would not know so much, David!"
He said softly, his face lighting up:
"Yes--she told me things. . . . She
knew how I loved her. When she died--"
He stopped. He ran his hands through
his hair.
"Hilda, it was awful--horrible! The
desolation! She was quite young still, she needn't have died. He killed her--my
father! He was responsible for her dying.
He broke her heart. I decided then that
I'd not go on living under his roof. I broke
away--got away from it all."
32
Hilda nodded.
"You were very wise," she said. "It was
the right thing to do."
David said:
"Father wanted me to go into the
works. That would have meant living at
home. I couldn't have stood that. I can't
think how Alfred stands it—how he has
stood it all these years?"
"Did he never rebel against it?" asked
Hilda with some interest. "I thought you
told me something about his having given
up some other career."
David nodded.
"Alfred was going into the army. Father
arranged it all. Alfred, the eldest, was to
go into some cavalry regiment. Harry was
to go into the works, so was I. George was
to enter politics."
"And it didn't work out like that?"
David shook his head.
"Harry broke all that up! He was always
frightfully wild. Got into debt—and all
sorts of other troubles. Finally he went off
one day with several hundred pounds that
didn't belong to him, leaving a note behind
him saying an office stool didn't suit him
and he was going to see the world."
33
"And you never heard any more of
him?"
"Oh, yes, we did!" David laughed. "We
heard quite often! He was always cabling
for money from all over the world. He
usually got it too!"
"And Alfred?"
"Father made him chuck up the army
and come back and go into the works."
"Did he mind?"
"Very much to begin with. He hated it.
But Father could always twist Alfred
round his little finger. He's absolutely
under Father's thumb still, I believe."
"And you—escaped!" said Hilda.
"Yes. I went to London and studied
painting. Father told me plainly that if I
went off on a fool's errand like that I'd
get a small allowance from him during his
lifetime and nothing when he died. I said
I didn't care. He called me a young fool,
and that was that! I've never seen him
since."
Hilda said gently:
"And you haven't regretted it?"
"No, indeed. I realise I shan't ever get
anywhere with my art. I shall never be a
great artist—but we're happy enough in
34
.•,... •- --w.-
this cottage—we've got everything we
want—all the essentials. And if I die, well,
my life's insured for you."
He paused and then said:
"And now—rJus!"
He struck the letter with his open hand.
"I am sorry your father ever wrote that
letter, if it upsets you so much," said
Hilda.
David went on as though he had not
heard her.
"Asking me to bring my wife for
Christmas, expressing a hope that we may
be all together for Christmas; a united
family! What can it mean?"
Hilda said:
"Need it mean anything more than it
says?"
He looked at her questioningly.
"I mean," she said, smiling, ^that your
father is growing old. He's beginning to
feel sentimental about family ties. That
does happen, you know."
"I suppose it does," said David slowly.
"He's an old man and he's lonely."
He gave her a quick look.
"You want me to go, don't you, Hilda?"
She said slowly:
35
"It seems a pity—not to answer an
appeal. I'm old-fashioned, I dare say, but
why not have peace and goodwill at
Christmas-time?"
"After all I've told you?"
"I know, dear, I know. But all that's in
the past. It's all done and finished with."
"Not for me."
"No, because you won't let it die. You
keep the past alive in your own mind."
"I can't forget."
"You won't forget—that's what you
mean, David."
His mouth set in a firm line.
"We're like that, we Lees. We
remember things for years—brood about
them, keep memory green."
Hilda said with a touch of impatience:
"Is that anything to be proud of? I do
not think so!"
He looked thoughtfully at her, a touch
of reserve in his manner.
He said: "You don't attach much value
to loyalty, then—loyalty to a memory?"
Hilda said:
"I believe the present matters—not the
past! The past must go. If we seek to keep
the past alive, we end, I think, by
36
distorting it. We see it in exaggerated
terms--a false perspective."
"I can remember every word and every
incident of those days perfectly," said
David passionately.
"Yes, but you shouldn't, my dear! It
isn't natural to do so! You're applying the
judgment of a boy to those days instead
of looking back on them with the more
temperate outlook of a man."
"What difference would that make?"
demanded David.
Hilda hesitated. She was aware of
unwisdom in going on, and yet there were
things she badly wanted to say.
"I think," she said, "that you're seeing
your father as a bogy\ You're exalting him
into a kind of personification of evil. Probably, if you were to see him now, you
would realise that he was only a very ordinary
man; a man, perhaps, whose passions
ran away with him, a man whose life was
far from blameless, but nevertheless
merely a man--not a kind of inhuman
monster!"
"You don't understand! His treatment
of my mother--"
Hilda said gravely:
37
"There is a certain kind of meekness—
of submission—brings out the worst in a
man—whereas that same man, faced by
spirit and determination, might be a
different creature!"
"So you say it was her fault—"
Hilda interrupted him.
"No, of course I don't! I've no doubt
your father treated your mother very badly
indeed, but marriage is an extraordinary
thing—and I doubt if any outsider—even
a child of the marriage—has the right to
judge. Besides, all this resentment on your
part now cannot help your mother. It is all
gone—it is behind you! What is left now
is an old man, in feeble health, asking his
son to come home for Christmas."
"And you want me to go?"
Hilda hesitated, then she suddenly made
up her mind. "Yes," she said, "I do. I
want you to go and lay the bogy once and
for all."
»•
George Lee, MP for Westeringham, was a
somewhat corpulent gentleman of fortyone.
His eyes were pale blue and slightly
prominent with a suspicious expression, he
38
had a heavy jowl, and a slow pedantic
utterance.
He said now in a weighty manner:
"I have told you, Magdalene, that I
think it my duty to go."
His wife shrugged her shoulders
impatiently.
She was a slender creature, a platinum
blonde with plucked eyebrows and a
smooth egg-like face. It could, on
occasions, look quite blank and devoid of
any expression whatever. She was looking
like that now.
"Darling," she said, "it will be perfectly
grim, I am sure of it."
"Moreover," said George Lee, and his
face lit up as an attractive idea occurred to
him, "it will enable us to save considerably.
Christmas is always an expensive
time. We can put the servants on board
wages."
"Oh, well!" said Magdalene. "After all,
Christmas is pretty grim anywhere?"
"I suppose," said George, pursuing his
own line of thought, "they will expect to
have a Christmas dinner? A nice piece of
beef, perhaps, instead of a turkey."
"Who? The servants? Oh, George, don't
HPC4 39
fuss so. You're always worrying about
money."
"Somebody has to worry," said George.
"Yes, but it's absurd to pinch and
scrape in all these little ways. Why don't
you make your father give you some more
money?"
"He already gives me a very handsome
allowance."
"It's awful to be completely dependent
on your father, as you are! He ought to
settle some money on you outright."
"That's not his way of doing things."
Magdalene looked at him. Her hazel
eyes were suddenly sharp and keen. The
expressionless egg-like face showed sudden
meaning.
"He's frightfully rich, isn't he, George?
A kind of millionaire, isn't he?"
"A millionaire twice over, I believe."
Magdalene gave an envious sigh.
"How did he make it all? South Africa,
wasn't it?"
"Yes, he made a big fortune there in his
early days. Mainly diamonds."
"Thrilling!" said Magdalene.
"Then he came to England and started
40
in business and his fortune has actually
doubled or trebled itself, I believe."
"What will happen when he dies?"
asked Magdalene.
"Father's never said much on the
subject. Of course one can't exactly ask. I
should imagine that the bulk of his money
will go to Alfred and myself. Alfred, of
course, will get the larger share."
"You've got other brothers, haven't
you?"
"Yes, there's my brother David. I don't
fancy he will get much. He went off to do
art or some tomfoolery of that kind. I
believe Father warned him that he would
cut him out of his will and David said he
didn't care."
"How silly!" said Magdalene with
scorn.
"There was my sister Jennifer too. She
went off with a foreigner—a Spanish artist
—one of David's friends. But she died just
over a year ago. She left a daughter, I
believe. Father might leave a little money
to her, but nothing much. And of course
there's Harry—"
He stopped, slightly embarrassed.
41
"Harry?" said Magdalene surprised.
"Who is Harry?"
"Ah—er—my brother."
"I never knew you had another
brother."
"My dear, he wasn't a great—er—
credit—to us. We don't mention him. His
behaviour was disgraceful. We haven't
heard anything of him for some years now.
He's probably dead."
Magdalene laughed suddenly.
"What is it? What are you laughing at?"
Magdalene said:
"I was only thinking how funny it was
that you—you, George, should have a
disreputable brother! You're so very
respectable."
"I should hope so," said George coldly.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Your father isn't—very respectable,
George?"
"Really, Magdalene!"
"Sometimes the things he says make me
feel quite uncomfortable."
George said:
"Really, Magdalene, you surprise me.
Does—er—does Lydia feel the same?"
"He doesn't say the same kind of things
42
to Lydia," said Magdalene. She added
angrily, "No, he never says them to her. I can't think why not."
George glanced at her quickly and then
glanced away.
"Oh, well," he said vaguely. "One must
make allowances. At Father's age--and
with his health being so bad--"
He paused. His wife asked:
"Is he really--pretty ill?"
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. He's remarkably
tough. All the same, since he wants
to have his family round him at Christmas, I think we are quite right to go. It may be
his last Christmas."
She said sharply:
"You say that, George, but really, I
suppose, he may live for years?"
Slightly taken aback, her husband
stammered,
"Yes--yes, of course he may."
Magdalene turned away.
"Oh, well," she said. "I suppose we're
doing the right thing by going."
"I have no doubt about it."
"But I hate it! Alfred's so dull, and
Lydia snubs me."
"Nonsense."
43
"She does. And I hate that beastly
manservant."
"Old Tressilian?"
"No, Horbury. Sneaking round like a
cat and smirking."
"Really, Magdalene, I can't see that
Horbury can affect you in any way!"
"He just gets on my nerves, that's all.
But don't let's bother. We've got to go, I
can see that. Won't do to offend the old
man."
"No--no, that's just the point. About
the servants' Christmas dinner--"
"Not now, George, some other time. I'll
just ring up Lydia and tell her that we'll
come by the five-twenty tomorrow."
Magdalene left the room precipitately.
After telephoning she went up to her own
room and sat down in front of the desk.
She let down the flap and rummaged in its
various pigeon-holes. Cascades of bills
came tumbling out. Magdalene sorted
through them, trying to arrange them in
some kind of order. Finally, with an
impatient sigh, she bundled them up and
thrust them back whence they had come.
She passed a hand over her smooth
platinum head.
44
"What on earth am I to do?" she
murmured.
On the first floor of Gorston Hall a long
passage led to a big room overlooking the
front drive. It was a room furnished in the
more flamboyant of old-fashioned styles. It
had heavy brocaded wallpaper, rich leather
arm-chairs, large vases embossed with
dragons, sculptures in bronze. . . . Everything
in it was magnificent, costly and
solid.
In a big grandfather arm-chair, the
biggest and most imposing of all the
chairs, sat the thin, shrivelled figure of an
old man. His long clawlike hands rested
on the arms of the chair. A gold-mounted
stick was by his side. He wore an old
shabby blue dressing-gown. On his feet
were carpet slippers. His hair was white
and the skin of his face was yellow.
A shabby, insignificant figure, one
might have thought. But the nose, aquiline
and proud, and the eyes, dark and
intensely alive, might cause an observer to
alter his opinion. Here was fire and life
and vigour.
45
Old Simeon Lee cackled to himself, a
sudden, high cackle of amusement.
He said:
"You gave my message to Mrs. Alfred, hey?"
Horbury was standing beside his chair.
He replied in his soft deferential voice:
"Yes, sir."
"Exactly in the words I told you?
Exactly, mind?"
"Yes, sir. I didn't make a mistake, sir."
"No--you don't make mistakes. You'd
better not make mistakes either--or you'll
regret it! And what did she say, Horbury?
What did Mr. Alfred say?"
Quietly, unemotionally, Horbury repeated
what had passed. The old man
cackled again and rubbed his hands
together.
"Splendid. . . . First rate. . . . They'll
have been thinking and wondering--all
the afternoon! Splendid! I'll have 'em up
now. Go and get them."
"Yes, sir."
Horbury walked noiselessly across the
room and went out.
"And, Horbury--"
46
The old man looked round, then cursed
to himself.
"Fellow moves like a cat. Never know
where he is."
He sat quite still in his chair, his fingers
caressing his chin till there was a tap on
the door, and Alfred and Lydia came in.
"Ah, there you are, there you are. Sit
here, Lydia, my dear, by me. What a nice
colour you've got."
"I've been out in the cold. It makes
one's cheeks burn afterwards."
Alfred said:
"How are you, Father, did you have a
good rest this afternoon?"
"First rate—first rate. Dreamt about the
old days! That was before I settled down
and became a pillar of society."
He cackled with sudden laughter.
His daughter-in-law sat silently smiling
with polite attention.
Alfred said:
"What's this, Father, about two extra
being expected for Christmas?"
"Ah, that! Yes, I must tell you about
that. It's going to be a grand Christmas for
me this year—a grand Christmas. Let me
see, George is coming and Magdalene—"
I 47
Lydia said:
"Yes, they are arriving to-morrow by
the five-twenty."
Old Simeon said:
"Poor stick, George! Nothing but a
gasbag! Still, he is my son."
Alfred said:
"His constituents like him."
Simeon cackled again.
"They probably think he's honest.
Honest! There never was a Lee who was
honest yet."
"Oh, come now. Father."
"I except you, my boy. I except you."
"And David?" asked Lydia.
"David now. I'm curious to see the boy
after all these years. He was a nambypamby
youngster. Wonder what his wife
is like? At any rate he hasn't married a girl
twenty years younger than himself, like
that fool George!"
"Hilda wrote a very nice letter," said
Lydia. "I've just had a wire from her
confirming it and saying they are definitely
arriving tomorrow."
Her father-in-law looked at her, a keen, penetrating glance.
He laughed.
48
"I never get any change out of Lydia,"
he said. "I'll say this for you, Lydia, you're a well-bred woman. Breeding tells.
I know that well enough. A funny thing, though, heredity. There's only one of you
that's taken after me--only one out of all
the litter."
His eyes danced.
"Now guess who's coming for
Christmas. I'll give you three guesses and
I'll bet you a river you won't get the
answer."
He looked from one face to the other.
Alfred said frowning:
"Horbury said you expected a young
lady."
"That intrigued you--yes, I dare say it
did. Pilar will be arriving any minute now.
I gave orders for the car to go and meet
her."
Alfred said sharply:
"PiJar?"
Simeon said:
"Pilar Estravados. Jennifer's girl. My
granddaughter. I wonder what she'll be
like."
Alfred cried out:
49
"Good heavens, Father, you never told
me. . . ."
The old man was grinning.
"No, I thought I'd keep it a secret! Got
Charlton to write out and fix things."
Alfred repeated, his tone hurt and
reproachful:
"You never told me. ..."
His father said, still grinning wickedly:
"It would have spoilt the surprise!
Wonder what it will be like to have young
blood under this roof again? I never saw
Estravados. Wonder which the girl takes
after—her mother or her father?"
"Do you really think it's wise. Father,"
began Alfred. "Taking everything into
consideration—' '
The old man interrupted him.
"Safety—safety—you play for safety too
much, Alfred! Always have! That hasn't
been my way! Do what you want and be
damned to it! That's what I say! The girl's
my granddaughter—the only grandchild in
the family! I don't care what her father
was or what he did! She's my flesh and
blood! And she's coming to live here in
my house."
50
Lydia said sharply: "She's coming to
live here?"
He darted a quick look at her. "Do you
object?"
She shook her head. She said smiling:
"I couldn't very well object to your
asking someone to your own house, could
I? No, I was wondering about—her."
"About her—what d'you mean?"
"Whether she would be happy here."
Old Simeon flung up his head.
"She's not got a penny in the world. She
ought to be thankful!"
Lydia shrugged her shoulders.
Simeon turned to Alfred:
"You see? It's going to be a grand
Christmas! All my children round me. All
my children! There, Alfred, there's your
clue. Now guess who the other visitor is."
Alfred stared at him.
"All my children! Guess, boy! Harry, of
course! Your brother Harry!"
Alfred had gone very pale. He
stamered:
"Harry—not Harry—"
"Harry himself!"
"But we thought he was dead!"
"Not he!"
51
"You—you are having him back here?
After everything?"
"The prodigal son, eh? You're right.
The fatted calf! We must kill the fatted
calf, Alfred. We must give him a grand
welcome."
Alfred said:
"He treated you—all of us—disgracefully.
He—"
"No need to recite his crimes! It's a long
list. But Christmas, you'll remember, is
the season of forgiveness! We'll welcome
the prodigal home."
Alfred rose. He murmured:
"This has been—rather a shock. I never
dreamt that Harry would ever come inside
these walls again."
Simeon leaned forward.
"You never liked Harry, did you?" he
said softly.
"After the way he behaved to you—"
Simeon cackled. He said:
"Ah, but bygones must be bygones.
That's the spirit for Christmas, isn't it,
Lydia?"
Lydia, too, had gone pale. She said
dryly:
52
"I see that you have thought a good deal
about Christmas this year."
"I want my family round me. Peace and
goodwill. I'm an old man. Are you going,
my dear?"
Alfred had hurried out. Lydia paused a
moment before following him.
Simeon nodded his head after the
retreating figure.
"It's upset him. He and Harry never got
on. Harry used to jeer at Alfred. Called
him old Slow and Sure."
Lydia's lips parted. She was about to
speak, then, as she saw the old man's eager
expression, she checked herself. Her selfcontrol,
she saw, disappointed him. The
perception of that fact enabled her to say:
"The hare and the tortoise. Ah, well,
the tortoise wins the race."
"Not always," said Simeon. "Not
always, my dear Lydia."
She said, still smiling:
"Excuse me, I must go after Alfred.
Sudden excitements always upset him."
Simeon cackled.
"Yes, Alfred doesn't like changes. He
always was a regular sobersides."
Lydia said:
53
"Alfred is very devoted to you."
"That seems odd to you, doesn't it?"
"Sometimes," said Lydia, "it does."
She left the room. Simeon looked after
her.
He chuckled softly and rubbed his
palms together.
"Lots of fun," he said. "Lots of fun
still. I'm going to enjoy this Christmas."
With an effort he pulled himself
upright, and with the help of his stick,
shuffled across the room.
He went to a big safe that stood at the
corner of the room. He twirled the handle
of the combination. The door came open
and, with shaking fingers, he felt inside.
He lifted out a small wash-leather bag,
and opening it, let a stream of uncut
diamonds pass through his fingers.
"Well, my beauties, well. . . . Still the
same—still my old friends. Those were
good days—good days. . . . They shan't
carve you and cut you about, my friends.
You shan't hang round the necks of
women or sit on their fingers or hang on
their ears. You're mme\ My old friends!
We know a thing or two, you and I. I'm
old, they say, and ill, but I'm not done
54
for! Lots of life in the old dog yet. And
there's still some fun to be got out of life.
Still some fun—"
Part Two
December 23rd
2
TRESSILIAN went to answer the
doorbell. It had been an unusually
aggressive peal, and now, before he
could make his slow way across the hall,
it pealed out again.
Tressilian flushed. An ill-mannered,
impatient way of ringing the bell at a
gentleman's house! If it was a fresh lot of
those carol singers he'd give them a piece
of his mind.
Through the frosted glass of the upper
half of the door he saw a silhouette—a big
man in a slouch hat. He opened the door.
As he had thought—a cheap, flashy
stranger—nasty pattern of suit he was
wearing—loud! Some impudent begging
fellow!
"Blessed if it isn't Tressilian," said the
stranger. "How are you, Tressilian?"
Tressilian stared—took a deep breath—
stared again. That bold arrogant jaw, the
high-bridged nose, the rollicking eye. Yes,
I 59
they had all been there three years ago.
More subdued then. . . .
He said with a gasp:
"Mr. Harry!"
Harry Lee laughed.
"Looks as though I'd given you quite a
shock. Why? I'm expected, aren't I?"
"Yes, indeed, sir. Certainly, sir."
"Then why the surprise act?" Harry
stepped back a foot or two and looked up
at the house—a good solid mass of red
brick, unimaginative but solid.
"Just the same ugly old mansion," he
remarked. "Still standing, though, that's
the main thing. How's my father,
Tressilian?"
"He's somewhat of an invalid, sir.
Keeps to his room, and can't get about
much. But he's wonderfully well,
considering."
"The old sinner!"
Harry Lee came inside, let Tressilian
remove his scarf and take the somewhat
theatrical hat.
"How's my dear brother Alfred,
Tressilian?"
"He's very well, sir."
Harry grinned.
60
"Looking forward to seeing me? Eh?"
"I expect so, sir."
"I don't! Quite the contrary. I bet it's
given him a nasty jolt, my turning up!
Alfred and I never did get on. Ever read
your Bible, Tressilian?"
"Why, yes, sir, sometimes, sir."
"Remember the tale of the prodigal's
return? The good brother didn't like it,
remember? Didn't like it at all! Good old
stay-at-home Alfred doesn't like it either,
I bet."
Tressilian remained silent looking down
his nose. His stiffened back expressed
protest. Harry clapped him on the
shoulder.
"Lead on, old son," he said. "The
fatted calf awaits me! Lead me right to it."
Tressilian murmured:
"If you will come this way into the
drawing-room, sir. I am not quite sure
where everyone is. . . . They were unable
to send to meet you, sir, not knowing the
time of your arrival."
Harry nodded. He followed Tressilian
along the hall, turning his head to look
about him as he went.
"All the old exhibits in their place, I
61
see," he remarked. "I don't believe
anything has changed since I went away
twenty years ago."
He followed Tressilian into the
drawing-room. The old man murmured:
"I will see if I can find Mr. or Mrs.
Alfred," and hurried out.
Harry Lee had marched into the room
and had then stopped, staring at the figure
who was seated on one of the windowsills.
His eyes roamed incredulously over the
black hair and the creamy exotic pallor.
"Good lord!" he said. "Are you my
fathers seventh and most beautiful wife?"
Pilar slipped down and came towards
him.
"I am Pilar Estravados," she announced.
"And you must be my Uncle
Harry, my mother's brother."
Harry said, staring:
"So that's who you are! Jenny's
daughter."
Pilar said: "Why did you ask me if I
was your father's seventh wife? Has he
really had six wives?"
Harry laughed.
"No, I believe he's only had one official
one. Well-- Pil--what's your name?"
62
/ c ^ '^^).
"Filar, yes."
"Well, Pilar, it really gives me quite a
turn to see something like you blooming
in this mausoleum."
"This--maus--please?"
"This museum of stuffed dummies! I
always thought this house was lousy! Now
I see it again I think it's lousier than ever!"
Pilar said in a shocked voice:
"Oh, no, it is very handsome here! The
furniture is good and the carpets--thick
carpets everywhere--and there are lots of
ornaments. Everything is very good
quality and very, very rich!"
"You're right there," said Harry, grinning.
He looked at her with amusement.
"You know, I can't help getting a kick out
of seeing you in the midst--"
He broke off as Lydia came rapidly into
the room.
She came straight to him.
"How d'you do. Harry? I'm Lydia--
Alfred's wife."
"How de do, Lydia." He shook hands, examining her intelligent mobile face in a
swift glance and approving mentally of the
way she walked--very few women moved well.
Lydia in her turn took quick stock of
him.
She thought: "He looks a frightful
tough—attractive, though. I wouldn't
trust him an inch. ..."
She said smiling:
"How does it look after all these years?
Quite different, or very much the same?"
"Pretty much the same." He looked
round him. "This room's been done
over."
"Oh, many times."
He said:
"I meant by you. You've made it—
different."
"Yes, I expect so. . . ."
He grinned at her, a sudden impish grin
that reminded her with a start of the old
man upstairs.
"It's got more class about it now! I
remember hearing that old Alfred had
married a girl whose people came over
with the Conqueror."
Lydia smiled. She said:
"I believe they did. But they've rather
run to seed since those days."
Harry said:
64
"How's old Alfred? Just the same
blessed old stick-in-the-mud as ever?"
"I've no idea whether you will find him
changed or not."
"How are the others? Scattered all over
England?"
"No—they're all here for Christmas,
you know."
Harry's eyes opened.
"Regular Christmas family reunion?
What's the matter with the old man? He
used not to give a damn for sentiment.
Don't remember his caring much for his
family, either. He must have changed!"
"Perhaps." Lydia's voice was dry.
Pilar was staring, her big eyes wide and
interested.
Harry said:
"How's old George? Still the same
skinflint? How he used to howl if he had
to part with a halfpenny of his
pocket-money!"
Lydia said:
"George is in Parliament. He's member
for Westeringham."
"What? Popeye in Parliament? Lord,
that's good."
Harry threw back his head and laughed.
65
It was rich stentorian laughter—it
sounded uncontrolled and brutal in the
confined space of the room. Pilar drew in
her breath with a gasp. Lydia flinched a
little.
Then, at a movement behind him,
Harry broke off his laugh and turned
sharply. He had not heard anyone coming
in, but Alfred was standing there quietly.
He was looking at Harry with an odd
expression on his face.
Harry stood a minute, then a slow smile
crept to his lips. He advanced a step.
"Why," he said, "it's Alfred!"
Alfred nodded.
"Hallo, Harry," he said.
They stood staring at each other. Lydia
caught her breath. She thought:
"How absurd! Like two dogs—looking
at each other. ..."
Pilar's gaze widened even further. She
thought to herself:
"How silly they look standing
there. . . . Why do they not embrace? No,
of course the English do not do that. But
they might say something. Why do they
just look?"
Harry said at last:
66
"Well, well. Feels funny to be here
again!"
"I expect so--yes. A good many years
since you--got out."
Harry threw up his head. He drew his
finger along the line of his jaw. It was a
gesture that was habitual with him. It
expressed belligerence.
"Yes," he said. "I'm glad I have come"
--he paused to bring out the word with
greater significance--"Aome. ..."
"I've been, I suppose, a very wicked
man," said Simeon Lee.
He was leaning back in his chair. His
chin was raised and with one finger he was
stroking his jaw reflectively. In front of
him a big fire glowed and danced. Beside
it sat Pilar, a little screen of papiermache
held in her hand. With it she shielded her
face from the blaze. Occasionally she
fanned herself with it, using her wrist in a
supple gesture. Simeon looked at her with
satisfaction.
He went on talking, perhaps more to
himself than to the girl, and stimulated by
the fact of her presence.
II 67
"Yes," he said. "I've been a wicked
man. What do you say to that, Pilar?"
Pilar shrugged her shoulders. She said:
"All men are wicked. The nuns say so.
That is why one has to pray for them."
"Ah, but I've been more wicked than
most." Simeon laughed. "I don't regret it,
you know. No, I don't regret anything.
I've enjoyed myself . . . every minute!
They say you repent when you get old.
That's bunkum. I don't repent. And, as I
tell you, I've done most things ... all the
good old sins! I've cheated and stolen and
lied . . . lord, yes! And women--always
women! Someone told me the other day of
an Arab chief who had a bodyguard of
forty of his sons--all roughly the same
age! Aha! Forty! I don't know about forty, but I bet I could produce a very fair bodyguard
if I went about looking for the brats!
Hey, Pilar, what do you think of that?
Shocked?"
Pilar stared.
"No, why should I be shocked? Men
always desire women. My father, too. That
is why wives are so often unhappy, and
why they go to church and pray."
Old Simeon was frowning.
68
"I made Adelaide unhappy," he said.
He spoke almost under his breath, to
himself. "Lord, what a woman! Pink and
white and pretty as they make 'em when I
married her! And afterwards? Always
wailing and weeping. It rouses the devil in
a man when his wife is always crying. . . .
She'd no guts, that's what was the matter
with Adelaide. If she'd stood up to me!
But she never did—not once. I believed
when I married her that I was going to be
able to settle, down raise a family—cut
loose from the old life. ..."
His voice died away. He stared—stared
into the glowing heart of the fire.
"Raise a family . . . God, what a
family!" He gave a sudden shrill pipe of
angry laughter. "Look at 'em—look at
'em! Not a child among them—to carry
on! What's the matter with them? Haven't
they got any of my blood in their veins?
Not a son among 'em, legitimate or
illegitimate. Alfred, for instance—
heavens above, how bored I get with
Alfred! Looking at me with his dog's eyes.
Ready to do anything I ask. Lord, what a
fool! His wife, now— Lydia—I like
Lydia. She's got spirit. She doesn't like
69
me, though. No, she doesn't like me. But
she has to put up with me for that nincompoop
Alfred's sake." He looked over at the
girl by the fire. "Pilar--remember--
nothing is so boring as devotion."
She smiled at him. He went on, warmed
by the presence of her youth and strong
femininity.
"George? What's George? A stick! A
stuffed codfish! A pompous windbag with
no brains and no guts--and mean about
money as well! David? David always was
a fool--a fool and a dreamer. His mother's
boy, that was always David. Only sensible
thing he ever did was to marry that solid
comfortable-looking woman." He brought
down his hand with a bang on the edge of
his chair. "Harry's the best of 'em! Poor
old Harry, the wrong 'un! But at any-rate
he's alivef
Pilar agreed.
"Yes, he is nice. He laughs--laughs out
loud--and throws his head back. Oh, yes, I like him very much."
The old man looked at her.
"You do, do you, Pilar? Harry always
had a way with the girls. Takes after me
there." He began to laugh, a slow wheezy
70
chuckle. "I've had a good life—a very
good life. Plenty of everything."
Pilar said:
"In Spain we have a proverb. It is like
this:
"Take what you like and pay for it, says
God."
Simeon beat an appreciative hand on the
arm of his chair.
"That's good. That's the stuff. Take
what you like . . . I've done that—all my
life—taken what I wanted. ..."
Pilar said, her voice high and clear, and
suddenly arresting:
"And you have paid for it?"
Simeon stopped laughing to himself. He
sat up and stared at her. He said, "What's
that you say?"
"I said, have you paid for it,
Grandfather?"
Simeon Lee said slowly:
"I—don't know. ..."
Then, beating his fist on the arm of the
chair, he cried out with sudden anger:
"What makes you say that, girl? What
makes you say that?"
Pilar said:
"I—wondered."
Her hand, holding the screen, was
arrested. Her eyes were dark and
mysterious. She sat, her head thrown
back, conscious of herself, of her
womanhood.
Simeon said:
"You devil's brat. ..."
She said softly:
"But you like me. Grandfather. You like
me to sit here with you."
Simeon said: "Yes, I like it. It's a long
time since I've seen anything so young and
beautiful. ... It does me good, warms my
old bones. . . . And you're my own flesh
and blood. . . . Good for Jennifer, she
turned out to be the best of the bunch after
all!"
Pilar sat there smiling.
"Mind you, you don't fool me," said
Simeon. "I know why you sit here so
patiently and listen to me droning on. It's
money—it's all money. ... Or do you
pretend you love your old grandfather?"
Pilar said: "No, I do not love you. But
I like you. I like you very much. You must
believe that, for it is true. I think you have
been wicked, but I like that too. You are
more real than the other people in this
72
house. And you have interesting things to
say. You have travelled and you have led
a life of adventure. If I were a man I would
like be that, too."
Simeon nodded.
"Yes, I believe you would. . . . We've
gipsy blood in us, so it's always been said.
It hasn't shown much in my children—
except Harry—but I think it's come out in
you. I can be patient, mind you, when it's
necessary. I waited once fifteen years to
get even with a man who'd done me an
injury. That's another characteristic of the
Lees—they don't forget! They'll avenge a
wrong if they have to wait years to do it.
A man swindled me. I waited fifteen years
till I saw my chance—and then I struck.
I ruined him. Cleaned him right out!"
He laughed softly.
Pilar said:
"That was in South Africa?"
"Yes. A grand country."
"You have been back there, yes?"
"I went back last five years after I
married. That was the last time."
"But before that? You were there for
many years?"
"Yes."
73
"Tell me about it."
He began to talk. Pilar, shielding her
face, listened.
His voice slowed, wearied. He said:
"Wait, I'll show you something."
He pulled himself carefully to his feet.
Then, with his stick, he limped slowly
across the room. He opened the big safe.
Turning, he beckoned her to him.
"There, look at these. Feel them, let
them run through your fingers."
He looked into her wondering face and
laughed.
"Do you know what they are?
Diamonds, child, diamonds."
Pilar's eyes opened. She said as she bent
over:
"But they are little pebbles, that is all."
Simeon laughed.
"They are uncut diamonds. That is how
they are found—like this."
Pilar asked incredulously:
"And if they were cut they would be
real diamonds?"
"Certainly."
"They would flash and sparkle?"
"Flash and sparkle."
Pilar said childishly:
74
"O-o-o, I cannot believe it!"
He was amused.
"It's quite true."
"They are valuable?"
"Fairly valuable. Difficult to say before
they are cut. Anyway, this little lot is
worth several thousands of pounds."
Pilar said with a space between each
word:
"Several—thousands—of—pounds?"
"Say nine or ten thousands—they're
biggish stones, you see."
Pilar asked, her eyes opening:
"But why do you not sell them, then?"
"Because I like to have them here."
"But all that money?"
"I don't need the money."
"Oh—I see." Pilar looked impressed.
She said:
"But why do you not have them cut and
made beautiful?"
"Because I prefer them like this." His
face was set in a grim line. He turned away
and began speaking to himself. "They take
me back—the touch of them, the feel of
them through my fingers. ... It all comes
back to me, the sunshine, and the smell of
75
the veldt, the oxen—old Eb—all the boys
—the evenings. ..."
There was a soft tap on the door.
Simeon said: "Put 'em back in the safe
and bang it to."
Then he called: "Come in."
Horbury came in, soft and deferential.
He said: "Tea is ready downstairs."
Hilda said: "So there you are, David. I've
been looking for you everywhere. Don't
let's stay in this room, it's so frightfully
cold."
David did not answer for a minute. He
was standing looking at a chair, a low chair
with faded satin upholstery. He said
abruptly:
"That's her chair ... the chair she
always sat in ... just the same—it's just
the same. Only faded, of course."
A little frown creased Hilda's forehead.
She said:
"I see. Do let's come out of here,
David. It's frightfully cold."
David took no notice. Looking round,
he said:
"She sat in here mostly. I remember
sitting on that stool there while she read
76
to me. Jack the Giant Killer—that was it
—Jack the Giant Killer. I must have been
six years old then."
Hilda put a firm hand through his arm.
"Come back to the drawing room, dear.
There's no heating in this room."
He turned obediently, but she felt a
little shiver go through him.
"Just the same," he murmured. "Just
the same. As though time had stood still."
Hilda looked worried. She said in a
cheerful determined voice:
"I wonder where the others are? It must
be nearly teatime."
David disengaged his arm and opened
another door.
"There used to be a piano in here. . . .
Oh, yes, here it is! I wonder if it's in
tune."
He sat down and opened the lid,
running his hands lightly over the keys.
"Yes, it's evidently kept tuned."
He began to play. His touch was good,
the melody flowed out from under his
fingers.
Hilda asked: "What is that? I seem to
know it, and I can't quite remember."
He said: "I haven't played it for years.
77
She used to play it. One of Mendelssohn's
Songs Without Words."
The sweet, over-sweet, melody filled the
room. Hilda said:
"Play some Mozart, do."
David shook his head. He began another
Mendelssohn.
Then suddenly he brought his hands
down upon the keys in a harsh discord.
He got up. He was trembling all over.
Hilda went to him.
She said: "David-- David."
He said: "It's nothing--it's nothing
. . ."
The bell pealed aggressively. Tressilian
rose from his seat in the pantry and went
slowly out and along to the door.
The bell pealed again. Tressilian
frowned. Through the frosted glass of the
door he saw the silhouette of a man
wearing a slouch hat.
Tressilian passed a hand over his forehead.
Something worried him. It was as
though everything was happening twice.
Surely this had happened before.
Surely--
78
He drew back the latch and opened the
door.
Then the spell broke. The man standing
there said:
"Is this where Mr. Simeon Lee lives?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'd like to see him, please."
A faint echo of memory awoke in Tressilian.
It was an intonation of voice that he
remembered from the old days when Mr.
Lee was first in England.
Tressilian shook his head dubiously.
"Mr. Lee is an invalid, sir. He doesn't
see many people now. If you--"
The stranger interrupted.
He drew out an envelope and handed it
to the butler.
"Please give this to Mr. Lee."
"Yes, sir."
Simeon Lee took the envelope. He drew
out the single sheet of paper it held. He
looked surprised. His eyebrows rose, but
he smiled.
"By all that's wonderful!" he said.
Then to the butler: "Show Mr. Farr up
here, Tressilian."
"Yes, sir."
79
Simeon said: "I was just thinking of old
Ebenezer Farr. He was my partner out
there in Kimberley. Now here's his son
come along!"
Tressilian reappeared. He announced:
"Mr. Farr."
Stephen Farr came in with a trace of
nervousness. He disguised it by putting on
a little extra swagger. He said—and just
for the moment his South African accent
was more marked than usual: "Mr. Lee?"
"I'm glad to see you. So you're Eb's
boy?"
Stephen Farr grinned rather sheepishly.
He said: "My first visit to the old
country. Father always told me to look you
up if I did come."
"Quite right." The old man looked
round. "This is my granddaughter, Pilar
Estravados."
"How do you do?" said Pilar demurely.
Stephen Farr thought with a touch of
admiration:
"Cool little devil. She was surprised to
see me, but it only showed for a flash."
He said, rather heavily: "I'm very
pleased to make your acquaintance. Miss
Estravados."
80
"Thank you," said Pilar.
Simeon Lee said: "Sit down and tell me
all about yourself. Are you in England for
long?"
"Oh, I shan't hurry myself now I've
really got here!"
He laughed, throwing his head back.
Simeon Lee said: "Quite right. You
must stay here with us for a while."
"Oh, look here, sir. I can't butt in like
that. It's only two days to Christmas."
"You must spend Christmas with us—
unless you've got other plans?"
"Well, no, I haven't, but I don't like—"
Simeon said: "That's settled." He
turned his head. "Pilar?"
"Yes, Grandfather."
"Go and tell Lydia we shall have
another guest. Ask her to come up here."
Pilar left the room. Stephen's eyes
followed her. Simeon noted the fact with
amusement.
He said: "You've come straight here
from South Africa?"
"Pretty well."
They began to talk of that country.
Lydia entered a few minutes later.
Simeon said: "This is Stephen Farr, son
81
of my old friend and partner, Ebenezer
Farr. He's going to be with us for
, Christmas if you can find room for him."
Lydia smiled.
"Of course." Her eyes took in the
g stranger's appearance. His bronzed face
gand blue eyes and the easy backward tilt
of his head.
0
"My daughter-in-law," said Simeon.
Stephen said: "I feel rather embarrassed
^-butting in on a family party like this."
"You're one of the family, my boy,"
g^aid Simeon. "Think of yourself as that."
"You're too kind, sir."
Pilar re-entered the room. She sat down
^quietly by the fire and picked up the hand
g^creen. She used it as a fan, slowly tilting
^er wrist to and fro. Her eyes were demure
^nd downcast.
82
Part Three
December 24th
3
" w "V 0 you really want me to stay on
| ^here, Father?" asked Harry. He
JL^ tilted his head back. "I'm stirring
up rather a hornets' nest, you know."
"What do you mean?" asked Simeon
sharply.
"Brother Alfred," said Harry. "Good
brother Alfred! He, if I may say so, resents
my presence here."
"The devil he does!" snapped Simeon.
"I'm master in this house."
"All the same, sir, I expect you're pretty
dependent on Alfred. I don't want to
upset--"
"You'll do as I tell you," snapped his
father.
Harry yawned.
"Don't know that I shall be able to stick
a stay-at-home life. Pretty stifling to a
fellow who's knocked about the world."
His father said: "You'd better marry
and settle down."
Harry said: "Who shall I marry? Pity
85
one can't marry one's niece. Young Pilar
is devilish attractive."
"You've noticed that?"
"Talking of settling down, fat George
has done well for himself as far as looks
go. Who was she?"
Simeon shrugged his shoulders.
"How should I know? George picked
her up at a mannequin parade, I believe.
She says her father was a retired naval
officer."
Harry said:
"Probably a second mate of a coasting
steamer. George will have a bit of trouble
with her if he's not careful."
"George," said Simeon Lee, "is a fool."
Harry said: "What did she marry him
for—his money?"
Simeon shrugged his shoulders.
Harry said: "Well, you think that you
can square Alfred all right?"
"We'll soon settle that," said Simeon
grimly.
He touched a bell that stood on a table
near him.
Horbury appeared promptly. Simeon
said:
"Ask Mr. Alfred to come here."
86
Horbury went out and Harry drawled:
"That fellow listens at doors!"
Simeon shrugged his shoulders.
"Probably."
Alfred hurried in. His face twitched
when he saw his brother. Ignoring Harry,
he said pointedly:
"You wanted me. Father?"
"Yes, sit down. I was just thinking we
must reorganize things a bit now that we
have two more people living in the house."
"Two?"
"Pilar will make her home here,
naturally. And Harry is home for good."
Alfred said: "Harry is coming to live
here?"
"Why not, old boy?" said Harry.
Alfred turned sharply to him.
"I should think that you yourself would
see that!"
"Well, sorry—but I don't."
"After everything that has happened?
The disgraceful way you behaved. The
scandal—"
Harry waved an easy hand.
"All that's in the past, old boy."
"You behaved abominably to Father,
after all he's done for you."
HPC7
87

"Look here, Alfred, it strikes me that's
Father's business, not yours. If he's
willing to forgive and forget—"
"I'm willing," said Simeon. "Harry's
my son, after all, you know, Alfred."
"Yes, but—I resent it—for Father's
sake."
Simeon said: "Harry's coming here! I
wish it." He laid a hand gently on the
latter's shoulder. "I'm very fond of
Harry."
Alfred got up and left the room. His
face was white. Harry rose too and went
after him, laughing.
Simeon sat chuckling to himself. Then
he started and looked round. "Who the
devil's that? Oh, it's you, Horbury. Don't
creep about that way."
"I beg your pardon, sir."
"Never mind. Listen, I've got some
orders for you. I want everybody to come
up here after lunch—everybody."
"Yes, sir."
"There's something else. When they
come, you come with them. And when you
get half-way along the passage raise your
voice so that I can hear. Any pretext will
do. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
Horbury went downstairs. He said to
Tressilian:
"If you ask me, we are going to have a
Merry Christmas."
Tressilian said sharply: "What d'you
mean?"
"You wait and see, Mr. Tressilian.
It's Christmas Eve to-day, and a nice
Christmas spirit abroad—I don't think!"
They came into the room and paused at
the doorway.
Simeon was speaking into the telephone.
He waved a hand to them.
"Sit down, all of you. I shan't be a
minute."
He went on speaking into the telephone.
"Is that Charlton, Hodgkins & Bruce?
Is that you, Charlton? Simeon Lee
speaking. Yes, isn't it? ... Yes. . . . No,
I wanted you to make a new will for
me. ... Yes, it's some time since I made
the other. . . . Circumstances have
altered. . . . Oh no, no hurry. Don't want
you to spoil your Christmas. Say Boxing
Day or the day after. Come along, and I'll
89
tell you what I want done. No, that's quite
all right. I shan't be dying just yet."
He replaced the receiver, then looked
round at the eight members of his family.
He cackled and said:
"You're all looking very glum. What is
the matter?"
Alfred said: "You sent for us ..."
Simeon said quickly: "Oh, sorry—
nothing portentous about it. Did you think
it was a family council? No, I'm just rather
tired to-day, that's all. None of you need
come up after dinner. I shall go to bed. I
want to be fresh for Christmas Day."
He grinned at them. George said
earnestly:
"Of course ... of course ..."
Simeon said: "Grand old institution,
Christmas. Promotes solidarity of family
feeling. What do you think, Magdalene,
my dear?"
Magdalene Lee jumped. Her rather silly
little mouth flew open and then shut itself.
She said: "Oh—oh, yes!"
Simeon said: "Let me see, you lived
with a retired naval officer"—he paused
—"your father. Don't suppose you made
90
much of Christmas. It needs a big family
for that!"
"Well--well--yes, perhaps it does."
Simeon's eyes slid past her.
"Don't want to talk of anything
unpleasant at this time of year, but you
know, George, I'm afraid I'll have to cut
down your allowance a bit. My establishment
here is going to cost me a bit more
to run in future."
George got very red.
"But look here. Father, you can't do
that!"
Simeon said softly: "Oh, can't I!"
"My expenses are very heavy already.
Very heavy. As it is, I don't know how I
make both ends meet. It needs the most
rigorous economy."
"Let your wife do a bit more of it," said
Simeon. "Women are good at that sort of
thing. They often think of economies
where a man would never have dreamt of
them. And a clever woman can make her
own clothes. My wife, I remember, was
clever with her needle. About all she was clever with--a good woman but deadly
dull--"
David sprang up. His father said:
91
"Sit down, boy, you'll knock something
over—"
David said: "My mother—"
^- Simeon said: "Your mother had the
brains of a louse! And it seems to me she's
transmitted those brains to her children."
He raised himself up suddenly. A red spot
appeared in each cheek. His voice came
high and shrill. "You're not worth a penny
piece, any of you! I'm sick of you all!
You're not men! You're weaklings—a set
of namby-pamby weaklings. Pilar's worth
any two of you put together! I'll swear to
heaven I've got a better son somewhere in
the world than any of you, even if you are
born the right side of the blanket!"
a-.
"Here, Father, hold hard," cried Harry.
He had jumped up and stood there, a
frown on his usually good-humoured face.
Simeon snapped:
"The same goes for you! What have you
ever done? Whined to me for money from
all over the world! I tell you I'm sick of
the sight of you all! Get out!"
He leaned back in his chair, panting a
little.
Slowly, one by one, his family went out.
George was red and indignant. Magdalene
92
looked frightened. David was pale and
quivering. Harry blustered out of the
room. Alfred went like a man in a dream.
Lydia followed him with her head held
high. Only Hilda paused in the doorway
and came slowly back.
She stood over him, and he started when
he opened his eyes and found her standing
there. There was something menacing in
the solid way she stood there quite
immovably.
He said irritably: "What is it?"
Hilda said: "When your letter came I
believed what you said—that you wanted
your family round you for Christmas, I
persuaded David to come."
Hilda said slowly: "You did want your
family round you—but not for the purpose
you said! You wanted them there, didn't
you, in order to set them all by the ears?
God help you, it's your idea of fun!"
Simeon chuckled. He said: "I always
had rather a specialised sense of humour.
I don't expect anyone else to appreciate the
joke. I'm enjoying it!"
She said nothing. A vague feeling of
apprehension came over Simeon Lee. He
said sharply:
93
"What are you thinking about?"
Hilda Lee said slowly: "I'm afraid ..."
Simeon said: "You're afraid--of me?"
Hilda said: "Not of you. I'm afraid-- for you!"
Like a judge who has delivered
sentence, she turned away. She marched, slowly and heavily, out of the room. . . .
Simeon sat staring at the door.
Then he got to his feet and made his
way over to the safe. He murmured:
"Let's have a look at my beauties."
The doorbell rang about a quarter to eight.
Tressilian went to answer it. He
returned to his pantry to find Horbury
there, picking up the coffee-cups off the
tray and looking at the mark on them.
"Who was it?" said Horbury.
"Superintendent of Police--Mr. Sugden
--mind what you're doing!"
Horbury had dropped one of the cups
with a crash.
"Look at that now," lamented Tressilian.
"Eleven years I've had the washing
up of those and never one broken, and
now you come along touching things
94
you've no business to touch, and look what
happens!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Tressilian. I am
indeed," the other apologised. His face
was covered with perspiration. "I don't
know how it happened. Did you say a
Superintendent of Police had called?"
"Yes--Mr. Sugden."
The valet passed a tongue over pale lips.
"What--what did he want?"
"Collecting for the Police Orphanage."
"Oh!" The valet straightened his
shoulders. In a more natural voice he said:
"Did he get anything?"
"I took up the book to old Mr. Lee and
he told me to fetch the superintendent up
and to put the sherry on the table."
"Nothing but begging, this time of
year," said Horbury. "The old devil's
generous, I will say that for him, in spite
of his other failings."
Tressilian said with dignity:
"Mr. Lee has always been an openhanded
gentleman."
Horbury nodded.
"It's the best thing about him! Well, I'll
be off now."
"Going to the pictures?"
95
"I expect so. Ta-ta, Mr. Tressilian."
He went through the door that led to
the Servants' hall.
Tressilian looked up at the clock
hanging on the wall.
He went into the dining-room and laid
the rolls in the napkins.
Then, after assuring himself that everything
was as it should be, he sounded the
gong in the hall.
As the last note died away the police
superintendent came down the stairs.
Superintendent Sugden was a large handsome
man. He wore a tightly-buttoned
blue suit and moved with a sense of his
own importance.
He said affably: "I rather think we shall
have a frost to-night. Good thing: the
weather's been very unseasonable lately."
Tressilian said, shaking his head:
"The damp affects my rheumatism."
The superintendent said that rheumatism
was a painful complaint, and Tressilian
let him out by the front door.
The old butler refastened the door and
came back slowly into the hall. He passed
his hand over his eyes and sighed. Then
he straightened his back as he saw Lydia
96
pass into the drawing-room. George Lee
was just coming down the stairs.
Tressilian hovered ready. When the last
guest, Magdalene, had entered the
drawing-room, he made his own appearance, murmuring:
"Dinner is served."
In his way Tressilian was a connoisseur
of ladies' dress. He always noted and criticised
the gowns of the ladies as he circled
round the table, decanter in hand.
Mrs. Alfred, he noted, had got on her
new flowered black and white taffeta. A
bold design, very striking, but she could
carry it off, though many ladies couldn't.
The dress Mrs. George had on was a
model, he was pretty sure of that. Must
have cost a pretty penny. He wondered
how Mr. George would like paying for it!
Mr. George didn't like spending money--
he never had. Mrs. David now: a nice
lady, but didn't have any idea of how to
dress. For her figure, plain black velvet
would have been the best. Figured velvet, and crimson at that, was a bad choice.
Miss Pilar, now, it didn't matter what she
wore, with her figure and her hair she
looked well in anything. A flimsy cheap
97
little white gown it was, though. Still, Mr.
Lee would soon see to that! Taken to her,
wonderful, he had. Always was the same
way when a gentleman was elderly. A
young face could do anything with him!
"Hock or claret?" murmured Tressilian
in a deferential whisper in Mrs. George's
ear. Out of the tail of his eye he noted
that Walter, the footman, was handing the
vegetables before the gravy again—after all
he had been told!
Tressilian went round with the souffle.
It struck him, now that his interest in the
ladies' toilettes and his misgivings over
Walter's deficiencies were a thing of the
past, that everyone was very silent
to-night. At least, not exactly silent: Mr.
Harry was talking enough for twenty—no,
not Mr. Harry, the South African
gentleman. And the others were talking
too, but only, as it were, in spasms. There
was something a little—queer about them.
Mr. Alfred, for instance, he looked
downright ill. As though he had had a
shock or something. Quite dazed he
looked and just turning over the food on
his plate without eating it. The mistress,
she was worried about him. Tressilian
98
could see that. Kept looking down the
table towards him—not noticeably, of
course, just quietly. Mr. George was very
red in the face—gobbling his food, he was,
without tasting it. He'd get a stroke one
day if he wasn't careful. Mrs. George
wasn't eating. Slimming, as likely as not.
Miss Pilar seemed to be enjoying her food
all right and talking and laughing up at the
South African gentleman. Properly taken
with her, he was. Didn't seem to be
anything on their minds!
Mr. David? Tressilian felt worried about
Mr. David. Just like his mother, he was,
to look at. And remarkably young-looking
still. But nervy; there, he'd knocked over
his glass.
Tresilian whisked it away, mopped up
the stream deftly. It was all over. Mr.
David hardly seemed to notice what he
had done, just sat staring in front of him
with a white face.
Thinking of white faces, funny the way
Horbury had looked in the pantry just now
when he'd heard a police officer had come
to the house . . . almost as though—
Tressilian's mind stopped with a jerk.
Walter had dropped a pear off the dish
99
he was handing. Footmen were no good
nowadays! They might be stable-boys, the
way they went on!
He went round with the port. Mr.
Harry seemed a bit distrait to-night. Kept
looking at Mr. Alfred. Never had been any
love lost between those two, not even as
boys. Mr. Harry, of course, had always
been his father's favourite, and that had
rankled with Mr. Alfred. Mr. Lee had
never cared for Mr. Alfred much. A pity,
when Mr. Alfred always seemed so
devoted to his father.
There, Mrs. Alfred was getting up now.
She swept round the table. Very nice that
design on the taffeta; that cape suited her.
A very graceful lady.
He went out to the pantry, closing the
dining-room door on the gentlemen with
their port.
He took the coffee-tray into the
drawing-room. The four ladies were sitting
there rather uncomfortably, he thought.
They were not talking. He handed round
the coffee in silence.
He went out again. As he went into his
pantry he heard the dining-room door
100
open. David Lee came out and went along
the hall to the drawing-room.
Tressilian went back into his pantry. He
read the riot act to Walter. Walter was
nearly, if not quite, impertinent!
Tressilian, alone in his pantry, sat down
rather wearily.
" He had a feeling of depression.
Christmas Eve, and all this strain and
tension. . . . He didn't like it!
With an effort he roused himself. He
went to the drawing-room and collected
the coffee-cups. The room was empty
except for Lydia, who was standing half
concealed by the window curtain at the far
end of the room. She was standing there
looking out into the night.
From next door the piano sounded.
Mr. David was playing. But why, Tressilian
asked himself, did Mr. David play
the "Dead March"? For that's what it was.
Oh, indeed things were very wrong.
He went slowly along the hall and back
into his pantry.
It was then he first heard the noise from
overhead: a crashing of china, the overthrowing
of furniture, a series of cracks
and bumps.
101
"Good gracious!" thought Tressilian. "Whatever is the master doing? What's
happening up there?"
And then, clear and high, came a
scream--a horrible high wailing scream
that died away in a choke or gurgle.
Tressilian stood there a moment paralysed, then he ran out into the hall and up
the broad staircase. Others were with him.
That scream had been heard all over the
house.
They raced up the stairs and round the
bend, past a recess with statues gleaming
white and eerie, and along the straight
passage to Simeon Lee's door. Mr. Farr
was there already and Mrs. David. She
was leaning back against the wall and
he was twisting at the door handle.
"The door's locked," he was saying.
"The door's locked!"
Harry Lee pushed past and wrested it
from him. He, too, turned and twisted at
the handle.
"Father," he shouted. "Father, let us
_ »»
in.
He held up his hand and in the silence
they all listened. There was no answer. No
sound from inside the room.
102
The front door bell rang, but no one
paid any attention to it.
Stephen Farr said:
"We've got to break the door down. It's
the only way."
Harry said: "That's going to be a tough
job. These doors are good solid stuff.
Come on, Alfred."
They heaved and strained. Finally they
went and got an oak bench and used it as
a battering-ram. The door gave at last. Its
hinges splintered and the door sank shuddering
from its frame.
For a minute they stood there huddled
together looking in. What they saw was a
sight that no one of them ever forgot. . . .
There had clearly been a terrific
struggle. Heavy furniture was overturned.
China vases lay splintered on the floor. In
the middle of the hearthrug in front of the
blazing fire lay Simeon Lee in a great pool
of blood. . . . Blood was splashed all
round. The place was like a shambles.
There was a long shuddering sigh, and
then two voices spoke in turn. Strangely
enough, the words they uttered were both
quotations.
David Lee said:
"The mills of God grind slowly. ..."
Lydia's voice came like a fluttering
whisper:
"Who would have thought the old man
to have had so much blood in him? ..."
Superintendent Sugden had rung the bell
three times. Finally, in desperation, he
pounded on the knocker.
A scared Walter at length opened the
door.
"Oo-er," he said. A look of relief came
over his face. "I was just ringing up the
police."
"What for?" said Superintendent
Sugden sharply. "What's going on here?"
Walter whispered:
"It's old Mr. Lee. He's been done
in.
5»

The superintendent pushed past him
and ran up the stairs. He came into the
room without anyone being aware of his
entrance. As he entered he saw Pilar bend
forward and pick up something from the
floor. He saw David Lee standing with his
hands over his eyes.
He saw the others huddled into a little
group. Alfred Lee alone had stepped near
104
his father's body. He stood now quite
close, looking down. His face was blank.
George Lee was saying importantly:
"Nothing must be touched--remember
that--nothing--till the police arrive. That
is most important!"
"Excuse me," said Sugden.
He pushed his way forward, gently
thrusting the ladies aside.
Alfred Lee recognised him.
"Ah," he said. "It's you. Superintendent
Sugden. You've got here very
quickly."
"Yes, Mr. Lee." Superintendent
Sugden did not waste time on explanations.
"What's all this?"
"My father," said Alfred Lee, "has been
killed--murdered. ..."
His voice broke.
Magdalene began suddenly to sob
hysterically.
Superintendent Sugden held up a large
official hand. He said authoritatively:
"Will everybody kindly leave the room
except Mr. Lee and--er-- Mr. George
Lee? ..."
They moved slowly towards the door, 105
reluctantly, like sheep. Superintendent
Sugden intercepted Pilar suddenly.
"Excuse me, miss," he said pleasantly.
"Nothing must be touched or disturbed."
She stared at him. Stephen Farr said
impatiently:
"Of course not. She understands that."
Superintendent Sugden said, still in the
same pleasant manner: "You picked up
something from the floor just now?"
Pilar's eyes opened. She stared and said
incredulously: "J did?"
Superintendent Sugden was still
pleasant. His voice was just a little firmer.
"Yes, I saw you. ..."
"Oh!"
"So please give it to me. It's in your
hand now."
Slowly Pilar unclosed her hand. There
lay in it a wisp of rubber and a small object
made of wood. Superintendent Sugden
took them, enclosed them in an envelope
and put them away in his breast pocket.
He said: "Thank you."
He turned away. Just for a minute
Stephen Farr's eyes showed a startled
respect. It was as though he had
106
underestimated the large handsome
superintendent.
They went slowly out of the room.
Behind them they heard the superintendent's
voice saying officially:
"And now, if you please ..."
"Nothing like a wood fire," said Colonel
Johnson as he threw on an additional log
and then drew his chair nearer to the
blaze. "Help yourself," he added, hospitably
calling attention to the tantalus and
siphon that stood near his guest's elbow.
The guest raised a polite hand in
negation. Cautiously he edg^d his own
chair nearer to the blazing logs, though he
was of the opinion that the opportunity for
roasting the soles of one's feet (like some
mediaeval torture) did not offset the cold
draught that swirled round the back of the
shoulders.
Colonel Johnson, Chief Constable of
Middleshire, might be of the opinion that
nothing could beat a wood fire, but
Hercule Poirot was of the opinion that
central heating could and did every time!
"Amazing business, that Cartwright
case," remarked the host reminiscently.
107
"Amazing man! Enormous charm of
manner. Why, when he came here with
you, he had us all eating out of his hand."
He shook his head.
"We'll never have anything like that
case!" he said. "Nicotine poisoning is rare,
fortunately."
"There was a time when you would have
considered all poisoning unEnglish,"
suggested Hercule Poirot. "A device of
foreigners! Unsportsmanlike!?'
"I hardly think we could say that," said
the chief constable. "Plenty of poisoning
by arsenic--probably a good deal more
than has ever been suspected."
"Possibly, yes."
"Always an awkward business, a
poisoning case," said Johnson. "Conflicting
testimony of the experts--then doctors
are usually so extremely cautious in
what they say. Always a difficult case to
take to a jury. No, if one must have
murder (which heaven forbid!) give me a
straightforward case. Something where
there's no ambiguity about the cause of
death."
Poirot nodded.
"The bullet wound, the cut throat, the
108
crushed-in skull? It is there your preference
lies?"
"Oh, don't call it a preference, my dear
fellow. Don't harbour the idea that I like murder cases! Hope I never have another.
Anyway, we ought to be safe enough
during your visit."
Poirot began modestly:
"My reputation--"
But Johnson had gone on.
"Christmas time," he said. "Peace, goodwill--and all that kind of thing.
Goodwill all round."
Hercule Poirot leaned back in his chair.
He joined his fingertips. He studied his
host thoughtfully.
He murmured: "It is, then, your
opinion that Christmas time is an unlikely
season for crime?"
"That's what I said."
"Why?"
"Why?" Johnson was thrown slightly
out of his stride. "Well, as I've just said
--season of good cheer, and all that!"
Hercule Poirot murmured:
"The British, they are so sentimental!"
Johnson said stoutly: "What if we are?
109
What if we do like the old ways, the old
traditional festivities? What's the harm?"
"There is no harm. It is all most
charming! But let us for a moment
examine facts. You have said that
Christmas is a season of good cheer. That
means, does it not, a lot of eating and
drinking? It means, in fact, the overeating!
And with the overeating there comes the
indigestion! And with the indigestion there
comes the irritability!"
"Crimes," said Colonel Johnson, "are
not committed from irritability."
"I am not so sure! Take another point.
There is, at Christmas, a spirit of goodwill.
It is, as you say, 'the thing to do.5 Old
quarrels are patched up, those who have
disagreed consent to agree once more, even
if it is only temporarily."
Johnson nodded.
"Bury the hatchet, that's right."
Poirot pursued his theme:
"And families now, families who have
been separated throughout the year,
assemble once more together. Now under
these conditions, my friend, you must
admit that there will occur a great amount
of strain. People who do not feel amiable
110
are putting great pressure on themselves to appear amiable! There is at Christmas time
a great deal of hypocrisy, honourable
hypocrisy, hypocrisy undertaken pour Ie
bon motif, c'est entendu, but nevertheless
hypocrisy!"
"Well, I shouldn't put it quite like that
myself," said Colonel Johnson doubtfully.
Poirot beamed upon him.
"No, no. It is I who am putting it like
that, not you. I am pointing out to you
that under these conditions--mental
strain, physical malaise--it is highly probable
that dislikes that were before merely
mild and disagreements that were trivial
might suddenly assume a more serious
character. The result of pretending to be
a more amiable, a more forgiving, a more
high-minded person than one really is, has
sooner or later, the effect of causing one
to behave as a more disagreeable, a more
ruthless and an altogether more unpleasant
person than is actually the case! If you
dam the stream of natural behaviour, mon
ami, sooner or later the dam bursts and a
cataclysm occurs!"
Colonel Johnson looked at him
doubtfully.
Ill
"Never know when you're serious
and when you're pulling my leg," he
grumbled.
Poirot smiled at him.
"I am not serious! Not in the least am
I serious! But all the same, it is true what I
say—artificial conditions bring about their
natural reaction."
Colonel Johnson's manservant entered
the room.
"Superintendent Sugden on the phone,
• ««
sir."
"Right. I'll come."
With a word of apology the chief
constable left the room.
He returned some three minutes later.
His face was grave and perturbed.
"Damn it all!" he said. "Case of
murder! On Christmas Eve, too!"
Poirot's eyebrows rose.
"It is that definitely—murder, I mean?"
"Eh? Oh, no other solution possible!
Perfectly clear case. Murder—and a brutal
murder at that!"
"Who is the victim?"
"Old Simeon Lee. One of the richest
men we've got! Made his money in South
Africa originally. Gold—no, diamonds, I
112
believe. He sunk an immense fortune in
manufacturing some particular gadget of
mining machinery. His own invention, I
believe. Anyway, it's paid him hand over
fist! They say he's a millionaire twice
over."
Poirot said: "He was well liked, yes?"
Johnson said slowly:
"Don't think anyone liked him. Queer
sort of chap. He's been an invalid for some
years now. I don't know very much about
him myself. But of course he is one of the
big figures of the county."
"So this case, it will make a big stir?"
"Yes. I must get over to Longdale as
fast as I can."
He hesitated, looking at his guest.
Poirot answered the unspoken question:
"You would like that I should accompany
you?"
Johnson said awkwardly:
"Seems a shame to ask you. But, well,
you know how it is! Superintendent
Sugden is a good man, none better, painstaking, careful, thoroughly sound--but--
well, he's not an imaginative chap in any
way. Should like very much, as you are
here, benefit of your advice."
113
He halted a little over the end part of his
speech, making it somewhat telegraphic in
style. Poirot responded quickly.
"I shall be delighted. You can count on
me to assist you in any way I can. We
must not hurt the feelings of the good
superintendent. It will be his case—not
mine. I am only the unofficial consultant."
Colonel Johnson said warmly:
"You're a good fellow, Poirot."
With those words of commendation, the
two men started out.
It was a constable who opened the front
door to them and saluted. Behind him,
Superintendent Sugden advanced down
the hall and said:
"Glad you've got here, sir. Shall we
come into this room here on the left—Mr.
Lee's study? I'd like to run over the main
outlines. The whole thing's a rum
business."
He ushered them into a small room on
the left of the hall. There was a telephone
there and a big desk covered with papers.
The walls were lined with bookcases.
The chief constable said: "Sugden, this
is M. Hercule Poirot. You may have heard
114
of him. Just happened to be staying with
me. Superintendent Sugden."
Poirot made a little bow and looked the
other man over. He saw a tall man with
square shoulders and a military bearing
who had an aquiline nose, a pugnacious
jaw and a large nourishing chestnutcoloured
moustache. Sugden stared hard
at Hercule Poirot after acknowledging the
introduction. Hercule Poirot stared hard at
Superintendent Sugden's moustache. Its
luxuriance seemed to fascinate him.
The superintendent said:
"Of course I have heard of you, Mr.
Poirot. You were in this part of the world
some years ago, if I remember rightly.
Death of Sir Bartholomew Strange.
Poisoning case. Nicotine. Not my district,
but of course I heard all about it."
Colonel Johnson said impatiently:
"Now, then, Sugden, let's have the
facts. A clear case, you said."
"Yes, sir, it's murder right enough—not
a doubt of that. Mr. Lee's throat was cut
—jugular vein severed, I understand from
the doctor. But there's something very odd
about the whole matter."
"You mean—?"
: 115
"I'd like you to hear my story first, sir.
These are the circumstances: This afternoon, about five o'clock, I was rung up by
Mr. Lee at Addlesfield police station. He
sounded a bit odd over the phone--asked
me to come and see him at eight o'clock
this evening--made a special point of the
time. Moreover, he instructed me to say
to the butler that I was collecting subscriptions
for some police charity."
The chief constable looked up sharply.
"Wanted some plausible pretext to get
you into the house?"
"That's right, sir. Well, naturally, Mr.
Lee is an important person, and I acceded
to his request. I got here a little before
eight o'clock, and represented myself as
seeking subscriptions for the Police
Orphanage. The butler went away and
returned to tell me that Mr. Lee would see
me. Thereupon he showed me up to Mr.
Lee's room, which is situated on the first
floor, immediately over the dining-room."
Superintendent Sugden paused, drew a
breath and then proceeded in a somewhat
official manner with his report.
"Mr. Lee was seated in a chair by the
fireplace. He was wearing a dressing-gown.
116
When the butler had left the room and
closed the door, Mr. Lee asked me to sit
near him. He then said rather hesitatingly
that he wanted to give me particulars of a
robbery. I asked him what had been taken.
He replied that he had reason to believe
that diamonds (uncut diamonds, I think
he said) to the value of several thousand
pounds had been stolen from his safe."
"Diamonds, eh?" said the chief
constable.
"Yes, sir. I asked him various routine
questions, but his manner was very uncertain
and his replies were somewhat vague
in character. At last he said, 'You must
understand. Superintendent, that I may be
mistaken in this matter." I said, 'I do not
quite understand, sir. Either the diamonds
are missing or they are not missing--one
or the other.' He replied. The diamonds
are certainly missing, but it is just possible, Superintendent, that their disappearance
may be simply a rather foolish kind
of practical joke.5 Well, that seemed odd
to me, but I said nothing. He went on: 'It
is difficult for me to explain in detail, but
what it amounts to is this: So far as I can
see, only two persons can possibly have the
117
stones. One of those persons might have
done it as a joke. If the other person took
them, then they have definitely been
stolen.' I said, "What exactly do you want
me to do, sir?' He said quickly, 'I want
you. Superintendent, to return here in
about an hour--no, make it a little more
than that--say nine-fifteen. At that time I
shall be able to tell you definitely whether
I have been robbed or not.' I was a little
mystified, but I agreed and went away."
Colonel Johnson commented:
"Curious--very curious. What do you
say, Poirot?"
Hercule Poirot said:
"May I ask. Superintendent, what
conclusions you yourself drew?"
The superintendent stroked his jaw as
he replied carefully:
"Well, various ideas occurred to me, but
on the whole, I figured it out this
way. There was no question of any practical
joke. The diamonds had been stolen
all right. But the old gentleman wasn't
sure who'd done it. It's my opinion that
he was speaking the truth when he said
that it might have been one of two people
--and of those two people one was a
118
servant and the other was a member of the
family."
Poirot nodded appreciatively.
"Tres bien. Yes, that explains his attitude
very well."
"Hence his desire that I should return
later. In the interval he meant to have an
interview with the person in question. He
would tell them that he had already spoken
of the matter to the police but that, if restitution
were promptly made, he could hush
the matter up."
Colonel Johnson said:
"And if the suspect didn't respond?"
"In that case, he meant to place the
investigation in our hands."
Colonel Johnson frowned and twisted
his moustache. He demurred.
"Why not take that course before calling
you in?"
"No, no, sir." The superintendent
shook his head. "Don't you see, if he had
done that, it might have been bluff. It
wouldn't have been half so convincing.
The person might say to himself. The old
man won't call the police in, no matter
what he suspects!' But if the old gentleman
says to him, 'I've already spoken to the

HPC9
119

police, the superintendent has only just
left.5 Then the thief asks the butler, say,
and the butler confirms that. He says,
'Yes, the superintendent was here just
before dinner.5 Then the thief is convinced
the old gentleman means business and its
up to him to cough up the stones."
"H'm, yes, I see that," said Colonel
Johnson. "Any idea, Sugden, who this
'member of the family5 might be?"
"No, sir."
"No indication whatsoever?"
"None."
Johnson shook his head. Then he said:
"Well, let's get on with it."
Superintendent Sugden resumed his
official manner.
"I returned to the house, sir, at ninefifteen
precisely. Just as I was about to
ring the front door bell, I heard a scream
from inside the house, and then a confused
sound of shouts and a general commotion.
I rang several times and also used the
knocker. It was three or four minutes
before the door was answered. When the
footman at last opened it I could see that
something momentous had occurred. He
was shaking all over and looked as though
120
he was about to faint. He gasped out that
Mr. Lee had been murdered. I ran hastily
upstairs. I found Mr. Lee's room in a state
of wild confusion. There had evidently
been a severe struggle. Mr. Lee himself
was lying in front of the fire with his throat
cut in a pool of blood."
The chief constable said sharply:
"He couldn't have done it himself?"
Sugden shook his head.
"Impossible, sir. For one thing, there
were the chairs and tables overturned, and
the broken crockery and ornaments, and
then there was no sign of the razor or knife
with which the crime had been
committed."
The chief constable said thoughtfully:
"Yes, that seems conclusive. Anyone in
the room?"
"Most of the family were there, sir. Just
standing round."
Colonel Johnson said sharply:
"Any ideas, Sugden?"
The superintendent said slowly:
"It's a bad business, sir. It looks to me
as though one of them must have done it.
I don't see how anyone from outside could
have done it and got away in time."
121
"What about the window? Closed or
open?"
"There are two windows in the room,
sir. One was closed and locked. The other
was open a few inches at the bottom—but
it was fixed in that position by a burglar
screw, and moreover, I've tried it and it's
stuck fast—hasn't been opened for years,
I should say. Also the wall outside is quite
smooth and unbroken—no ivy or creepers.
I don't see how anyone could have left that
way."
"How many doors in the room?"
"Just one. The room is at the end of a
passage. That door was locked on the
inside. When they heard the noise of the
struggle and the old man's dying scream,
•and rushed upstairs, they had to break
down the door to get in."
Johnson said sharply:
"And who was in the room?"
Superintendent Sugden replied gravely:
"Nobody was in the room, sir, except
the old man who had been killed no more
than a few minutes previously."
Colonel Johnson stared at Sugden for some
minutes before he spluttered:
122
"Do you mean to tell me. Superintendent, that this is one of those damned
cases you get in detective stories where a
man is killed in a locked room by some
apparently supernatural agency?
A very faint smile agitated the superintendent's
moustache as he replied gravely:
"I do not think it's quite as bad as that,
sir."
Colonel Johnson said:
"Suicide. It must be suicide!"
"Where's the weapon, if so? No, sir, suicide won't do."
"Then how did the murderer escape? By
the window?"
Sugden shook his head.
"I'll take my oath he didn't do that."
"But the door was locked, you say, on
the inside."
The superintendent nodded. He drew a
key from his pocket and laid it on the
table.
"No fingerprints," he announced. "But
just look at that key, sir. Take a look at it
with that magnifying glass there."
Poirot bent forward. He and Johnson
examined the key together. The chief
constable uttered an exclamation.
123
"By jove, I get you. Those faint
scratches on the end of the barrel. You see
'em, Poirot?"
"But yes, I see. That means, does it not, that the key was turned from outside the
door--turned by means of a special
implement that went through the keyhole
and gripped the barrel--possibly an ordinary
pair of pliers would do it."
The superintendent nodded.
"It can be done all right."
- Poirot said: "The idea being, then, that
the death would be thought to be suicide, since the door was locked and no one was
in the room?"
"That was the idea, Mr. Poirot, not a
doubt of it, I should say."
Poirot shook his head doubtfully.
"But the disorder in the room! As you
say, that by itself wiped out the idea of
suicide. Surely the murderer would first of
all have set the room to rights."
Superintendent Sugden said: "But he
hadn't time, Mr. Poirot. That's the whole
point. He hadn't time. Let's say he
counted on catching the old gentleman
unawares. Well, that didn't come off.
There was a struggle--a struggle heard
124
plainly in the room underneath; and,
what's more, the old gentleman called out
for help. Everyone came rushing up. The
murderer's only got time to nip out of the
room and turn the key from the outside."
"That is true," Poirot admitted. "Your
murderer, he may have made the bungle.
But why, oh why, did he not at least leave
the weapon? For naturally, if there is no
weapon, it cannot be suicide! That was an
error most grave."
Superintendent Sugden said stolidly:
"Criminals usually make mistakes.
That's our experience."
Poirot gave a light sigh. He murmured:
"But all the same, in spite of his
mistakes, he has escaped, this criminal."
"I don't think he has exactly escaped."
"You mean he is in the house still?"
"I don't see where else he can be. It was
an inside job."
"But, tout de meme," Poirot pointed
out gently, "he has escaped to this extent:
You do not know who he is."
Superintendent Sugden said gently but
firmly:
"I rather fancy that we soon shall. We
125
haven't done any questioning of the household
yet."
Colonel Johnson cut in:
"Look here, Sugden, one thing strikes
me. Whoever turned that key from the
outside must have had some knowledge of
the job. That's to say, he probably had had
criminal experience. These sort of tools
aren't easy to manage."
"You mean it was a professional job, sir?"
"That's what I mean."
"It does seem like it," the other
admitted. "Following that up, it looks as
though there were a professional thief
among the servants. That would explain
the diamonds being taken and the murder
would follow on logically from that."
"Well, anything wrong with that
theory?"
"It's what I thought myself to begin
with. But it's difficult. There are eight
servants in the house; six of them are
women, and of those six, five have been
here for four years and more. Then there's
the butler and the footman. The butler has
been here for close on forty years--bit of
a record that, I should say. The footman's
126
local, son of the gardener, and brought up
here. Don't see very well how he can be a
professional. The only other person is Mr.
Lee's valet attendant. He's comparatively
new, but he was out of the house--still is
--went out just before eight o'clock."
Colonel Johnson said:
"Have you got a list of just who exactly
was in the house?"
"Yes, sir. I got it from the butler." He
took out his note-book. "Shall I read it to
you?"
"Please, Sugden."
"Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Lee. Mr. George
Lee, M.P., and his wife. Mr. Henry Lee.
Mr. and Mrs. David Lee. Miss"--the
superintendent paused a little, taking the
words carefully--"Pilar"--he pronounced
it like a piece of architecture-- "Estravados.
Mr. Stephen Farr. Then for the
servants: Edward Tressilian, butler.
Walter Champion, footman. Emily
Reeves, cook. Queenie Jones, kitchenmaid.
Gladys Spent, head housemaid.
Grace Best, second housemaid. Beatrice
Moscombe, third housemaid. Joan Kench, betweenmaid. Sydney Horbury, valet
attendant."
127
"That's the lot, eh?"
"That's the lot, sir."
"Any idea where everybody was at the
time of the murder?"
"Only roughly. As I told you, I haven't
questioned anybody yet. According to
Tressilian, the gentlemen were in the
dining-room still. The ladies had gone to
the drawing-room. Tressilian had served
coffee. According to his statement, he had
just got back to his pantry when he heard
a noise upstairs. It was followed by a
scream. He ran out into the hall and
upstairs in the wake of the others."
Colonel Johnson said:
"How many of the family live in the
house, and who are just staying here?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Lee live here.
The others are just visiting."
Johnson nodded.
"Where are they all?"
"I asked them to stay in the drawingroom
until I was ready to take their
statements."
"I see. Well, we'd better go upstairs and
take a look at the doings."
The superintendent led the way up the
broad stairs and along the passage.
128
As he entered the room where the crime
had taken place, Johnson drew a deep
breath.
"Pretty horrible," he commented.
He stood for a minute studying the overturned
chairs, the smashed china, and the
blood-bespattered debris.
A thin elderly man stood up from where
he had been kneeling by the body and gave
a nod.
"Evening, Johnson," he said. "Bit of a
shambles, eh?"
"I should say it was. Got anything for
us, doctor?"
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. He
grinned.
"I'll let you have the scientific language
at the inquest! Nothing complicated about
it. Throat cut like a pig. He bled to death
in less than a minute. No sign of the
weapon."
Poirot went across the room to the
windows. As the superintendent had said, one was shut and bolted. The other was
open about four inches at the bottom. A
thick patent screw of the kind known
many years ago as an anti-burglar screw
secured it in that position.
129
Sugden said: "According to the butler,
that window was never shut, wet or fine.
There's a linoleum mat underneath it in
case rain beat in, but it didn't much, as
the overhanging roof protects it."
Poirot nodded.
He came back to the body and stared
down at the old man.
The lips were drawn back from the
bloodless gums in something that looked
like a snarl. The fingers were curved like
claws.
Poirot said:
"He does not seem a strong man, no."
The doctor said:
"He was pretty tough, I believe. He'd
survived several pretty bad illnesses that
would have killed most men."
Poirot said: "I do not mean that. I
mean, he was not big, not strong
physically."
"No, he's frail enough."
Poirot turned from the dead man. He
bent to examine an overturned chair, a big
chair of mahogany. Beside it was a round
mahogany table and the fragments of a big
china lamp. Two other smaller chairs lay
nearby, also the smashed fragments of a
130
/
decanter and two glasses, a heavy glass
paperweight was unbroken, some miscellaneous
books, a big Japanese vase
smashed in pieces, and a bronze statuette
of a naked girl completed the debris.
Poirot bent over all these exhibits, studying them gravely, but without
touching them. He frowned to himself as
though perplexed.
The chief constable said:
"Anything strike you, Poirot?"
Hercule Poirot sighed. He murmured:
"Such a frail shrunken old man--and
yet--all this."
Johnson looked puzzled. He turned
away and said to the sergeant, who was
busy at his work:
"What about prints?"
"Plenty of them, sir, all over the room."
"What about the safe?"
"No good. Only prints on that are those
of the old gentleman himself."
Johnson turned to the doctor.
"What about bloodstains?" he asked.
"Surely whoever killed him must have got
blood on him."
The doctor said doubtfully:
"Not necessarily. Bleeding was almost
131
entirely from the jugular vein. That
wouldn't spout like an artery."
"No, no. Still, there seems a lot of blood
about."
Poirot said:
"Yes, there is a lot of blood--it strikes
one, that. A lot of blood."
Superintendent Sugden said respectfully:

"Do you--er--does that suggest anything
to you, Mr. Poirot?"
Poirot looked about him. He shook his
head perplexedly.
He said:
"There is something here--some violence ..." He stopped a minute, then
went on: "Yes, that is it--violence. . . . And blood--an insistence on blood. . . . There is--how shall I put it?--there is too
much blood. Blood on the chairs, on the
tables, on the carpet. . . . The blood
ritual? Sacrificial blood? Is that it?
Perhaps. Such a frail old man, so thin, so
shrivelled, so dried up--and yet--in his
death--so much blood. ..."
His voice died away. Superintendent
Sugden, staring at him with round, startled eyes, said in an awed voice:
132
"Funny—that's what she said—the
lady. ..."
Poirot said sharply:
"What lady? What was it she said?"
Sugden answered: "Mrs. Lee—Mrs.
Alfred. Stood over there by the door and
half whispered it. It didn't make sense to
« «
me."
"What did she say?"
"Something about who would have
thought the old gentleman had so much
blood in him. ..."
Poirot said softly:
"'Who would have thought the old man
to have had so much blood in him?' The
words of Lady Macbeth. She said
that. . . . Ah, that is interesting. ..."
Alfred Lee and his wife came into the
small study where Poirot, Sugden and the
chief constable were standing waiting.
Colonel Johnson came forward.
"How do you do, Mr. Lee? We've never
actually met, but as you know, I'm chief
constable of the county. Johnson's my
name. I can't tell you how distressed I am
by this."
133
Alfred, his brown eyes like those of a
suffering dog, said hoarsely:
"Thank you. It's terrible—quite
terrible. I—this is my wife."
Lydia said in her quiet voice:
"It has been a frightful shock to my
husband—to all of us—but particularly to
him."
Her hand was on her husband's
shoulder.
Colonel Johnson said:
"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Lee? Let me
introduce M. Hercule Poirot."
Hercule Poirot bowed. His eyes went
interestedly from husband to wife.
Lydia's hands pressed gently on Alfred's
shoulder.
"Sit down, Alfred."
Alfred sat. He murmured:
"Hercule Poirot. Now, who—who—?"
He passed his hand in a dazed fashion
over his forehead.
Lydia Lee said:
"Colonel Johnson will want to ask you
a lot of questions, Alfred."
The chief constable looked at her with
approval. He was thankful that Mrs.
134
Alfred Lee was turning out to be such a
sensible and competent woman.
Alfred said:
"Of course. Of course. . . ."
Johnson said to himself:
"Shock seems to have knocked him out
completely. Hope he can pull himself
together a bit."
Aloud he said:
"I've got a list here of everybody who
was in the house to-night. Perhaps you'll
tell me, Mr. Lee, if it is correct."
He made a slight gesture to Sugden and
the latter pulled out his note-book and
once more recited the list of names.
The businesslike procedure seemed to
restore Alfred Lee to something more like
his normal self. He had regained command
of himself, his eyes no longer looked dazed
and staring. When Sugden finished, he
nodded in agreement.
"That's quite right," he said.
"Do you mind telling me a little more
about your guests? Mr. and Mrs. George
Lee and Mr. and Mrs. David Lee are, I
gather, relatives?"
"They are my two younger brothers and
their wives."
HPC10
135

"They are staying here only?"
"Yes, they came to us for Christmas."
"Mr. Henry Lee is also a brother?"
"Yes."
"And your two other guests? Miss
Estravados and Mr. Farr?"
"Miss Estravados is my niece. Mr. Farr
is the son of my father's one-time partner
in South Africa."
"Ah, an old friend."
Lydia intervened.
"No, actually we have never seen him
before."
"I see. But you invited him to stay with
you for Christmas?"
Alfred hesitated, then looked towards
his wife. She said clearly:
"Mr. Farr turned up quite unexpectedly
yesterday. He happened to be in the neighbourhood
and came to call upon my
father-in-law. When my father-in-law
found he was the son of his old friend and
partner, he insisted on his remaining with
us for Christmas."
Colonel Johnson said:
"I see. That explains the household. As
regards the servants, Mrs. Lee, do you
consider them all trustworthy?"
136
Lydia considered for a moment before
replying. Then she said:
"Yes. I am quite sure they are all
thoroughly reliable. They have mostly
been with us for many years. Tressilian,
the butler, has been here since my
husband was a young child. The only
newcomers are the betweenmaid, Joan,
and the nurse-valet who attended on my
father-in-law."
"What about them?"
"Joan is rather a silly little thing. That
is the worst that can be said of her. I know
very little about Horbury. He has been
here just over a year. He was quite
competent at his job and my father-in-law
seemed satisfied with him."
Poirot said acutely:
"But you, madame, were not so
satisfied?"
Lydia shrugged her shoulders slightly.
"It was nothing to do with me."
"But you are the mistress of the house,
madame. The servants are your concern?"
"Oh yes, of course. But Horbury was
my father-in-law's personal attendant. He
did not come under my jurisdiction."
"I see."
137
Colonel Johnson said:
"We come now to the events of tonight.
I'm afraid this will be painful for you, Mr.
Lee, but I would like your account of what
happened."
Alfred said in a low voice: "Of course."
Colonel Johnson said, prompting him:
"When, for instance, did you last see
your father?"
A slight spasm of pain crossed Alfred's
face as he replied in a low voice:
"It was after tea. I was with him for a
short time. Finally I said good-night to
him and left him at--let me see--about a
quarter to six."
Poirot observed: "You said goodnight
to him? You did not then expect to see
him again that evening?"
"No. My father's supper, a light meal, was always brought to him at seven. After
that he sometimes went to bed early or
sometimes sat up in his chair, but he did
not expect to see any members of the
family again unless he specially sent for
them."
"Did he often send for them?"
"Sometimes. If he felt like it."
138
"But it was not the ordinary procedure?"

"No."
"Go on, please, Mr. Lee."
Alfred continued:
"We had our dinner at eight o'clock.
Dinner was over and my wife and the
other ladies had gone into the drawingroom."
His voice faltered. His eyes began
to stare again. "We were sitting there--at
the table. . . . Suddenly there was the
most astounding noise overhead. Chairs
overturning, furniture crashing, breaking
glass and china, and then--Oh, God"
--he shuddered--"I can hear it still--my
father screamed--a horrible, long-drawn
scream--the scream of a man in mortal
agony. ..."
He raised shaking hands to cover his
face. Lydia stretched out her hand and
touched his sleeve. Colonel Johnson said
gently: "And then?"
Alfred said in a broken voice:
"I think--just for a moment we were stunned. Then we sprang up and went out
of the door and up the stairs to my father's
room. The door was locked. We couldn't
139
get in. It had to be broken open. Then,
when we did get in, we saw—"
His voice died away.
Johnson said quickly:
"There's no need to go into that part of
it, Mr. Lee. To go back a little, to the
time you were in the dining-room. Who
was there with you when you heard the
cry?"
"Who was there? Why, we were all—
No, let me see. My brother was there—
my brother Harry."
"Nobody else?"
"No one else."
"Where were the other gentlemen?"
Alfred sighed and frowned in an effort
of remembrance.
"Let me see—it seems so long ago—
yes, like years—what did happen? Oh, of
course, George had gone to telephone.
Then we began to talk of family matters,
and Stephen Farr said something about
seeing we wanted to discuss things, and he
took himself off. He did it very nicely and
tactfully."
"And your brother David?"
Alfred frowned.
"David? Wasn't he there? No, of
140
course, he wasn't. I don't quite know
when he slipped away."
Poirot said gently:
"So you had the family matters to
discuss?"
"Er—yes."
"That is to say, you had matters to
discuss with one member of your family?"
Lydia said:
"What do you mean, M. Poirot?"
He turned quickly to her.
"Madame, your husband says that Mr.
Farr left them because he saw they had
affairs of the family to discuss. But it was
not a conseil de famille, since M. David
was not there and M. George was not
there. It was, then, a discussion between
two members of the family only."
Lydia said:
"My brother-in-law. Harry, had been
abroad for a great number of years. It was
natural that he and my husband should
have things to talk over."
"Ah! I see. It was like that."
She shot him a quick glance, then
turned her eyes away.
Johnson said:
"Well, that seems clear enough. Did
141
you notice anyone else as you ran upstairs
to your father's room?"
"I—really I don't know. I think so. We
all came from different directions. But I'm
afraid I didn't notice—I was so alarmed.
That terrible cry. . . ."
Colonel Johnson passed quickly to
another subject.
"Thank you, Mr. Lee. Now, there is
another point. I understand that your
father had some valuable diamonds in his
possession."
Alfred looked rather surprised.
"Yes," he said. "That is so."
"Where did he keep them?"
"In the safe in his room."
"Can you describe them at all?"
"They were rough diamonds—that is,
« *
uncut stones."
"Why did your father have them
there?"
"It was a whim of his. They were stones
he had brought with him from South
Africa. He never had them cut. He just
liked keeping them in his possession. As I
say, it was a whim of his."
"I see," said the chief constable.
From his tone it was plain that he did
142
not see. He went on: "Were they of much
value?"
"My father estimated their value at
about ten thousand pounds."
"In fact, they were very valuable
stones?"
"Yes."
"It seems a curious idea to keep such
stones in a bedroom safe."
Lydia interposed.
"My father-in-law. Colonel Johnson,
was a somewhat curious man. His ideas
were not the conventional ones. It
definitely gave him pleasure to handle
those stones."
"They recalled, perhaps, the past to
him," said Poirot.
She gave him a quick appreciative look.
"Yes," she said. "I think they did."
"Were they insured?" asked the chief
constable.
"I think not."
Johnson leaned forward. He asked
quietly:
"Did you know, Mr. Lee, that those
stones had been stolen?"
"What?" Alfred Lee stared at him.
143
"Your father said nothing to you of their
disappearance?"
"Not a word."
"You did not know that he had sent for
Superintendent Sugden here and had
reported the loss to him?"
"I hadn't the faintest idea of such a
thing!"
The chief constable transferred his gaze.
"What about you, Mrs. Lee?"
Lydia shook her head.
"I heard nothing about it."
"As far as you knew, the stones were
still in the safe?"
"Yes."
She hesitated and then asked:
"Is that why he was killed? For the sake
of those stones?"
Colonel Johnson said:
"That is what we are going to find out!"
He went on:
"Have you any idea, Mrs. Lee, who
could have engineered such a theft?"
She shook her head.
"No, indeed. I am sure the servants are
all honest. In any case, it would be very
difficult for them to get at the safe. My
144
father-in-law was always in his room. He
never came downstairs."
"Who attended to the room?"
"Horbury. He made the bed and
dusted. The second housemaid went in to
do the grate and lay the fire every
morning, otherwise Horbury did
everything."
Poirot said:
"So Horbury would be the person with
the best opportunity?"
"Yes."
"Do you think that it was he who stole
the diamonds, then?"
"It is possible. I suppose. ... He had
the best opportunity. Oh! I don't know
what to think."
Colonel Johnson said:
"Your husband has given us his account
of the evening. Will you do the same, Mrs.
Lee? When did you last see your
father-in-law?"
"We were all up in his room this afternoon--before
tea. That was the last time
I saw him."
"You did not see him later to bid him
goodnight?"
"No."
145
Poirot said:
"Do you usually go and say goodnight
to him?"
Lydia said sharply:
"No."
The chief constable went on:
"Where were you when the crime took
place?"
"In the drawing-room."
"You heard the noise of the struggle?"
"I think I heard something heavy fall.
Of course my father-in-law's room is over
the dining-room, not the drawing-room, so
I shouldn't hear so much."
"But you heard the cry?"
Lydia shuddered.
"Yes, I heard that. ... It was horrible
--like--like a soul in hell. I knew at once
something dreadful had happened. I
hurried out and followed my husband and
Harry up the stairs."
"Who else was in the drawing-room at
the time?"
Lydia frowned.
"Really--I can't remember. David was
next door in the music-room, playing
Mendelssohn. I think Hilda had gone to
join him."
146
"And the other two ladies?"
Lydia said slowly:
"Magdalene went to telephone. I can't
remember whether she had come back or
not. I don't know where Pilar was."
Poirot said gently:
"In fact, you may have been quite alone
in the drawing-room?"
"Yes—yes—as a matter of fact, I
believe I was."
Colonel Johnson said:
"About these diamonds. We ought, I
think, to make quite sure about them. Do
you know the combination of your father's
safe, Mr. Lee? I see it is of a somewhat
old-fashioned pattern.''
"You will find it written down in a small
note-book he carried in the pocket of his
dressing-gown."
"Good. We will go and look presently.
It will be better, perhaps, if we interview
the other members of the house-party first.
The ladies may want to get to bed."
Lydia stood up.
"Come, Alfred." She turned to them.
"Shall I send them in to you?"
"One by one, if you wouldn't mind,
Mrs. Lee."
147
"Certainly."
She moved towards the door. Alfred
followed her.
Suddenly, at the last moment, he swung
round.
"Of course," he said. He came quickly
back to Poirot. "You are Hercule Poirot!
I don't know where my wits have been. I
should have realised at once."
He spoke quickly, in a low, excited
voice.
"It's an absolute godsend your being
here! You must find out the truth, M.
Poirot. Spare no expense! I will be responsible
for any expense. Bur find out . . . My poor father--killed by someone--
killed with the utmost brutality! You must find out, M. Poirot. My father has got to
be avenged."
Poirot answered quietly:
"I can assure you, M. Lee, that I am
prepared to do my utmost to assist Colonel
Johnson and Superintendent Sugden."
Alfred Lee said:
"I want you to work for me. My father
has got to be avenged."
He began to tremble violently. Lydia
148
had come back. She went up to him and
drew his arm through hers.
"Come, Alfred," she said. "We must
get the others."
Her eyes met Poirot's. They were eyes
that kept their own secrets. They did not
waver.
Poirot said softly:
"Who would have thought the old
man—"
She interrupted him:
"Stop! Don't say that!"
Poirot murmured:
"You said it, madame."
She breathed softly:
"I know ... I remember ... It was—
so horrible."
Then she went abruptly out of the
room, her husband beside her.
George Lee was solemn and correct.
"A terrible business," he said, shaking
his head. "A terrible, terrible business. I
can only believe that it must—er—have
been the work of a lunaticV'
Colonel Johnson said politely:
"That is your theory?"
"Yes. Yes, indeed. A homicidal maniac.
149
Escaped, perhaps, from some mental home
in the vicinity."
Superintendent Sugden put in:
"And how do you suggest this—er—
lunatic gained admittance to the house,
Mr. Lee? And how did he leave it?"
George shook his head.
"That," he said firmly, "is for the police
to discover."
Sugden said:
"We made the round of the house at
once. All windows were closed and barred.
The side door was locked, so was the front
door. Nobody could have left by the
kitchen premises without being seen by
the kitchen staff."
George Lee cried:
"But that's absurd! You'll be saying
next that my father was never murdered at
all!"
"He was murdered all right," said
Superintendent Sugden. "There's no
doubt about that."
The chief constable cleared his throat
and took up the questioning.
"Just where were you, Mr. Lee, at the
time of the crime?"
"I was in the dining-room. It was just
150
after dinner. No, I was, I think, in this
room. I had just finished telephoning."
"You had been telephoning?"
"Yes. I had put a call through to the
Conservative agent in Westeringham—my
constituency. Some urgent matters."
"And it was after that that you heard
the scream?"
George Lee gave a slight shiver.
"Yes, very unpleasant. It—er—froze
my marrow. It died away in a kind of
choke or gurgle."
He took out a handkerchief and wiped
his forehead where the perspiration had
broken out.
"Terrible business," he muttered.
"And then you hurried upstairs?"
"Yes."
"Did you see your brothers, Mr. Alfred
and Mr. Harry Lee?"
"No, they must have gone up just ahead
of me, I think."
"When did you last see your father, Mr.
Lee?"
"This afternoon. We were all up there."
"You did not see him after that?"
"No."
HPC11
151

The chief constable paused, then he
said:
"Were you aware that your father kept
a quantity of valuable uncut diamonds in
the safe in his bedroom?"
George Lee nodded.
"A most unwise procedure," he said
pompously. "I often told him so. He might
have been murdered for them--I mean--
that is to say--"
Colonel Johnson cut in: "Are you aware
that these stones have disappeared?"
George's jaw dropped. His protuberant
eyes stared.
"Then he was murdered for them?"
The chief constable said slowly:
"He was aware of their loss and reported
it to the police some hours before his
death."
George said:
"But, then--I don't understand--I--"
Hercule Poirot said gently:
"We, too, do not understand. ..."
Harry Lee came into the room with a
swagger. For a moment Poirot stared at
him, frowning. He had a feeling that somewhere
he had seen this man before. He
152
noted the features: the high-bridged nose,
the arrogant poise of the head, the line of
the jaw; and he realised that though Harry
was a big man and his father had been a
man of merely middle height, yet there
had been a good deal of resemblance
between them.
: He noted something else, too. For all
his swagger. Harry Lee was nervous. He
was carrying it off with a swing, but the
anxiety underneath was real enough.
"Well, gentlemen," he said. "What can
I tell you?"
Colonel Johnson said:
"We shall be glad of any light you can
throw on the events of this evening."
Harry Lee shook his head.
"I don't know anything at all. It's all
pretty horrible and utterly unexpected."
Poirot said:
"You have recently returned from
abroad, I think, Mr. Lee?"
Harry turned to him quickly.
"Yes. Landed in England a week ago."
Poirot said:
"You had been away a long time?"
Harry Lee lifted up his chin and
laughed.
153
"You might as well hear straight away
—someone will soon tell you! I'm the
prodigal son, gentlemen! It's nearly twenty
years since I last set foot in this house."
"But you returned—now. Will you tell
us why?" asked Poirot.
With the same appearance of frankness
Harry answered readily enough.
"It's the good old parable still. I got
tired of the husks that the swine do eat—
or don't eat, I forget which. I thought to
myself that the fatted calf would be a
welcome exchange. I had a letter from my
father suggesting that I come home. I
obeyed the summons and came. That's
all."
Poirot said:
"You came for a short visit—or a long
one?"
Harry said: "I came home—for good!"
"Your father was willing?"
"The old man was delighted." He
laughed again. The corners of his eyes
crinkled engagingly. "Pretty boring for the
old man living here with Alfred! Alfred's
a dull stick—very worthy and all that, but
poor company. My father had been a bit
154
of a rip in his time. He was looking
forward to my company."
"And your brother and his wife, were
they pleased that you were to live here?"
Poirot asked the question with a slight
lifting of his eyebrows.
"Alfred? Alfred was livid with rage.
Don't know about Lydia. She was probably
annoyed on Alfred's behalf. But I've
no doubt she'd be quite pleased in the end.
I like Lydia. She's a delightful woman. I
should have got on with Lydia. But Alfred
was quite another pair of shoes." He
laughed again. "Alfred's always been as
jealous as hell of me. He's always been the
good dutiful stay-at-home stick-inthe-mud
son. And what was he going to get for it
in the end?--what the good boy of the
family always gets--a kick in the pants.
Take it from me, gentlemen, virtue
doesn't pay." He looked from one face to
another.
"Hope you're not shocked by my frankness.
But after all, it's the truth you're
after. You'll drag out all the family dirty
linen into the light of day in the end. I
might as well display mine straight away.
I'm not particularly broken-hearted by my
155
father's death--after all, I hadn't seen the
old devil since I was a boy--but nevertheless
he was my father and he was
murdered. I'm all out for revenge on the
murderer." He stroked his jawbone, watching them. "We're rather hot on
revenge in our family. None of the Lees
forget easily. I mean to make sure that my
father's murderer is caught and hanged."
"I think you can trust us to do our best
in that line, Mr. Lee," said Sugden.
"If you don't I shall take the law into
my own hands," said Harry Lee.
The chief constable said sharply:
"Have you any ideas on the subject of
the murderer's identity, then, Mr. Lee?"
Harry shook his head.
"No," he said slowly. "No--I haven't.
You know it's rather a jolt. Because I've
been thinking about it--and I don't see
that it can have been an outside job. ..."
"Ah," said Sugden, nodding his head.
"And if so," said Harry Lee, "then
someone here in the house killed him. . . .
But who the devil could have done it?
Can't suspect the servants. Tressilian has
been here since the year one. The halfwitted
footman? Not on your life.
156
Horbury, now, he's a cool customer, but
Tressilian tells me he was out at the
pictures. So what do you come to? Passing
over Stephen Farr (and why the devil
should Stephen Farr come all the way
from South Africa and murder a total
stranger?) there's only the family. And for
the life of me I can't see one of us doing
it. Alfred? He adored Father. George? He
hasn't got the guts. David? David's always
been a moon dreamer. He'd faint if he saw
his own finger bleed. The wives? Women
don't go and slit a man's throat in cold
blood. So who did? Blessed if I know. But
it's damned disturbing."
Colonel Johnson cleared his throat—an
official habit of his—and said:
"When did you last see your father this
evening?"
"After tea. He'd just had a row with
Alfred—about your humble servant. The
old man was no end bucked with himself.
He always liked stirring up trouble. In my
opinion, that's why he kept my arrival
dark from the others. Wanted to see the
fur fly when I blew in unexpectedly!
That's why he talked about altering his
will, too."
157
Poirot stirred softly. He murmured:
"So your father mentioned his will?"
"Yes—in front of the whole lot of us,
watching us like a cat to see how we
reacted. Just told the lawyer chap to come
over and see him about it after
Christmas."
Poirot asked:
"What changes did he contemplate
making?"
Harry Lee grinned:
"He didn't tell us that! Trust the old
fox! I imagine—or shall we say I hoped—
that the change was to the advantage of
your humble servant! I should imagine I'd
been cut out of any former wills. Now, I
rather fancy, I was to go back. Nasty blow
for the others. Pilar, too—he'd taken a
fancy to her. She was in for something
good, I should imagine. You haven't seen
her yet? My Spanish niece. She's a
beautiful creature, Pilar—with the lovely
warmth of the South—and its cruelty.
Wish I wasn't a mere uncle!"
"You say your father took to her?"
Harry nodded.
"She knew how to get round the old
man. Sat up there with him a good deal.
158
I bet she knew just what she was after!
Well, he's dead now. No wills can be
altered in Pilar's favour--nor mine either, worse luck."
He frowned, paused a minute, and then
went on with a change of tone.
"But I'm wandering from the point.
You wanted to know what was the last
time I saw my father? As I've told you, it
was after tea--might have been a little past
six. The old man was in good spirits then
--a bit tired, perhaps. I went away and
left him with Horbury. I never saw him
again."
"Where were you at the time of his
death?"
"In the dining-room with brother
Alfred. Not a very harmonious afterdinner
session. We were in the middle of
a pretty sharp argument when we heard
the noise overhead. Sounded as though ten
men were wrestling up there. And then
poor old Father screamed. It was like
killing a pig. The sound of it paralysed
Alfred. He just sat there with his jaw dropping.
I fairly shook him back to life, and
we started off upstairs. The door was
locked. Had to break it open. Took some
159
doing, too. How the devil that door came
to be locked, I can't imagine! There was
no one in the room but Father, and I'm
damned if anyone could have got away
through the windows."
Superintendent Sugden said:
"The door was locked from the
outside."
"What?" Harry stared. "But I'll swear
the key was on the inside."
Poirot murmured:
"So you noticed that?"
Harry Lee said sharply:
"I do notice things. It's a habit of
mine."
He looked sharply from one face to the
other.
"Is there anything more you want to
know, gentlemen?"
Johnson shook his head.
"Thank you, Mr. Lee, not for the
moment. Perhaps you will ask the next
member of the family to come along?"
"Certainly I will."
He walked to the door and went out
without looking back.
The three men looked at each other.
Colonel Johnson said:
160
"What about it, Sugden?"
The superintendent shook his head
doubtfully. He said:
"He's afraid of something. I wonder
why?..."
Magdalene Lee paused effectively in the
doorway. One long slender hand touched
the burnished platinum sheen of her hair.
The leaf-green velvet frock she wore clung
to the delicate lines of her figure. She
looked very young and a little frightened.
The three men were arrested for a
moment looking at her. Johnson's eyes
showed a sudden surprised admiration.
Superintendent Sugden's showed no
animation, merely the impatience of a man
anxious to get on with his job. Hercule
Poirot's eyes were deeply appreciative (as
she saw) but the appreciation was not for
her beauty, but for the effective use she
made of it. She did not know that he was
thinking to himself:
"Jolie mannequin, la petite. Mats elle a
les yeux durs.^
Colonel Johnson was thinking:
"Damned good-looking girl. George Lee
161
will have trouble with her if he doesn't
look out. Got an eye for a man all right."
Superintendent Sugden was thinking:
"Empty-headed vain piece of goods.
Hope we get through with her quickly."
"Will you sit down, Mrs. Lee? Let me
see, you are—?"
"Mrs. George Lee."
She accepted the chair with a warm
smile of thanks. "After all," the glance
seemed to say, "although you are a man
and a policeman, you are not so dreadful
after all."
The tail-end of the smile included
Poirot. Foreigners were so susceptible
where women were concerned. About
Superintendent Sugden she did not bother.
She murmured, twisting her hands
together in a pretty distress:
"It's all so terrible. I feel so frightened."
"Come, come, Mrs. Lee," said Colonel
Johnson kindly but briskly. "It's been a
shock, I know, but it's all over now. We
just want an account from you of what
happened this evening."
She cried out:
"But I don't know anything about it—
I don't indeed."
162
For a moment the chief constable's eyes
narrowed. He said gently: "No, of course
not."
"We only arrived here yesterday.
George would make me come here for
Christmas! I wish we hadn't. I'm sure I
shall never feel the same again!"
' 'Very upsetting—yes.''
"I hardly know George's family, you
see. I've only seen Mr. Lee once or twice
—at our wedding and once since. Of
course I've seen Alfred and Lydia more
often, but they're really all quite strangers
to me."
Again the wide-eyed frightened child
look. Again Hercule Poirot's eyes were
appreciative—and again thought to
himself:
"£77e joue tres bien la comedie, cette
petite. ..."
"Yes, yes," said Colonel Johnson.
"Now just tell me about the last time you
saw your father-in-la\v—Mr. Lee—
alive."
"Oh, that\ That was this afternoon. It
was dreadful!"
Johnson said quickly:
"Dreadful? Why?"
163
"They were so angry!"
"Who was angry?"
"Oh, all of them. ... I don't mean
George. His father didn't say anything to
him. But all the others."
"What happened exactly?"
"Well, when we got there—he asked for
all of us—he was speaking into the telephone—to
his lawyers about his will. And
then he told Alfred he was looking very
glum. I think that was because of Harry
coming home to live. Alfred was very
upset about that, I believe. You see. Harry
did something quite dreadful. And then he
said something about his wife—she's dead
long ago—but she had the brains of a
louse, he said, and David sprang up and
looked as though he'd like to murder him
— Oh!" She stopped suddenly, her eyes
alarmed. "I didn't mean that—I didn't
mean it at all!"
Colonel Johnson said soothingly:
"Quite—quite, figure of speech, that
was all."
"Hilda, that's David's wife, quieted him
down and—well, I think that's all. Mr.
Lee said he didn't want to see anyone
again that evening. So we all went away."
164
"And that was the last time you saw
him?"
"Yes. Until—until—"
She shivered.
Colonel Johnson said:
"Yes, quite so. Now, where were you at
the time of the crime?"
"Oh—let me see, I think I was in the
drawing-room."
"Aren't you sure?"
Magdalene's eyes flickered a little, the
lids drooped over them.
She said:
"Of course! How stupid of me. ... I'd
gone to telephone. One gets so mixed up."
"You were telephoning, you say. In this
room?"
"Yes, that's the only telephone except
the one upstairs in my father-in-law's
room."
Superintendent Sugden said:
"Was anybody else in the room with
you?"
Her eyes widened.
"Oh, no, I was quite alone."
"Had you been here long?"
"Well—a little time. It takes some time
to put a call through in the evening."
165
"It was a trunk call, then?"
"Yes—to Westeringham."
"I see."
"And then?"
"And then there was that awful scream
—and everybody running—and the door
being locked and having to break it down.
Oh! It was like a nightmarel I shall always
remember it!"
"No, no," Colonel Johnson's tone was
mechanically kind. He went on:
"Did you know that your father-in-law
kept a quantity of valuable diamonds in
his safe?"
"No, did he?" Her tone was quite
frankly thrilled. "Real diamonds?"
Hercule Poirot said:
"Diamonds worth about ten thousand
pounds."
"Oh!" It was a soft gasping sound—
holding it in the essence of feminine
cupidity.
"Well," said Colonel Johnson, "I think
that's all for the present. We needn't
bother you any further, Mrs. Lee."
"Oh, thank you."
She stood up—smiled from Johnson to
Poirot—the smile of a grateful little girl,
166
then she went out walking with her head
held high and her palms a little turned
outwards.
Colonel Johnson called:
"Will you ask your brother-in-law, Mr.
David Lee, to come here?" Closing the
door after her, he came back to the table.
"Well," he said, "what do you think?
We're getting at some of it now! You
notice one thing: George Lee was telephoning
when he heard the scream! His
wife was telephoning when she heard it!
That doesn't fit--it doesn't fit at all."
He added:
"What do you think, Sugden?"
The superintendent said slowly:
"I don't want to speak offensively of the
lady, but I should say that though she's
the kind who would be first class at getting
money out of a gentleman, I don't think
she's the kind who'd cut a gentleman's
throat. That wouldn't be her line at all."
"Ah, but one never knows, mon vieux," murmured Poirot.
The chief constable turned round on
him.
"And you, Poirot, what do you think?"
Hercule Poirot leaned forward. He
npci2 167
straightened the blotter in front of him and
nicked a minute speck of dust from a
candlestick. He answered:
"I would say that the character of the
late Mr. Simeon Lee begins to emerge for
us. It is there, I think, that the whole
importance of the case lies. ... in the
character of the dead man."
Superintendent Sugden turned a
puzzled face to him.
"I don't quite get you, Mr. Poirot," he
said. "What exactly has the character of
the deceased got to do with his murder?"
Poirot said dreamily:
^ "The character of the victim has always
something to do with his or her murder.
The frank and unsuspicious mind of
Desdemona was the direct cause of her
death. A more suspicious woman would
have seen lago's machinations and circumvented
them much earlier. The uncleanness
of Marat directly invited his end in a
bath. From the temper of Mercutio's mind
came his death at the sword's point."
Colonel Johnson pulled his moustache.
"What exactly are you getting at, Poirot?"
"I am telling you that because Simeon
168
Lee was a certain kind of man, he set in
motion certain forces, which forces in the
end brought about his death."
"You don't think the diamonds had
anything to do with it, then?"
Poirot smiled at the honest perplexity in
Johnson's face.
"Mon cAer," he said. "It was because
of Simeon Lee's peculiar character that he
kept ten thousand pounds worth of uncut
diamonds in his safe! You have not there
the action of every man."
"That's very true, Mr. Poirot," said
Superintendent Sugden, nodding his head
with the air of a man who at last sees what
a fellow-conversationalist is driving at.
"He was a queer one, Mr. Lee was. He
kept those stones there so he could take
them out and handle them and get the
feeling of the past back. Depend upon it,
that's why he never had them cut."
Poirot nodded energetically.
"Precisely—precisely. I see you have
great acumen. Superintendent."
The superintendent looked a little
doubtful at the compliment, but Colonel
Johnson cut in:
169
"There's something else, Poirot. I don't
know whether it has struck you--"
"Mais oui," said Poirot. "I know what
you mean. Mrs. George Lee, she let the
cat out of the bag more than she knew!
She gave us a pretty impression of that
last family meeting. She indicates--oh! so
naively--that Alfred was angry with his
father--and that David looked as "though
he could murder him.' Both those statements
I think were true. But from them
we can draw our own reconstruction.
What did Simeon Lee assemble his family
for? Why should they have arrived in time
to hear him telephoning to his lawyer? Parbleu, it was no error, that. He wanted them to hear it! The poor old one, he sits
in his chair and he has lost the diversions
of his younger days. So he invents a new
diversion for himself. He amuses himself
by playing upon the cupidity and the greed
of human nature--yes, and on its
emotions and its passions, too! But from
that arises one further deduction. In his
game of rousing the greed and emotion of
his children, he would not omit anyone.
He must, logically and necessarily, have
had his dig at Mr. George Lee as well as
170
at the others! His wife is carefully silent
about that. At her, too, he may have shot
a poisoned arrow or two. We shall find
out, I think, from others, what Simeon
Lee has to say to George Lee and George
Lee's wife—"
He broke off. The door opened and
David Lee came in.
David Lee had himself well in hand. His
demeanour was calm—almost unnaturally
so. He came up to them, drew a chair
forward and sat down, looking with grave
interrogation at Colonel Johnson.
•- The electric light touched the fair peak
of hair that grew on his forehead and
showed up the sensitive modelling of the
cheek bones. He looked absurdly young to
be the son of that shrivelled old man who
lay dead upstairs.
"Yes, gentlemen," he said, "what can I
tell you?"
Colonel Johnson said:
"I understand, Mr. Lee, that there was
a kind of family meeting held in your
father's room this afternoon?"
"There was. But it was quite informal.
171
I mean, it was not a family council or
anything of that kind."
"What took place there?"
David Lee answered calmly:
"My father was in a difficult mood. He
was an old man and an invalid, of course,
one had to make allowances for him. He
seemed to have assembled us there in
order to—well—vent his spite upon us."
"Can you remember what he said?"
David said quietly:
"It was really all rather foolish. He said
we were no use—any of us—that there
wasn't a single man in the family! He said
Pilar (that is my Spanish niece) was worth
two of any of us. He said—" David
stopped.
Poirot said:
"Please, Mr. Lee, the exact words, if
you can."
David said reluctantly:
"He spoke rather coarsely—said he
hoped that somewhere in the world he had
better sons—even if they were born the
wrong side of the blanket. . . ."
His sensitive face showed distaste for the
words he was repeating. Superintendent
172
Sugden looked up, suddenly alert.
Leaning forward, he said:
"Did your father say anything in
particular to your brother, Mr. George
Lee?"
"To George? I don't remember. Oh, yes, I believe he told him he would have
to cut down expenses in future, he'd have
to reduce his allowance. George was very
upset, got as red as a turkey cock. He
spluttered and said he couldn't possibly
manage with less. My father said quite
coolly that he'd have to. He said he'd
better get his wife to help him economise.
Rather a nasty dig, that-- George has
always been the economical one--saves
and stints on every penny. Magdalene, I
fancy, is a bit of a spender--she has
extravagant tastes."
Poirot said:
"So that she, too, was annoyed?"
"Yes. Besides, my father worded something
else rather crudely--mentioned her
as having lived with a naval officer. Of
course he really meant her father, but it
sounded rather dubious. Magdalene went
scarlet. I don't blame her."
Poirot said:
173
"Did your father mention his late wife,
your mother?"
^ The red blood ran in waves up David's
temples. His hands clenched themselves
on the table in front of him, trembling
slightly.
He said in a low choked voice:
"Yes, he did. He insulted her."
Colonel Johnson said:
"What did he say?"
David said abruptly:
"I don't remember. Just some slighting
reference."
Poirot said softly:
"Your mother has been dead some
years?"
David said shortly:
"She died when I was a boy."
"She was not—perhaps—very happy in
her life here?"
David gave a scornful laugh:
"Who could be happy with a man like
my father? My mother was a saint. She
died a broken-hearted woman."
Poirot went on:
"Your father was, perhaps, distressed
by her death?"
David said abruptly:
174
"I don't know. I left home."
He paused and then said:
"Perhaps you may not be aware of the
fact that when I came on this visit I had
not seen my father for nearly twenty years.
So you see I can't tell you very much about
his habits or his enemies or what went on
here."
Colonel Johnson asked:
"Did you know that your father kept a
lot of valuable diamonds in the safe in his
bedroom?"
David said indifferently:
"Did he? Seems a foolish sort of thing
to do."
Johnson said:
"Will you describe briefly your own
movements last night?"
"Mine? Oh, I went away from the
dinner-table fairly quickly. It bores me,
this sitting round over port. Besides, I
could see that Alfred and Harry were
working up for a quarrel. I hate rows. I
slipped away and went to the music-room
and played the piano."
Poirot asked:
"The music-room, it is next to the
drawing-room, is it not?"
175
"Yes. I played there for some time—till
—till the thing happened."
"What did you hear exactly?"
"Oh! A far-off noise of furniture being
overturned somewhere upstairs. And then
a pretty ghastly cry." He clenched his
hands again. "Like a soul in hell. God, it
was awful!"
Johnson said:
"Were you alone in the music-room?"
"Eh? No, my wife, Hilda, was there.
She'd come in from the drawing-room. We
—we went up with the others."
He added quickly and nervously:
"You don't want me, do you, to
describe what—what I saw there?"
Colonel Johnson said:
"No, quite unnecessary. Thank you,
Mr. Lee, there's nothing more. You can't
imagine, I suppose, who would be likely
to want to murder your father?"
David Lee said recklessly:
"I should think—quite a lot of people!
I don't know of anyone definite."
He went out rapidly, shutting the door
loudly behind him.
Colonel Johnson had had no time to do
176
more than clear his throat when the door
opened again and Hilda Lee came in.
v Hercule Poirot looked at her with
interest. He had to admit to himself that
the wives these Lees had married were an
interesting study. The swift intelligence
and greyhound grace of Lydia, the
meretricious airs and graces of Magdalene,
and now, the solid comfortable strength of
Hilda. She was, he saw, younger than her
rather dowdy style of hairdressing and
unfashionable clothes made her appear.
Her mouse-brown hair was unflecked with
grey and her steady hazel eyes set in the
rather podgy face shone out like beacons
of kindliness. She was, he thought, a nice
woman.
Colonel Johnson was talking in his
kindliest tone.
(t. . . A great strain on all of you," he
was saying. "I gather from your husband,
Mrs. Lee, that this is the first time you
have been to Gorston Hall?"
She bowed her head.
"Were you previously acquainted with
your father-in-law, Mr. Lee?"
Hilda replied in her pleasant voice:
"No. We were married soon after David
177
left home. He always wanted to have
nothing to do with his family. Until now
we have not seen any of them."
"How, then, did this visit come about?"
"My father-in-law wrote to David. He
stressed his age and his desire that all his
children should be with him this
Christmas."
"And your husband responded to this
appeal?"
Hilda said:
"His acceptance was, I am afraid, all my
doing. I--misunderstood the situation."
Poirot interposed. He said:
"Will you be so kind as to explain yourself
a little more clearly, madame? I think
what you can tell us may be of value."
She turned to him immediately.
She said:
"At that time I had never seen my
father-in-law. I had no idea what his real
motive was. I assumed that he was old and
lonely and that he really wanted to be
reconciled to all his children."
"And what was his real motive, in your
opinion, madame?"
Hilda hesitated a moment. Then she
said slowly:
178
"I have no doubt--no doubt at all--that
what my father-in-law really wanted was
not to promote peace but to stir up strife."
"In what way?"
Hilda said in a low voice:
"It amused him to--to appeal to the
worst instincts in human nature. There
was--how can I put it?--a kind of
diabolical impishness about him. He
wished to set every member of the family
at loggerheads with one another."
Johnson said sharply: "And did he
succeed?"
"Oh, yes," said Hilda Lee. "He
succeeded."
Poirot said:
"We have been told, madame, of a scene
that took place this afternoon. It was, I
think, rather a violent scene."
She bowed her head.
"Will you describe it to us--as truthfully
as possible, if you please."
She reflected a minute.
"When we went in my father-in-law was
telephoning."
"To his lawyer, I understand?"
"Yes, he was suggesting that Mr.--was
it Charlton?--I don't quite remember the
179
name—should come over as he, my
father-in-law, wanted to make a new will.
His old one, he said, was quite out of
date."
Poirot said:
"Think carefully, madame; in your
opinion did your father-in-law deliberately
ensure that you should all overhear this
conversation, or was it just by chance that
you overheard it?"
Hilda Lee said:
"I am almost sure that he meant us to
overhear."
"With the object of fomenting doubt
and suspicions among you?"
"Yes."
"So that, really, he may not have meant
to alter his will at all?"
She demurred.
"No, I think that part of it was quite
genuine. He probably did wish to make a
new will—but he enjoyed underlining the
fact."
"Madame," said Poirot, "I have no
official standing and my questions, you
understand, are not perhaps those that an
English officer of the law would ask. But
I have a great desire to know what form
180
you think that new will would have taken.
I am asking, you perceive, not for your
knowledge, but simply for your opinion.
Les femmes, they are never slow to form
an opinion, Dieu merci."
Hilda Lee smiled a little.
"I don't mind saying what I think. My
husband's sister Jennifer married a
Spaniard, Juan Estravados. Her daughter,
Pilar, has just arrived here. She is a very
lovely girl—and she is, of course, the only
grandchild in the family. Old Mr. Lee was
delighted with her. He took a tremendous
fancy to her. In my opinion, he wished to
leave her a considerable sum in his new
will. Probably he had only left her a small
portion or even nothing at all in an old
one."
"Did you know your sister-in-law at
all?"
"No, I never met her. Her Spanish
husband died in tragic circumstances, I
believe, soon after the marriage. Jennifer
herself died a year ago. Pilar was left an
orphan. This is why Mr. Lee sent for her
to come and live with him in England."
"And the other members of the family,
did they welcome her coming?"
181
Hilda said quietly:
"I think they all liked her. It was very
pleasant to have someone young and alive
in the house."
"And she, did she seem to like being
here?"
Hilda said slowly:
"I don't know. It must seem cold and
strange to a girl brought up in the South
--in Spain."
Johnson said:
-/"Can't be very pleasant being in Spain
just at present. Now, Mrs. Lee, we'd like
to hear your account of the conversation
this afternoon."
Poirot murmured:
"I apologise. I have made the
digressions."
Hilda Lee said:
"After my father-in-law finished telephoning,
he looked round at us and
laughed, and said we all looked very glum.
Then he said he was tired and should go
to bed early. Nobody was to come up and
see him this evening. He said he wanted
to be in good form for Christmas Day.
Something like that."
"Then--" Her brows knit in an effort of
182
remembrance. "I think he said something
about its being necessary to be one of a
large family to appreciate Christmas, and
then he went on to speak of money. He
said it would cost him more to run this
house in future. He told George and
Magdalene they would have to economise.
Told her she ought to make her own
clothes. Rather an old-fashioned idea, I'm
afraid. I don't wonder it annoyed her. He
said his own wife had been clever with her
needle."
Poirot said gently:
"Is that all that he said about her?"
Hilda flushed.
"He made a slighting reference to her
brains. My husband was very devoted to
his mother, and that upset him very much.
And then, suddenly Mr. Lee began
shouting at us all. He worked himself up
about it. I can understand, of course, how
he felt—'
Poirot said gently, interrupting her:
"How did he feel?"
She turned her tranquil eyes upon him.
"He was disappointed, of course," she
said. "Because there are no grandchildren
—no boys, I mean—no Lees to carry on.
HPC13 183
I can see that that must have festered for
a long time. And suddenly he couldn't
keep it in any longer and vented his rage
against his sons—saying they were a lot of
namby-pamby old women—something like
that. I felt sorry for him, then, because I
realised how his pride was hurt by it."
"And then?"
"And then," said Hilda slowly, "we all
J. A.J.AV*. L.LJ.^'.LJ.,
went away."
"That was the last you saw of him?"
She bowed her head.
"Where were you at the time the crime
occurred?"
"I was with my husband in the musicroom.
He was playing to me."
"And then?"
"We heard tables and chairs overturned
upstairs, and china being broken—some
terrible struggle. And then that awful
scream as his throat was cut. ..."
Poirot said:
"Was it such an awful scream? Was it"
—he paused—"like a soul in Ae2J?"
Hilda Lee said:
"It was worse than that!"
"What do you mean, madame?"
"It was like someone who had no
184
soul. . . . It was inhuman like a
beast. ..."
Poirot said gravely:
"So—you have judged him, madame?"
She raised a hand in sudden distress.
Her eyes fell and she stared down at the
floor.
Pilar came into the room with the wariness
of an animal who suspects a trap. Her eyes
went quickly from side to side. She looked
not so much afraid as deeply suspicious.
Colonel Johnson rose and put a chair for
her. Then he said:
"You understand English, I suppose,
Miss Estravados?"
Pilar's eyes opened wide. She said:
"Of course. My mother was English. I
am really very English indeed."
A faint smile came to Colonel Johnson's
lips, as his eyes took in the black gloss of
hair, the proud dark eyes, and the curling
red lips. Very English! An incongruous
term to apply to Pilar Estravados.
He said:
"Mr. Lee was your grandfather. He sent
for you to come from Spain. And you
arrived a few days ago. Is that right?"
185
Pilar nodded.
"That is right. I had--oh! a lot of
adventures getting out of Spain--there
was a bomb from the air and the chauffeur
he was killed--where his head had been
there was all blood. And I could not drive
a car, so for a long way I had to walk--
and I do not like walking. I never walk.
My feet were sore--but sore--"
Colonel Johnson smiled. He said:
"At any rate you arrived here. Had your
mother spoken to you of your grandfather
much?"
Pilar nodded cheerfully.
"Oh, yes, she said he was an old devil."
Hercule Poirot smiled. He said:
"And what did you think of him when
you arrived, mademoiselle?"
Pilar said:
"Of course he v^s very, very old. He
had to sit in a chair--and his face was all
dried up. But I li^ed him all the same. I
think that when he was a young man, he
must have been handsome--very handsome,
like you," said Pilar to Superintendent
Sugden. Her eyes dwelt with naive
pleasure on his handsome face, which had
turned brick-red at the compliment.
186
Colonel Johnson stifled a chuckle. It was
one of the few occasions when he had seen
the stolid superintendent taken aback.
"But of course," Pilar continued regretfully, "he could never have been so big as
you."
Hercule Poirot sighed.
"You like, then, big men, senorita?" he
inquired.
Pilar agreed enthusiastically.
"Oh, yes, I like a man to be very big, tall, and the shoulders broad, and very, very strong."
Colonel Johnson said sharply:
"Did you see much of your grandfather
when you arrived here?"
Pilar said:
"Oh, yes. I went to sit with him. He
told me things--that he had been a very
wicked man, and all the things he did in
South Africa."
"Did he ever tell you that he had
diamonds in the safe in his room?"
"Yes, he showed them to me. But they
were not like diamonds--they were just
like pebbles--very ugly--very ugly
indeed."
Superintendent Sugden said shortly:
187
"So he showed them to you, did he?"
"Yes."
"He didn't give you any of them?"
Pilar shook her head.
"No, he did not. I thought that perhaps
one day he would—if I were very nice to
him and came often to sit with him.
Because old gentlemen they like very
much young girls."
Colonel Johnson said:
"Do you know that those diamonds
have been stolen?"
Pilar opened her eyes very wide.
"Stolen?"
"Yes, have you any idea who might have
taken them."
Pilar nodded her head.
"Oh, yes," she said. "It would be
Horbury."
"Horbury? You mean the valet?"
"Yes."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because he has the face of a thief. His
eyes go so, from side to side, he walks
softly and listens at doors. He is like a cat.
And all cats are thieves."
"H'm," said Colonel Johnson. "We'll
leave it at that. Now I understand that all
188
the family were up in your grandfather's
room this afternoon, and that some er—
angry words passed."
Pilar nodded and smiled.
"Yes," she said. "It was great fun.
Grandfather made them oh! so angry!"
"Oh, you enjoyed it, did you?"
"Yes. I like to see people get angry. I
like it very much. But here in England
they do not get angry like they do in
Spain. In Spain they take out their knives
and they curse and shout. In England they
do nothing, just get very red in the face
and shut up their mouths tight."
"Do you remember what was said?"
Pilar seemed rather doubtful.
"I am not sure. Grandfather said they
were no good—that they had not got any
children. He said I was better than any of
them. He liked me, very much."
"Did he say anything about money or a
will?"
"A will—no, I don't think so. I don't
remember."
"What happened?"
"They all went away—except Hilda—
the fat one, David's wife, she stayed
behind."
189
"Oh, she did, did she?"
"Yes. David looked very funny. He was
all shaking and oh! so white. He looked as
though he might be sick."
"And what then?"
"Then I went and found Stephen. We
danced to the gramophone."
"Stephen Farr?"
"Yes. He is from South Africa—he is
the son of grandfather's partner. He is
very handsome too. Very brown and big,
and he has nice eyes."
Johnson asked:
"Where were you when the crime
occurred?"
"You ask where I was?"
"Yes."
"I had gone into the drawing-room with
Lydia. And then I went up to my room
and did my face. I was going to dance
again with Stephen. And then, far away, I
heard a scream and everyone was running,
so I went too. And they were trying to
break down grandfather's door. Harry did
it with Stephen, they are both big strong
men."
"Yes?"
"And then—crash—down it went—and
190
we all looked in. Oh, such a sight—everything
smashed and knocked over and
grandfather lying in a lot of blood, and his
throat was cut like this"—she made a
vivid dramatic gesture at her own neck—
"right up under his ear."
She paused, having obviously enjoyed
her narrative.
Johnson said:
"The blood didn't make you feel ill?"
She stared.
"No, why should it? There is usually
blood when people are killed. There was,
oh! so much blood everywhere!"
Poirot said: "Did anyone say anything?"
Pilar said:
"David said such a funny thing—what
was it? Oh, yes. The mills of God—that
is what he said"—she repeated it with
emphasis on each word—"TAe mills—of
—God— What does that mean? Mills are
what make flour, are they not?"
Colonel Johnson said:
"Well, I don't think there is anything
more just now. Miss Estravados."
-Pilar got up obediently. She flashed a
quick charming smile at each man in turn.
"I will go now, then." She went out.
191
Colonel Johnson said:
"The mills of God grind slowly, but
they grind exceeding small. And David
Lee said that!"
As the door opened once more. Colonel
Johnson looked up. For a moment he took
the entering figure to be that of Harry Lee,
but as Stephen Farr advanced into the
room he saw his error.
"Sit down, Mr. Farr," he said.
Stephen sat. His eyes, cool, intelligent
eyes, went from one to the other of the
three men. He said:
"I'm afraid I shan't be much use to you.
But please ask me anything that you think
may help. Perhaps I'd better explain, to
start with, who I am. My father, Ebenezer
Farr, was Simeon Lee's partner in South
Africa in the old days. I'm talking of over
forty years ago."
He paused.
"My dad talked to me a lot about
Simeon Lee—what a personality he was.
He and dad cleaned up a good bit
together. Simeon Lee went home with a
fortune and my father didn't do badly
either. My father always told me that when
192
I came to this country I was to look up
Mr. Lee. I said once that it was a long
time ago and that he'd probably not know
who I was, but Dad scoffed at the idea.
He said, 'When two men have been
through what Simeon and I went through, they don't forget.' Well, my father died a
couple of years ago. This year I came over
to England for the first time, and I thought
I'd act on Dad's advice and look up Mr.
Lee."
With a slight smile he went on:
"I was just a little nervous when I came
along here, but I needn't have been. Mr.
Lee gave me a warm welcome and absolutely
insisted that I should stay with the
family over Christmas. I was afraid I was
butting in, but he wouldn't hear of a
refusal."
He added rather shyly:
"They were all very nice to me--Mr.
and Mrs. Alfred Lee couldn't have been
nicer. I'm terribly sorry for them that all
this should come upon them."
"How long have you been here, Mr.
Farr?"
"Since yesterday."
"Did you see Mr. Lee to-day at all?"
193
"Yes, I had a chat with him this
morning. He was in good spirits then and
anxious to hear about a lot of people and
places."
"That was the last time you saw him?"
"Yes."
"Did he mention to you that he kept a
quantity of uncut diamonds in his safe?"
"No."
He added before the other could speak:
"Do you mean that this business was
murder and robbery?"
"We're not sure yet," said Johnson.
"Now to come to the events of this
evening, will you tell me, in your own
words, what you were doing?"
"Certainly. After the ladies left the
dining-room I stayed and had a glass of
port. Then I realised that the Lees had
family business they wanted to discuss and
that my being there was hampering them
so I excused myself and left them."
"And what did you do then?"
Stephen Farr leaned back in his chair.
His forefinger caressed his jaw. He said
rather woodenly:
"I—er—went along to a big room with
a parquet floor—kind of ballroom, I fancy.
194
There's a gramophone there and dance
records. I put some records on."
Poirot said:
"It was possible, perhaps, that someone
might join you there?"
A very faint smile curved Stephen Farr's
lips. He answered:
"It was possible, yes. One always
hopes."
And he grinned outright.
Poirot said:
"Senorita Estravados is very beautiful."
Stephen answered:
"She's easily the best thing to look at
that I've seen since I came to England."
"Did Miss Estravados join you?" asked
Colonel Johnson.
Stephen shook his head.
"I was still there when I heard the
rumpus. I came out into the hall and ran
hell for leather to see what was the matter.
I helped Harry Lee to break the door
down."
"And that's all you have to tell us?"
"Absolutely all, I'm afraid."
Hercule Poirot leaned forward. He said
softly:
195
"But I think. Monsieur Farr, that you
could tell us a good deal if you liked."
Farr said sharply:
"What d'you mean?"
"You can tell us something that is very
important in this case—the character of
Mr. Lee. You say that your father talked
much of him to you. What manner of a
man was it that he described to you?"
Stephen Farr said slowly:
"I think I see what you're driving at.
What was Simeon Lee like in his young
days? Well—you want me to be frank, I
suppose?"
"If you please."
"Well, to begin with, I don't think that
Simeon Lee was a highly moral member
of society. I don't mean that he was exactly
a crook, but he sailed pretty near the
wind. His morals were nothing to boast
about anyway. He had charm, though, a
good deal of it. And he was fantastically
generous. No one with a hard-luck story
ever appealed to him in vain. He drank a
bit, but not over-much, was attractive to
women, and had a sense of humour. All
the same, he had a queer revengeful streak
in him. Talk of the elephant never forgets
196
and you talk of Simeon Lee. My father
told me of several cases where Lee waited
years to get even with someone who'd
done him a nasty turn."
Superintendent Sugden said:
"Two might play at that game. You've
no knowledge, I suppose, Mr. Farr, of
anyone who Simeon Lee had done a bad
turn to out there? Nothing out of the past
that could explain the crime committed
here this evening?"
Stephen Farr shook his head.
"He had enemies, of course, must have
had, being the man he was. But I know of
no specific case. Besides," his eyes
narrowed, "I understand (as a matter of
fact, I've been questioning Tressilian)
there have been no strangers in or near the
house this evening."
Hercule Poirot said:
"With the exception of yourself, M.
Farr."
7 Stephen Farr swung round upon him.
"Oh, so that's it? Suspicious stranger
within the gates! Well, you won't find
anything of that kind. No back history of
Simeon Lee doing Ebenezer Farr down,
and Eb's son coming over to revenge his
197
dad! No," he shook his head. "Simeon and
Ebenezer had nothing against each other.
I came here, as I've told you, out of sheer
curiosity. And moreover, I should imagine
a gramophone is as good an alibi as
anything else. I never stopped putting on
records—somebody must have heard
them. One record wouldn't give me time
to race away upstairs—these passages are
a mile long, anyway—slit an old man's
throat, wash off the blood, and get back
again before the others came rushing up.
The idea's farcical!"
Colonel Johnson said:
"We're not making any insinuations
against you, Mr. Farr."
Stephen Farr said:
"I didn't care much for the tone of Mr.
Hercule Poirot's voice."
"That," said Hercule Poirot, "is
unfortunate!"
He smile benignly at the other.
Stephen Farr looked angrily at him.
Colonel Johnson interposed quickly:
"Thank you, Mr. Farr. That will be all
for the present. You will, of course, not
leave this house."
Stephen Farr nodded. He got up and
198
left the room, walking with a freely
swinging stride.
As the door closed behind him, Johnson
said:
"There goes X, the unknown quantity.
His story seems straightforward enough.
All the same, he's the dark horse. He might have pinched those diamonds--
might have come here with a bogus story
just to gain admittance. You'd better get
his fingerprints, Sugden, and see if he's
known."
"I've already got them," said the superintendent
with a dry smile.
"Good man. You don't overlook much.
I suppose you're on to all the obvious
lines?"
Superintendent Sugden checked off on
his fingers.
"Check up on those telephone calls--
times, etc. Check up on Horbury. What
time he left, who saw him go. Check up
all entrances and exits. Check up on staff
generally. Check up financial position of
members of family. Get on to the lawyers
and check up on will. Search house for the
weapon and for bloodstains on clothing--
199
also possibly diamonds hidden somewhere."

"That covers everything, I think," said
Colonel Johnson approvingly. "Can you
suggest anything, Mr. Poirot?"
Poirot shook his head. He said:
"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 knickknacks
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
200
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.
"Afon 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
201
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 and 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
202
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.
Colonel Johnson looked at his watch.
"Nothing much more that I can do here.
You've got things well in hand, Sugden.
Oh, just one thing. We ought to see the
butler fellow. I know you've questioned
him, but we know a bit more about things
now. It's important to get confirmation of
just where everybody says he was at the
time of the murder."
Tressilian came in slowly. The chief
constable told him to sit down.
"Thank you, sir. I will, if you don't
mind. I've been feeling very queer—very
queer indeed. My legs, sir, and my head."
Poirot said gently: "You have had the
shock, yes."
The butler shuddered. "Such—such a
violent thing to happen. In this house!
Where everything has always gone on so
quietly."
Poirot said:
203
"It was a well-ordered house, yes? But
not a happy one?"
"I wouldn't like to say that, sir."
"In the old days when all the family was
at home, it was happy then?"
Tressilian said slowly:
"It wasn't perhaps what one would call
very harmonious, sir."
"The late Mrs. Lee was somewhat of an
invalid, was she not?"
"Yes, sir, very poorly she was."
"Were her children fond of her?"
"Mr. David, he was devoted to her.
More like a daughter than a son. And after
she died he broke away, couldn't face
living here any longer."
Poirot said: "And Mr. Harry? What was
he like?"
"Always rather a wild young gentleman,
sir, but good-hearted. Oh, dear, gave me
quite a turn, it did, when the bell rang—
and then again, so impatient like, and I
opened the door and there was a strange
man, and then Mr. Harry's voice said,
'Hallo, Tressilian. Still here, eh?' Just the
same as ever."
Poirot said sympathetically:
204
"It must have been the strange feeling,
yes, indeed."
Tressilian said, a little pink flush
showing in his cheek:
"It seems sometimes, sir, as though the
past isn't the past! I believe there's been a
play on in London about something like
that. There's something in it, sir—there
really is. There's a feeling comes over you
—as though you'd done everything before.
It just seems to me as though the bell rings
and I go to answer it and there's Mr.
Harry—even if it should be Mr. Farr or
some other person—I'm just saying to
myself—but I've done this before. ..."
Poirot said:
"That is very interesting—very
interesting."
Tressilian looked at him gratefully.
Johnson, somewhat impatient, cleared
his throat and took charge of the
conversation.
"Just want to get various times checked
correctly," he said. "Now, when the noise
upstairs started, I understand that only
Mr. Alfred Lee and Mr. Harry Lee were
in the dining-room. Is that so?"
"I really couldn't tell you, sir. All the
205
gentlemen were there when I served coffee
to them—but that would be about a
quarter of an hour earlier."
"Mr. George Lee was telephoning. Can
you confirm that?"
"I think somebody did telephone, sir.
The bell rings in my pantry, and when
anybody takes off the receiver to call a
number, there's just a faint noise on the
bell. I do remember hearing that, but I
didn't pay attention to it."
"You don't know exactly when it was?"
"I couldn't say, sir. It was after I had
taken coffee to the gentlemen, that is all I
can say."
"Do you know where any of the ladies
were at the time I mentioned?"
"Mrs. Alfred was in the drawing-room,
sir, when I went for the coffee tray. That
was just a minute or two before I heard
the cry upstairs."
Poirot asked:
"What was she doing?"
"She was standing by the far window,
sir. She was holding the curtain a little
back and looking out."
"And none of the other ladies were in
the room?"
206
"No, sir."
"Do you know where they were?"
"I couldn't say at all, sir."
"You don't know where anyone else
was?"
"Mr. David, I think, was playing in
the music-room next door to the
drawing-room."
"You heard him playing?"
"Yes, sir." Again the old man shivered.
"It was like a sign, sir, so I felt afterwards.
It was the 'Dead March' he was playing.
Even at the time, I remember, it gave me
the creeps."
"It is curious, yes," said Poirot.
"Now, about this fellow, Horbury, the
valet," said the chief constable. "Are you
definitely prepared to swear that he was
out of the house by eight o'clock?"
"Oh yes, sir. It was just after Mr.
Sugden here arrived. I remember
particular because he broke a coffee-cup."
Poirot said:
"Horbury broke a coffee-cup?"
"Yes, sir—one of the old Worcester
ones. Eleven years I've washed them up
and never one broken till this evening."
Poirot said:
207
"What was Horbury doing with the
coffee-cups?"
"Well, of course, sir, he'd no business
to have been handling them at all. He was
just holding one up, admiring it like, and
I happened to mention that Mr. Sugden
had called, and he dropped it."
Poirot said:
"Did you say "Mr. Sugden' or did you
mention the word police?"
Tressilian looked a little startled.
"Now I come to think of it, sir, I
mentioned that the police superintendent
had called."
^ "And Horbury dropped the coffeecup,"
said Poirot.
"Seems suggestive, that," said the chief
constable. "Did Horbury ask any questions
about the superintendent's visit?"
"Yes, sir, asked what he wanted here.
I said he'd come collecting for the Police
Orphanage and had gone up to Mr. Lee."
"Did Horbury seem relieved when you
said that?"
"Do you know, sir, now you mention
it, he certainly did. His manner changed
at once. Said Mr. Lee was a good old chap
and free with his money--rather disre-
208
spectfully he spoke--and then he went
off."
"Which way?"
"Out through the door to the servants'
hall."
Sugden interposed:
"All that's OK, sir. He passed through
the kitchen, where the cook and the kitchenmaid
saw him, and out through the back
door."
"Now listen, Tressilian, and think carefully.
Is there any means by which
Horbury could return to the house without anyone seeing him?"
The old man shook his head.
"I don't see how he could have done
so, sir. All the doors are locked on the
inside."
"Supposing he had had a key?"
"The doors are bolted as well."
"How does he get in when he comes?"
"He has a key of the back door, sir. All
the servants come in that way."
"He could have returned that way, then?"
"Not without passing through the
kitchen, sir. And the kitchen would be
209
occupied till well after half-past nine or a
quarter to ten."
Colonel Johnson said:
"That seems conclusive. Thank you,
Tressilian."
The old man got up and with a bow left
the room. He returned, however, a minute
or two later.
"Horbury has just returned, sir. Would
you like to see him now?"
"Yes, please, send him in at once."
Sydney Horbury did not present a very
prepossessing appearance. He came into
the room and stood rubbing his hands
together and darting quick looks from one
person to another. His manner was
unctuous.
Johnson said:
"You're Sydney Horbury?"
"Yes, sir."
"Valet attendant to the late Mr. Lee?"
"Yes, sir. It's terrible, isn't it? You
could have knocked me down with a
feather when I heard from Gladys. Poor
old gentleman—"
Johnson cut him short.
"Just answer my questions, please."
210
"Yes, sir, certainly, sir."
"What time did you go out to-night, and
where have you been?"
"I left the house just before eight, sir. I
went to the Superb, sir, just five minutes'
walk away. Love in Old Seville was the
picture, sir."
"Anyone who saw you there?"
"The young lady in the box office, sir,
she knows me. And the commissionaire at
the door, he knows me too. And—er—as
a matter of fact, I was with a young lady,
sir. I met her there by appointment."
"Oh, you did, did you? What's her
name?"
"Doris Buckle, sir. She works in the
Combined Dairies, sir, 23, Markham
Road."
"Good. We'll look into that. Did you
come straight home?"
"I saw my young lady home first, sir.
Then I came straight back. You'll find it's
quite all right, sir. I didn't have anything
to do with this. I was—"
Colonel Johnson said curtly:
"Nobody's accusing you of having
anything to do with it."
''No, sir, of course not, sir. But it's not
211
very pleasant when a murder happens in a
house."
"Nobody said it was. Now, then, how
long had you been in Mr. Lee's service?"
"Just over a year, sir."
"Did you like your place here?"
"Yes, sir. I was quite satisfied. The pay
was good. Mr. Lee was rather difficult
sometimes, but of course I'm used to
attending on invalids."
"You've had previous experience?"
"Oh, yes, sir. I was with Major West
and with the Honourable Jasper Finch—"
"You can give all those particulars to
Sugden later. What I want to know is this:
At what time did you last see Mr. Lee this
evening?"
"It was about half-past seven, sir. Mr.
Lee had a light supper brought to him
every evening at seven o'clock. I then
prepared him for bed. After that he would
sit in front of the fire in his dressing-gown
till he felt like going to bed,"
"What time was that usually?"
"It varied, sir. Sometimes he would go
to bed as early as eight o'clock—that's if
he felt tired. Sometimes he would sit up
till eleven or after."
212
"What did he do when he did want to
go to bed?"
"Usually he rang for me, sir."
"And you assisted him to bed?"
"Yes, sir."
"But this was your evening out. Did you
always have Fridays?"
"Yes, sir. Friday was my regular day."
"What happened then when Mr. Lee
wanted to go to bed?"
"He would ring his bell and either
Tressilian or Walter would see to him."
"He was not helpless? He could move
about?"
"Yes, sir, but not very easily. Rheumatoid
arthritis was what he suffered from, sir. He was worse some days than others."
"Did he never go into another room in
the daytime?"
"No, sir. He preferred to be in just the
one room. Mr. Lee wasn't luxurious in his
tastes. It was a big room with plenty of air
and light in it."
"Mr. Lee had his supper at seven, you
say?"
"Yes, sir. I took the tray away and put
out the sherry and two glasses on the
bureau."
213
"Why did you do that?"
"Mr. Lee's orders."
"Was that usual?"
"Sometimes. It was the rule that none
of the family came to see Mr. Lee in
the evening unless he invited them. Some
evenings he liked to be alone. Other
evenings he'd send down and ask Mr.
Alfred, or Mrs. Alfred, or both of them,
to come up after dinner."
"But, as far as you know, he had not
done so on this occasion? That is, he had
not sent a message to any member of the
family requesting their presence?"
"He hadn't sent any message by me,
sir."
"So that he wasn't expecting any of the
family?"
"He might have asked one of them
personally, sir."
"Of course."
Horbury continued:
"I saw that everything was in order,
wished Mr. Lee goodnight and left the
room."
Poirot asked:
"Did you make up the fire before you
left the room?"
214
The valet hesitated.
"It wasn't necessary, sir. It was well
built up."
"Could Mr. Lee have done that
himself?"
"Oh no, sir. I expect Mr. Harry Lee
had done it."
"Mr. Harry Lee was with him when you
came in before supper?"
"Yes, sir. He went away when I came."
"What was the relationship between the
two as far as you could judge?"
"Mr. Harry Lee seemed in very good
spirits, sir. Throwing back his head and
laughing a good deal."
"And Mr. Lee?"
"He was quiet and rather thoughtful."
"I see. Now, there's something more I
want to know, Horbury: What can you tell
me about the diamonds Mr. Lee kept in
his safe?"
"Diamonds, sir? I never saw any
diamonds."
"Mr. Lee kept a quantity of uncut
stones there. You must have seen him
handling them."
"Those funny little pebbles, sir? Yes, I
did see him with them once or twice. But
HPC15 215
I didn't know they were diamonds. He was
showing them to the foreign young lady
only yesterday—or was it the day before?"
Colonel Johnson said abruptly:
"These stones have been stolen."
Horbury cried out:
"I hope you don't think, sir, that I had
anything to do with it!"
"I'm not making any accusations," said
Johnson. "Now then, is there anything
you can tell us that has any bearing on this
matter?"
"The diamonds, sir? Or the murder?"
"Both."
Horbury considered. He passed his
tongue over his pale lips. At last he looked
up with eyes that were a shade furtive.
"I don't think there's anything, sir."
Poirot said softly:
"Nothing you've overheard, say, in the
course of your duties, which might be
helpful?"
The valet's eyelids flickered a little.
"No, sir, I don't think so, sir. There
was a little awkwardness between Mr. Lee
and—and some members of his family."
"Which members?"
"I gathered there was a little trouble
216
over Mr. Harry Lee's return. Mr. Alfred
Lee resented it. I understand he and his
father had a few words about it—but that
was all there was to it. Mr. Lee didn't
accuse him for a minute of having taken
any diamonds. And I'm sure Mr. Alfred
wouldn't do such a thing."
Poirot said quickly:
"His interview with Mr. Alfred was
after he had discovered the loss of the
diamonds, was it not, though?"
"Yes, sir."
Poirot leaned forward.
"I thought, Horbury," he said softly,
"that you did not know of the theft of the
diamonds until we informed you of it just
now. How, then, do you know that Mr.
Lee had discovered his loss before he had
this conversation with his son?"
Horbury turned brick red.
"No use lying. Out with it," said
Sugden. "When did you know?"
Horbury said sullenly:
"I heard him telephoning to someone
about it."
"You weren't in the room?"
"No, outside the door. Couldn't hear
much—only a word or two."
217
"What did you hear exactly?" asked
Poirot sweetly.
"I heard the words robbery and
diamonds, and I heard him say, 'I don't
know who to suspect'--and I heard him
say something about this evening at eight
o'clock."
Superintendent Sugden nodded.
"That was to me he was speaking, my
lad. About five-ten, was it?"
"That's right, sir."
"And when you went into his room
afterwards, did he look upset?"
"Just a bit, sir. Seemed absentminded
and worried."
"So much so that you got the wind up
--eh?"
"Look here, Mr. Sugden, I won't have
you saying things like that. Never touched
any diamonds, I didn't, and you can't
prove I did. I'm not a thief."
Superintendent Sugden, unimpressed, said:
"That remains to be seen." He glanced
questioningly at the chief constable, received a nod, and went on: "That'll do
for you, my lad. Shan't want you again
tonight."
218
Horbury went out gratefully in haste.
Sugden said appreciatively:
"Pretty bit of work, M. Poirot. You
trapped him as neatly as I've ever seen it
done. He may be a thief or he may not, but he's certainly a first-class liar!"
"An unprepossessing person," said
Poirot.
"Nasty bit of goods," agreed Johnson.
"Question is, what do we think of his
evidence?"
< Sugden summarised the position neatly.
"Seems to me there are three possibilities:
(1) Horbury's a thief and a murderer.
(2) Horbury's a thief, but not a murderer.
(3) Horbury's an innocent man. Certain
amount of evidence for (1). He overheard
telephone call and knew the theft had been
discovered. Gathered from old man's
manner that he was suspected. Made his
plans accordingly. Went out ostentatiously
at eight o'clock and cooked up an alibi.
Easy enough to slip out of a cinema and
return there unnoticed. He'd have to be
pretty sure of the girl, though, that she
wouldn't give him away. I'll see what I can
get out of her tomorrow."
219
"How, then, did he manage to reenter
the house?" asked Poirot.
"That's more difficult," Sugden
admitted. "But there might be ways. Say
one of the women servants unlocked a side
door for him."
Poirot raised his eyebrows quizzically.
"He places, then, his life at the mercy
of two women? With one woman it would
be taking a big risk; with two--eh bien, I
find the risk fantastic!"
Sugden said:
"Some criminals think they can get
away with anything!"
He went on:
"Let's take (2). Horbury pinched those
diamonds. He took 'em out of the house
to-night and has possibly passed them on
to some accomplice. That's quite easy
going and highly probable. Now we've got
to admit that somebody else chose this
night to murder Mr. Lee. That somebody
being quite unaware of the diamond
complication. It's possible, of course, but
it's a bit of a coincidence.
"Possibility (3)-- Horbury's innocent.
Somebody else both took the diamonds
220
and murdered the old gentleman. There it
is; it's up to us to get at the truth."
Colonel Johnson yawned. He looked
again at his watch and got up.
"Well," he said, "I think we'll call it a
night, eh? Better just have a look in the
safe before we go. Odd things if those
wretched diamonds were there all the
time."
But the diamonds were not in the safe.
They found the combination where Alfred
Lee had told them, in the small notebook
taken from the dressing-gown pocket of
the dead man. In the safe they found an
empty chamois leather bag. Among the
papers the safe contained only one was of
interest.
It was a will dated some fifteen years
previously. After various legacies and
bequests, the provisions were simple
enough. Half Simeon Lee's fortune went
to Alfred Lee. The other half was to be
divided in equal shares between his
remaining children: Harry, George, David
and Jennifer.
221
Part Four
December 25th
4
IN the bright sun of Christmas noon,
Poirot walked in the gardens of
Gorston Hall. The Hall itself was a
large solidly built house with no special
architectural pretensions.
Here, on the south side, was a broad
terrace flanked with a hedge of clipped
yew. Little plants grew in the interstices
of the stone flags and at intervals along the
terrace there were stone sinks arranged as
miniature gardens.
Poirot surveyed them with benign
approval. He murmured to himself:
"C'est bien imagine, gal"
In the distance he caught sight of two
figures going towards an ornamental sheet
of water some three hundred yards away.
Pilar was easily recognisable as one of the
figures, and he thought at first the other
was Stephen Farr, then he saw that the
man with Pilar was Harry Lee. Harry
seemed very attentive to his attractive
niece. At intervals he flung his head back
225
and laughed, then bent once more attentively
towards her.
"Assuredly, there is one who does not
mourn," Poirot murmured to himself.
A soft sound behind him made him
turn. Magdalene Lee was standing there.
She, too, was looking at the retreating
figures of the man and girl. She turned her
head and smiled enchantingly at Poirot.
She said:
"It's such a glorious sunny day! One can
hardly believe in all the horrors of last
night, can one, M. Poirot?"
"It is difficult, truly, madame."
Magdalene sighed.
"I've never been mixed up in tragedy
before. I've--I've really only just grown
up. I stayed a child too long, I think . . .
That's not a good thing to do."
Again she sighed. She said:
"Pilar, now, seems so extraordinarily
self-possessed. ... I suppose it's the
Spanish blood. It's all very odd, isn't it?"
"What is odd, madame?"
"The way she turned up here, out of the
blue!"
Poirot said:
"I have learned that Mr. Lee had been
226
searching for her for some time. He had
been in correspondence with the Consulate
in Madrid and with the vice consul at
Aliquara, where her mother died."
"He was very secretive about it all,"
said Magdalene. "Alfred knew nothing
about it. No more did Lydia."
"Ah!" said Poirot.
Magdalene came a little nearer to him.
He could smell the delicate perfume she
used.
~ "You know, M. Poirot, there's some
story connected with Jennifer's husband,
Estravados. He died quite soon after the
marriage, and there's some mystery about
it. Alfred and Lydia know. I believe it was
something—rather disgraceful. ..."
"That," said Poirot, "is indeed sad."
Magdalene said:
"My husband feels—and I agree with
him—that the family ought to have been
told more about the girl's antecedents.
After all, if her father was a criminal—"
She paused, but Hercule Poirot said
nothing. He seemed to be admiring such
beauties of nature as could be seen in the
winter season in the grounds of Gorston
Hull.
227
Magdalene said:
"I can't help feeling that the manner of
my father-in-law's death was somehow
significant. It—it was so very unEnglish."
Hercule Poirot turned slowly. His grave
eyes met hers in innocent inquiry.
"Ah," he said. "The Spanish touch,
you think?"
"Well, they are cruel, aren't they?"
Magdalene spoke with an effect of childish
appeal. "All those bull fights and things!"
Hercule Poirot said pleasantly:
"You are saying that in your opinion
Senorita Estravados cut her grandfather's
throat?"
"Oh no, M. Poirot!" Magdalene was
vehement. She was shocked. "I never said
anything of the kind! Indeed I didn't!"
"Well," said Poirot. "Perhaps you did
not."
"But I do think that she is—well, a
suspicious person. The furtive way she
picked up something from the floor of that
room last night, for instance."
A different note crept into Hercule
Poirot's voice. He said sharply:
"She picked up something from the
floor last night?"
228
Magdalene nodded. Her childish mouth
curved spitefully.
"Yes, as soon as we got into the room.
She gave a quick glance round to see if
anyone was looking, and then pounced
on it. But the superintendent man saw
her, I'm glad to say, and made her give it
up."
"What was it that she picked up, do you
know, madame?"
"No. I wasn't near enough to see."
Magdalene's voice held regret. "It was
something quite small."
Poirot frowned to himself.
"It is interesting, that," he murmured
to himself.
Magdalene said quickly:
"Yes. I thought you ought to know
about it. After all, we don't know anything
about Pilar's upbringing and what her life
has been like. Alfred is always so
suspicious and dear Lydia is so casual."
Then she murmured: "Perhaps I'd better
go and see if I can help Lydia in any way.
There may be letters to write."
She left him with a smile of satisfied
malice on her lips.
229
Poirot remained lost in thought on the
terrace.
To him there came Superintendent
Sugden. The police superintendent looked
gloomy. He said:
"Good-morning, Mr. Poirot. Doesn't
seem quite the right thing to say Merry
Christmas, does it?"
"moji cher collogue, I certainly do not
observe any traces of merriment on your
countenance. If you had said Merry
Christmas I should not have replied 'Many
of them!'"
"I don't want another one like this one,
and that's a fact," said Sugden.
"You have made the progress, yes?"
"I've checked up on a good many
points. Horbury's alibi is holding water all
right. The commissionaire at the cinema
saw him go in with the girl, and saw him
come out with her at the end of the
performance, and seems pretty positive he
didn't leave, and couldn't have left and
returned during the performance. The girl
swears quite definitely he was with her in
the cinema all the time."
Poirot's eyebrows rose.
230
"I hardly see, then, what more there is
to say."
The cynical Sugden said:
"Well, one never knows with girls! Lie
themselves black in the face for the sake
of a man."
"That does credit to their hearts," said
Hercule Poirot.
Sugden growled.
"That's a foreign way of looking at it.
It's defeating the ends of justice."
Hercule Poirot said:
"Justice is a very strange thing. Have
you ever reflected on it?"
Sugden stared at him. He said:
"You're a queer one, Mr. Poirot."
"Not at all. I follow a logical train of
thought. But we will not enter into a
dispute on the question. It is your belief,
then, that this demoiselle from the milk
shop is not speaking the truth?"
Sugden shook his head.
"No," he said, "it's not like that at all.
As a matter of fact, I think she is telling
the truth. She's a simple kind of girl, and
I think if she was telling me a pack of lies
r^ spot it."
Poirot said:
^KB 231
"You have the experience, yes?"
"That's just it, Mr. Poirot. One does
know, more or less, after a lifetime of
taking down statements, when a person's
lying and when they're not. No, I think
the girl's evidence is genuine, and if so,
Horbury couldn't have murdered old Mr.
Lee, and that brings us right back to the
people in the house."
He drew a deep breath.
"One of 'em did it, Mr. Poirot. One of
'em did it. But wAYcA?"
"You have no data?"
"Yes, I've had a certain amount of luck
over the telephone calls. Mr. George Lee
put through a call to Westeringham at two
minutes to nine. That call lasted under six
minutes."
"Aha!"
"As you say! Moreover, 120 other call
was put through—to Westeringham or
anywhere else."
"Very interesting," said Poirot, with
approval. "M. George Lee says he has just
finished telephoning when he hears the
noise overhead—but actually he had
finished telephoning nearly ten minutes
before that. Where was he in those ten
232
minutes? Mrs. George Lee says that she
was telephoning—but actually she never
put through a call at all. Where was she?"
Sugden said:
"I saw you talking to her, Mr. Poirot?"
His voice held a question, but Poirot
replied:
"You are in error!"
"Eh?"
"J was not talking to her—she was
talking to me!"
"Oh—" Sugden seemed to be about to
brush the distinction aside impatiently;
then, as its significance sank in, he said:
"She was talking to you, you say?"
"Most definitely. She came out here for
that purpose."
"What did she have to say?"
"She wished to stress certain points: the
unEnglish character of the crime—the
possibly undesirable antecedents of Miss
Estravados on the paternal side—the fact
that Miss Estravados had furtively picked
up something from the floor last night."
"She told you that, did she?" said
Sugden with interest.
"Yes. What was it that the senorita
ricked up?"
233
Sugden sighed.
"I could give you three hundred
guesses! I'll show it to you. It's the sort
of thing that solves the whole mystery in
detective stories! If you can make anything
out of it, I'll retire from the police force!"
"Show it me."
Sugden took an envelope from his
pocket and tilted its contents on to the
palm of his hand. A faint grin showed on
his face.
"There you are. What do you make of
it?"
On the superintendent's broad palm lay
a little triangular piece of pink rubber and
a small wooden peg.
His grin broadened as Poirot picked up
the articles and frowned over them.
"Make anything of them, Mr. Poirot?"
"This little piece of stuff might have
been cut from a spongebag?"
"It was. It comes from a sponge-bag in
Mr. Lee's room. Somebody with sharp
scissors just cut a small triangular piece
out of it. Mr. Lee may have done it
himself, for all I know. But it beats me why he should do it. Horbury can't throw
any light on the matter. As for the peg,
234
it's about the size of a cribbage peg, but
they're usually made of ivory. This is just
rough wood--whittled out of a bit of deal, I should say."
. "Most remarkable," murmured Poirot.
"Keep 'em if you like," said Sugden
kindly. tt! don't want them."
"Afon ami, I would not deprive you of
them!"
"They don't mean anything at all to
you?"
"I must confess--nothing whatever!"
"Splendid!" said Sugden with heavy
sarcasm, returning them to his pocket.
"We are getting on!"
Poirot said:
"Mrs. George Lee, she recounts that the
young lady stooped and picked these bagatelles
up in a furtive manner. Should you
say that that was true?"
Sugden considered the point.
"N-o," he said hesitatingly. "I shouldn't
quite go as far as that. She didn't look
guilty--nothing of that kind--but she did
set about it rather--well, quickly and
quietly--if you know what I mean. And
she didn't know Pd seen her do it! That
- 235
Estravados could have killed him; and
either Mr. or Mrs. David Lee could have
killed him, but not both"
"You do not, then, accept that alibi?"
Superintendent Sugden shook his head
emphatically.
"Not on your life! Husband and wife—
devoted to each other! They may be in it
together, or if one of them did it, the other
is ready to swear to an alibi. I look at it
this way: Someone was in the music-room
playing the piano. It may have been David
Lee. It probably was, since he was an
acknowledged musician, but there's
nothing to say his wife was there too
except her word and his. In the same way,
it may have been Hilda who was playing
that piano while David Lee crept upstairs
and killed his father! No, it's an absolutely
different case from the two brothers in the
dining-room. Alfred Lee and Harry Lee
don't love each other. Neither of them
would perjure himself for the other's
sake."
"What about Stephen Farr?"
"He's a possible suspect because that
gramophone alibi is a bit thin. On the
other hand, it's the sort of alibi that's
238
really sounder than a good cast-iron dyedin-the-wool
alibi which, ten to one, has
been faked up beforehand!"
Poirot bowed his head thoughtfully.
"I know what you mean. It is the alibi
of a man who did not know that he would
be called upon to provide such a thing."
"Exactly! And anyway, somehow, I
don't believe a stranger was mixed up in
this thing."
Poirot said quickly:
"I agree with you. It is here a family
affair. It is a poison that works in the
blood—it is intimate—it is deep-seated.
There is here, I think, hate and
knowledge. ..."
He waved his hands.
"I do not know—it is difficult!"
Superintendent Sugden had waited
respectfully, but without being much
impressed. He said:
"Quite so, Mr. Poirot. But we'll get at
it, never fear, with elimination and logic.
We've got the possibilities now—the
people with opportunity. George Lee,
Magdalene Lee, David Lee, Hilda Lee,
^ilar Estravados, and I'll add, Stephen
Farr. Now we come to motive. Who had
239
a motive for putting old Mr. Lee out of
the way? There again we can wash out
certain people. Miss Estravados, for one. I
gather that as the will stands now, she
doesn't get anything at all. If Simeon Lee
had died before her mother, her mother's
share would have come down to her
(unless her mother willed it otherwise), but as Jennifer Estravados predeceased
Simeon Lee, that particular legacy reverts
to the other members of the family. So it
was definitely to Miss Estravados' interests
to keep the old man alive. He'd taken a
fancy to her, it's pretty certain he'd have
left her a good slice of money when he
made a new will. She had everything to
lose and nothing to gain by his murder.
You agree to that?"
"Perfectly."
"There remains, of course, the possibility
that she cut his throat in the heat of
a quarrel, but that seems extremely
unlikely to me. To begin with, they were
on the best of terms, and she hadn't been
here long enough to bear him a grudge
about anything. It therefore seems highly
unlikely that Miss Estravados has anything
to do with the crime--except that you
240
might argue that to cut a man's throat is
an unEnglish sort of thing to do, as your
friend Mrs. George put it."
"Do not call her my friend," said Poirot
hastily. "Or I shall speak of your friend
Miss Estravados, who finds you such a
handsome man!"
He had the pleasure of seeing the superintendent's
official poise upset again. The
police officer turned crimson. Poirot
looked at him with malicious amusement.
He said, and there was a wistful note in
his voice:
"It is true that your moustache is
superb. . . . Tell me, do you use for it a
special pomade?"
"Pomade? Good lord, no!"
"What do you use?"
"Use? Nothing at all. It--it just grows."
Poirot sighed.
"You are favoured by nature." He
caressed his own luxuriant black
moustache, then sighed. "However
expensive the preparation," he murmured,
'to restore the natural colour does somewhat
impoverish the quality of the hair."
Superintendent Sugden, uninterested in
11. 241
hairdressing problems, was continuing in
a stolid manner:
' "Considering the motive for the crime,
I should say that we can probably wash
out Mr. Stephen Farr. It's just possible
that there was some hanky-panky between
his father and Mr. Lee and the former
suffered, but I doubt it. Farr's manner was
too easy and assured when he mentioned
that subject. He was quite confident—and
I don't think he was acting. No, I don't
think we'll find anything there."
"I do not think you will," said Poirot.
"And there's one other person with a
motive for keeping old Mr. Lee alive—his
son Harry. It's true that he benefits under
the will, but I don't believe he was aware
of the fact. Certainly couldn't have been
sure of it! The general impression seemed
to be that Harry had been definitely cut
out of his share of the inheritance at the
time he cut loose. But now he was on the
point of coming back into favour! It was
all to his advantage that his father should
make a new will. He wouldn't be such a
fool as to kill him now. Actually, as we
know, he couldn't have done it. You see,
242
we're getting on; we're clearing quite a lot
of people out of the way."
"How true. Very soon there will be
nobody left!"
Sugden grinned.
"We're not going as fast as that! We've
got George Lee and his wife, and David
Lee and Mrs. David. They all benefit by
the death, and George Lee, from all I can
make out, is grasping about money. Moreover, his father was threatening to cut
down supplies. So we've got George Lee
with motive and opportunity!"
"Continue," said Poirot.
"And we've got Mrs. George! As fond
of money as a cat is fond of cream; and
I'd be prepared to bet she's heavily in debt
at the minute! She was jealous of the
Spanish girl. She was quick to spot that
the other was gaining an ascendancy over
the old man. She'd heard him say that he
was sending for the lawyer. So she struck
quickly. You could make out a case."
"Possibly."
"Then there's David Lee and his wife.
They inherit under the present will, but I
don't believe, somehow, that the money
243
motive would be particularly strong in
their case."
"No?"
"No. David Lee seems to be a bit of a
dreamer--not a mercenary type. But he's
--well, he's odd. As I see it, there are
three possible motives for this murder:
There's the diamond complication, there's
the will, and there's--well--just plain hate:'
"Ah, you see that, do you?"
Sugden said:
"Naturally. It's been present in my
mind all along. If David Lee killed his
father, I don't think it was for money. And
if he was the criminal it might explain the
--well, the bloodletting!"
Poirot looked at him appreciatively.
"Yes, I wondered when you would take
that into consideration. So much bloodthai
is what Mrs. Alfred said. It takes one
back to ancient rituals--to blood sacrifice, to the anointing with the blood of the
sacrifice. ..."
Sugden said, frowning:
"You mean whoever did it was mad?" "Mon cher--there are all sorts of deep
instincts in man of which he himself is
244
unaware. The craving for blood—the
demand for sacrifice!"
Sugden said doubtfully:
"David Lee looks a quiet, harmless
fellow."
Poirot said:
"You do not understand the psychology.
David Lee is a man who lives in the past
—a man in whom the memory of his
mother is still very much alive. He kept
away from his father for many years
because he could not forgive his father's
treatment of his mother. He came here, let
us suppose, to forgive. But he may not
have been able to forgive. . . . We do
know one thing—that when David Lee
stood by his father's dead body, some part
of him was appeased and satisfied. 'The
mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind
exceeding small.' Retribution! Payment!
The wrong wiped out by expiation!"
Sugden gave a sudden shudder. He said:
"Don't talk like that, Mr. Poirot. You
give me quite a turn. It may be that it's
as you say. If so, Mrs. David knows—and
means to shield him all she knows how. I
can imagine her doing that. On the other
hand, I can't imagine her being a
245
murderess. She's such a comfortable
commonplace sort of woman."
Poirot looked at him curiously.
"So she strikes you like that?" he
murmured.
"Well, yes--a homely body, if you
know what I mean!"
"Oh, I know what you mean perfectly!"
Sugden looked at him.
"Come, now, Mr. Poirot, you've got
ideas about the case. Let's have them."
Poirot said slowly: "I have ideas, yes,
but they are rather nebulous. Let me first
hear your summing-up of the case."
"Well, it's as I said--three possible
motives: hate, gain, and this diamond
complication. Take the facts chronologically.

- "3.30. Family gathering. Telephone
conversation to lawyer overheard by all the
family. Then the old man lets loose on his
family, tells them where they all get off.
They slink out like a lot of scared rabbits."
"Hilda Lee remained behind," said
Poirot.
"So she did. But not for long. Then
about six Alfred has an interview with his
father--unpleasant interview. Harry is to
246
be reinstated. Alfred isn't pleased. Alfred,
of course, ought to be our principal
suspect. He had by far the strongest
motive. However, to get on. Harry comes
along next. Is in boisterous spirits. Has got
the old man just where he wants him. But
before those two interviews Simeon Lee
has discovered the loss of the diamonds
and has telephoned to me. He doesn't
mention his loss to either of his two sons.
Why? In my opinion because he was quite
sure neither of them had anything to do
with it. Neither of them were under
suspicion. I believe, as I've said all along,
that the old man suspected Horbury and
one other person. And I'm pretty sure of
what he meant to do. Remember, he said
definitely he didn't want anyone to come
and sit with him that evening. Why?
Because he was preparing the way for two
things: First, my visit, and second, the
visit of that other suspected person. He
did ask someone to come and see him
immediately after dinner. Now who was
that person likely to be? Might have been
George Lee. Much more likely to have
been .his wife. And there's another person
who comes back into the picture here—
H.C17 247
Pilar Estravados. He's shown her the
diamonds. He'd told her their value. How
do we know that girl isn't a thief?
Remember these mysterious hints about
the disgraceful behaviour of her father.
Perhaps he was a professional thief and
finally went to prison for it."
Poirot said slowly:
"And so, as you say, Pilar Estravados
comes back into the picture. ..."
"Yes—as a thief. No other way. She
may have lost her head when she was
found out. She may have flown at her
grandfather and attacked him."
Poirot said slowly:
"It is possible—yes. ..."
Superintendent Sugden looked at him
keenly.
"But that's not your idea? Come, Mr.
Poirot, what is your idea?"
Poirot said:
"I go back always to the same thing: the
character of the dead man. What manner
of a man was Simeon Lee?"
"There isn't much mystery about that,"
said Sugden, staring.
"Tell me, then. That is to say, tell me
248
from the local point of view what was
known of the man."
Superintendent Sugden drew a doubtful
finger along his jawbone. He looked
perplexed. He said:
"I'm not a local man myself. I come
from Reeveshire, over the border—next
county. But of course old Mr. Lee was a
well-known figure in these parts. I know
all about him by hearsay."
"Yes? And that hearsay was—what?"
Sugden said:
"Well, he was a sharp customer; there
weren't many who could get the better of
him. But he was generous with his money.
Openhanded as they make 'em. Beats me
how Mr. George Lee can be the exact
opposite, and he his father's son."
"Ah! But there are two distinct strains
in the family. Alfred, George, and David
resemble—superficially at least—their
mother's side of the family. I have been
looking at some portraits in the gallery this
morning.
"He was hot-tempered," continued
Superintendent Sugden, "and of course he
had a bad reputation with women—that
^s in his younger days. He's been an
249
invalid for many years now. But even there
he always behaved generously. If there was
trouble, he always paid up handsomely
and got the girl married off as often as not.
He may have been a bad lot, but he wasn't
mean. He treated his wife badly, ran after
other women, and neglected her. She died
of a broken heart, so they say. It's a
convenient term, but I believe she was
really very unhappy, poor lady. She was
always sickly and never went about much.
There's no doubt that Mr. Lee was an odd
character. Had a revengeful streak in him,
too. If anyone did him a nasty turn he
always paid it back, so they say, and didn't
mind how long he had to wait to do it."
"The mills of God grind slowly, yet they
grind exceeding small," murmured Poirot.
Superintendent Sugden said heavily.
"Mills of the devil, more likely! Nothing
saintly about Simeon Lee. The kind of
man you might say had sold his soul to the
devil and enjoyed the bargain! And he was
proud, too, proud as Lucifer."
"Proud as Lucifer!" said Poirot. "It is
suggestive, what you say there."
Superintendent Sugden said, looking
puzzled:
250
"You don't mean that he was murdered
because he was proud?"
"I mean," said Poirot, "that there is
such a thing as inheritance. Simeon Lee
transmitted that pride to his sons—"
He broke off. Hilda Lee had come out
of the house and was standing looking
along the terrace.
"I wanted to find you, M. Poirot."
Superintendent Sugden had excused
himself and gone back into the house.
Looking after him, Hilda said:
"I didn't know he was with you. I
thought he was with Pilar. He seems a nice
man, quite considerate."
Her voice was pleasant, a low, soothing
cadence to it.
Poirot asked:
"You wanted to see me, you say?"
She inclined her head.
"Yes. I think you can help me."
"I shall be delighted to do so, madame."
She said:
"You are a very intelligent man, M.
^irot. I saw that last night. There are
things which you will, I think, find out
I 251
quite easily. I want you to understand my
husband."
"Yes, madame?"
"I shouldn't talk like this to Superintendent
Sugden. He wouldn't understand.
But you will."
Poirot bowed. "You honour me, madame."
Hilda went calmly on:
"My husband, for many years, ever
since I married him, has been what I can
only describe as a mental cripple."
"Ah!"
"When one suffers some great hurt
physically, it causes shock and pain, but
slowly it mends, the flesh heals, the bone
knits. There may be, perhaps, a little
weakness, a slight scar, but nothing more.
My husband, M. Poirot, suffered a great
hurt mentally at his most susceptible age.
He adored his mother and he saw her die.
He believed that his father was morally
responsible for that death. From that
shock he has never quite recovered. His
resentment against his father never died
down. It was I who persuaded David to
come here this Christmas, to be reconciled
to his father. I wanted it--for his sake--
252
I wanted that mental wound to heal. I
realise now that coming here was a
mistake. Simeon Lee amused himself by
probing into that old wound. It was--a
very dangerous thing to do. . . ."
Poirot said: "Are you telling me, madame, that your husband killed his
father?"
"I am telling you, M. Poirot, that he
easily might have done so. ... And I will
also tell you this--that he did not\ When
Simeon Lee was killed, his son was playing
the 'Dead March.' The wish to kill was in
his heart. It passed out through his fingers
and died in waves of sound--that is the
truth."
Poirot was silent for a minute or two, then he said:
"And you, madame, what is your
verdict on that past drama?"
"You mean the death of Simeon Lee's
wife?"
"Yes."
Hilda said slowly:
"I know enough of life to know that you
can never judge any case on its outside merits. To all seeming, Simeon Lee was
entirely to blame and his wife was abominfc
253
ably treated. At the same time, I honestly
believe that there is a kind of meekness,
a predisposition to martyrdom which does
arouse the worst instincts in men of a
certain type. Simeon Lee would have
admired, I think, spirit and force of
character. He was merely irritated by
patience and tears."
Poirot nodded. He said:
"Your husband said last night: 'My
mother never complained.' Is that true?"
Hilda Lee said impatiently:
"Of course it isn't! She complained the
whole time to David! She laid the whole
burden of her unhappiness on his
shoulders. He was too young—far too
young to bear all she gave him to bear!"
Poirot looked thoughtfully at her. She
flushed under his gaze and bit her lip.
He said:
"I see."
She said sharply:
"What do you see?"
He answered:
"I see that you have had to be a mother
to your husband when you would have
preferred to be a wife."
She turned away.
254
At that moment David Lee came out of
the house and along the terrace towards
them. He said, and his voice had a clear
joyful note in it:
"Hilda, isn't it a glorious day? Almost
like spring instead of winter."
He came nearer. His head was thrown
back, a lock of fair hair fell across his forehead, his blue eyes shone. He looked
amazingly young and boyish. There was
about him a youthful eagerness, a carefree
radiance. Hercule Poirot caught his
breath. . . .
David said: "Let's go down to the lake,
Hilda."
She smiled, put her arm through his, and they moved off together.
As Poirot watched them go, he saw her
turn and give him a rapid glance. He
caught a momentary glimpse of swift
anxiety--or was it, he wondered, fear?
Slowly Hercule Poirot walked to the
other end of the terrace. He murmured to
himself:
"As I have always said, me, I am the
father confessor! And since women come
to confession more frequently than men, it is women who have come to me this
255
morning. Will there, I wonder, be another
very shortly?"
As he turned at the end of the terrace
and paced back again, he knew that his
question was answered. Lydia Lee was
coming towards him.
Lydia said:
"Good-morning, M. Poirot. Tressilian
told me I should find you out here with
Harry; but I am glad to find you alone.
My husband has been speaking about you.
I know he is very anxious to talk to you."
"Ah! Yes? Shall I go and see him now?"
"Not just yet. He got hardly any sleep
last night. In the end I gave him a strong
sleeping draught. He is still asleep, and I
don't want to disturb him."
"I quite understand. That was very
wise. I could see last night that the shock
had been very great."
She said seriously:
"You see, M. Poirot, he really cared—
much more than the others."
"I understand."
She asked:
"Have you—has the superintendent—
256
any idea of who can have done this awful
thing?"
Poirot said deliberately:
"We have certain ideas, madame, as to
who did not do it."
Lydia said, almost impatiently:
"It's like a nightmare—so fantastic—I
can't believe it's realf
She added:
"What about Horbury? Was he really at
the cinema, as he said?"
"Yes, madame, his story has been
checked. He was speaking the truth."
Lydia stopped and plucked at a bit of
yew. Her face went a little paler. She said:
"But that's awful\ It only leaves—the
family!"
"Exactly."
"M. Poirot, I can't believe it!"
"Madame, you can and you do believe
it!"
She seemed about to protest. Then
suddenly she smiled ruefully.
She said:
"What a hypocrite one is!"
He nodded.
"If you were to be frank with me,
madame," he said, "you would admit that
I 257
to you it seems quite natural that one
of his family should murder your
father-in-law."
Lydia said sharply:
"That's really a fantastic thing to say,
M. Poirot!"
"Yes, it is. But your father-in-law was a
fantastic person!"
Lydia said:
"Poor old man. I can feel sorry for him
now. When he was alive, he just annoyed
me unspeakably!"
Poirot said:
"So I should imagine!"
He bent over one of the stone sinks.
"They are very ingenious, these. Very
pleasing."
"I'm glad you like them. It's one of my
hobbies. Do you like this Arctic one with
the penguins and the ice?"
"Charming. And this—what is this?"
"Oh, that's the Dead Sea—or going to
be. It isn't finished yet. You mustn't look
at it. Now this one is supposed to be Piana
in Corsica. The rocks there, you know, are
quite pink and too lovely where they go
down into the blue sea. This desert scene
is rather fun, don't you think?"
258
She led him along. When they had
reached the farther end she glanced at her
wristwatch.
"I must go and see if Alfred is awake."
When she had gone Poirot went slowly
back again to the garden representing the
Dead Sea. He looked at it with a good deal
of interest. Then he scooped up a few of the pebbles and let them run through his
fingers.
Suddenly his face changed. He held up
the pebbles close to his face.
"Sapristi!" he said. "This is a surprise!
Now what exactly does this mean?"
259
Part Five
December 26th
5

T
JL 11
THE chief constable and Superintendent
Sugden stared at Poirot
incredulously. The latter returned a
stream of small pebbles carefully into a
small cardboard box and pushed it across
to the chief constable.
I "Oh, yes," he said. "It is the diamonds
all right."
"And you found them where, did you
say? In the garden?"
"In one of the small gardens constructed
by Madame Alfred Lee."
"Mrs. Alfred?" Sugden shook his head.
"Doesn't seem likely."
Poirot said:
"You mean, I suppose, that you do not
consider it likely that Mrs. Alfred cut her
father-in-law's throat?"
Sugden said quickly:
"We know she didn't do that. I meant
it seemed unlikely that she pinched these
diamonds."
Poirot said:
HPC18 263
"One would not easily believe her a
thief--no."
Sugden said:
"Anybody could have hidden them
there."
"That is true. It was convenient that in
that particular garden--the Dead Sea as it
represents--there happened to be pebbles
very similar in shape and appearance."
Sugden said:
"You mean she fixed it like that beforehand?
Ready?"
Colonel Johnson said warmly:
"I don't believe it for a moment. Not
for a moment. Why should she take the
diamonds in the first place?"
"Well, as to that--" Sugden said slowly.
Poirot nipped in quickly:
"There is a possible answer to that. She
took the diamonds to suggest a motive for
the murder. That is to say she knew that
murder was going to be done though she
herself took no active part in it."
Johnson frowned.
"That won't hold water for a minute.
You're making her out to be an accomplice
--but whose accomplice would she be
likely to be? Only her husband's. But as
264
we know that he, too, had nothing to do
with the murder, the whole theory falls to
the ground."
Sugden stroked his jaw reflectively.
"Yes," he said, "that's so. No, if Mrs.
Lee took the diamonds--and it's a big if
--it was just plain robbery, and it's true
she might have prepared that garden
specially as a hiding-place for them till the
hue and cry had died down. Another
possibility is that of coincidence. That
garden, with its similarity of pebbles, struck the thief, whoever he or she was, as an ideal hiding-place."
Poirot said:
"That is quite possible. I am always
prepared to admit one coincidence."
Superintendent Sugden shook his head
dubiously.
Poirot said:
"What is your opinion. Superintendent?"

The superintendent said cautiously:
"Mrs. Lee's a very nice lady. Doesn't
seem likely that she'd be mixed up in any
business that was fishy. But, of course, one
never knows."
Colonel Johnson said testily:
265
"In any case, whatever the truth is
about the diamonds, her being mixed up
in the murder is out of the question. The
butler saw her in the drawing-room at the
actual time of the crime. You remember
that, Poirot?"
Poirot said:
<<I had not forgotten that."
The chief constable turned to his
subordinate.
"We'd better get on. What have you to
report? Anything fresh?"
"Yes, sir. I've got hold of some new
information. To start with-- Horbury.
There's a reason why he might be scared
of the police."
"Robbery? Eh?"
"No, sir. Extorting money under
threats. Modified blackmail. The case
couldn't be proved so he got off, but I
rather fancy he's got away with a thing or
two in that line. Having a guilty
conscience, he probably thought we were
on to something of that kind when Tressilian
mentioned a police officer last night
and it made him get the wind up."
The chief constable said:
266
"I-Tm! So much for Horbury. What
else?"
The superintendent coughed.
"Er—Mrs. Gesorge Lee, sir. We've got
a line on her boefore her marriage. Was
living with a Comimander Jones. Passed as
his daughter—but she wasn't his
daughter. ... I think from what we've
been told, that o»ld Mr. Lee summed her
up pretty correcttly—he was smart where
women were comcerned, knew a bad lot
when he saw one—and was just amusing
himself by taking; a shot in the dark. And
he got her on the raw!"
Colonel Johnsom said thoughtfully:
"That gives heir another possible motive
—apart from the; money angle. She may
have thought he knew something definite
and was going t«o give her away to her
husband. That telephone story of hers is
pretty fishy. She didn't telephone."
Sugden suggestted:
"Why not have them in together, sir,
and get at that telephone business straight?
See what we get.0'
Colonel Johnsoin said:
"Good idea."
He rang the belli. Tressilian answered it.
267
"Ask Mr. and Mrs. George Lee to come
here."
"Very good, sir."
As the old man turned away, Poirot
said:
"The date on that wall calendar, has it
remained like it is since the murder?"
Tressilian turned back.
"Which calendar, sir?"
"The one on the wall over there."
The three men were sitting once more
in Alfred Lee's small sitting-room. The
calendar in question was a large one with
tear-off leaves, a bold date on each leaf.
Tressilian peered across the room, then
shuffled slowly across till he was a foot or
two away.
He said:
"Excuse me, sir, it has been torn off.
It's the twenty-sixth today."
"Ah, pardon. Who would have been the
person to tear it off?"
"Mr. Lee does, sir, every morning. Mr.
Alfred, he's a very methodical gentleman."
"I see. Thank you."
Tressilian went out. Sugden said, puzzled:
"Is there anything fishy about that
268
calendar, Mr. Poirot? Have I missed something
there?"
With a shrug of his shoulders Poirot
said:
"The calendar is of no importance. It
was just a little experiment I was making."
Colonel Johnson said:
"Inquest to-morrow. There'll be an
adjournment, of course."
Sugden said:
"Yes, sir, I've seen the Coroner and it's
all arranged for."
George Lee came into the room,
accompanied by his wife.
Colonel Johnson said:
"Good-morning. Sit down, will you?
There are a few questions I want to ask
both of you. Something I'm not quite clear
about."
"I shall be glad to give you any assistance
I can," said George, somewhat
pompously.
Magdalene said faintly:
"Of course!"
The chief constable gave a slight nod to
Sugden. The latter said:
"About those telephone calls on the
269
night of the crime. You put through a call
to Westeringham, I think you said, Mr.
Lee?"
George said coldly:
"Yes, I did. To my agent in the
constituency. I can refer you to him
and--"
Superintendent Sugden held up his hand
to stem the flow.
"Quite so--quite so, Mr. Lee. We're
not disputing that point. Your call went
through at 8.59 exactly."
"Well--I--er--couldn't say as to the
exact time."
"Ah," said Sugden. "But we can! We
always check up on these things very carefully.
Very carefully indeed. The call was
put through at 8.59 and it was terminated
at 9.4. Your father, Mr. Lee, was killed
about 9.15. I must ask you once more for
an account of your movements."
"I've told you--I was telephoning!"
"No, Mr. Lee, you weren't."
"Nonsense--you must have made a
mistake! Well, I may, perhaps, have just
finished telephoning--I think I debated
making another call--was just considering
270
whether it was—er—worth—the expense
—when I heard the noise upstairs."
"You would hardly debate whether or
not to make a telephone call for ten
minutes."
George went purple. He began to
splutter.
"What do you mean? What the devil do
you mean? Damned impudence! Are you
doubting my word? Doubting the word of
a man of my position. I—er—why should
I have to account for every minute of my
time?"
Superintendent Sugden said with a
stolidness that Poirot admired:
"It's usual."
George turned angrily on the chief
constable.
"Colonel Johnson. Do you countenance
this—this unprecedented attitude?"
The chief constable said crisply: "In a
murder case, Mr. Lee, these questions
must be asked—and answered."
"I have answered them! I had finished
telephoning and was—er—debating a
further call."
"You were in this room when the alarm
was raised upstairs?"
271
"I was--yes, I was."
Johnson turned to Magdalene.
"I think, Mrs. Lee," he said, "that you
stated that you were telephoning when the
alarm broke out, and that at the time you
were alone in this room?"
Magdalene was flustered. She caught her
breath, looked sideways at George--at
Sugden, then appealingly at Colonel
Johnson. She said:
"Oh, really--I don't know--I don't
remember what I said. ... I was so upset. ..."
Sugden said:
"We've got it all written down, you
know."
She turned her batteries on him--wide
appealing eyes--quivering mouth. But she
met in return the rigid aloofness of a man
of stern respectability who didn't approve
of her type.
She said uncertainly:
"I--l--of course I telephoned. I can't be quite sure just when--"
She stopped.
George said:
"What's all this? Where did you telephone
from? Not in here."
272
Superintendent Sugden said:
"I suggest, Mrs. Lee, that you didn't
telephone at all. In that case, where were
you and what were you doing?"
Magdalene glanced distractedly about
her and burst into tears. She sobbed:
"George, don't let them bully me! You
know that if anyone frightens me and
thunders questions at me, I can't
remember anything at all\ I—I don't know
what I was saying that night—it was all so
horrible—and I was so upset—and they're
being so beastly to me. . . ."
She jumped up and ran sobbing out of
the room.
Springing up, George Lee blustered:
"What d'you mean? I won't have my
wife bullied and frightened out of her life!
She's very sensitive. It's disgraceful! I shall
have a question asked in the House about
the disgraceful bullying methods of the
police. It's absolutely disgraceful!"
He strode out of the room and banged
the door.
Superintendent Sugden threw his head
back and laughed.
He said:
273
"We've got them going properly! Now
we'll see!"
Johnson said frowning:
"Extraordinary business! Looks fishy.
We must get a further statement out of
her."
Sugden said easily:
"Oh! She'll be back in a minute or two.
When she's decided what to say. Eh, Mr.
Poirot?"
Poirot, who had been sitting in a dream,
gave a start.
"Pardon!"
"I said she'll be back."
"Probably—yes, possibly—oh, yes!"
Sugden said, staring at him:
"What's the matter, Mr. Poirot? Seen a
ghost?"
Poirot said slowly:
"You know—I am not sure that I have
not done just exactly that."
Colonel Johnson said impatiently:
"Well, Sugden, anything else?"
Sugden said:
"I've been trying to check up on the
order in which everyone arrived on the
scene of the murder. It's quite clear what
must have happened. After the murder
274
when the victim's dying cry had given the
alarm, the murderer slipped out, locked
the door with pliers, or something of that
kind, and a moment or two later became
one of the people hurrying to the scene of
the crime. Unfortunately it's not easy to
check exactly whom everyone has seen
because people's memories aren't very
accurate on a point like that. Tressilian
says he saw Harry and Alfred Lee cross
the hall from the dining-room and race
upstairs. That lets them out, but we don't
suspect them anyway. As far as I can make
out. Miss Estravados got there late--one
of the last. The general idea seems to be
that Farr, Mrs. George, and Mrs. David
were the first. Each of those three says one
of the others was just ahead of them.
That's what's so difficult, you can't
distinguish between a deliberate lie and a
genuine haziness of recollection. Everybody
ran there--that's agreed, but in what
order they ran isn't so easy to get at."
Poirot said slowly:
"You think that important?"
Sugden said:
"It's the time element. The time, remember, was incredibly short."
275
Poirot said:
"I agree with you that the time element
is very important in this case."
Sugden went on:
"What makes it more difficult is that
there are two staircases. There's the main
one in the hall here about equidistant from
the dining-room and the drawing-room
doors. Then there's one the other end of
the house. Stephen Farr came up by the
latter. Miss Estravados came along the
upper landing from that end of the house
(her room is right the other end). The
others say they went up by this one."'
Poirot said:
"It is a confusion, yes."
The door opened and Magdalene came
quickly in. She was breathing fast and had
a bright spot of colour in each cheek. She
came up to the table and said quietly:
"My husband thinks I'm lying down. I
slipped out of my room quietly. Colonel
Johnson," she appealed to him with wide,
distressed eyes, "if I tell you the truth you
will keep quiet about it, won't you? I
mean you don't have to make everything
public?"
Colonel Johnson said:
276
"You mean, I take it, Mrs. Lee, something
that has no connection with the
crime?"
"Yes, no connection at all. Just something
in my--my private life."
The chief constable said:
"You'd better make a clean breast of it, Mrs. Lee, and leave us to judge."
Magdalene said, her eyes swimming:
"Yes, I will trust you. I know I can.
You look so kind. You see, it's like this.
There's somebody--" She stopped.
"Yes, Mrs. Lee?"
"I wanted to telephone to somebody last
night--a man--a friend of mine, and I
didn't want George to know about it. I
know it was very wrong of me--but well, it was like that. So I went to telephone
after dinner when I thought George would
be safely in the dining-room. But when I
got here I heard him telephoning, so I
waited."
"Where did you wait, madame?" asked
Poirot.
"There's a place for coats and things
behind the stairs. It's dark there. I slipped
back there, where I could see George come
out from this room. But he didn't come
277
out, and then all the noise happened and
Mr. Lee screamed, and I ran upstairs."
"So your husband did not leave this
room until the moment of the murder?"
"No."
The chief constable said:
"And you yourself from nine o'clock to
nine-fifteen were waiting in the recess
behind the stairs?"
"Yes, but I couldn't say so, you see!
They'd want to know what I was doing
there. It's been very, very awkward for
me, you do see that, don't you?"
Johnson said dryly:
"It was certainly awkward."
She smiled at him sweetly.
"I'm so relieved to have told you the
truth. And you won't tell my husband,
will you? No, I'm sure you won't! I can
trust you, all of you."
She included them all in her final
pleading look, then she slipped quickly out
of the room.
Colonel Johnson drew a deep breath.
"Well," he said. "It might be like that!
It's a perfectly plausible story. On the
other hand—"
278
"It might not," finished Sugden.
"That's just it. We don't know."
Lydia Lee stood by the far window of the
drawing-room looking out. Her figure was
half hidden by the heavy window curtains.
A sound in the room made her turn with
a start to see Hercule Poirot standing by
the door.
She said:
"You startled me, M. Poirot."
"I apologise, madame. I walk softly."
She said:
"I thought it was Horbury."
Hercule Poirot nodded.
"It is true, he steps softly, that one—
like a cat—or a thief."
He paused a minute, watching her.
Her face showed nothing, but she made
a slight grimace of distaste as she said:
"I have never cared for that man. I shall
be glad to get rid of him."
"I think you will be wise to do so,
madame."
She looked at him quickly. She said:
"What do you mean? Do you know
anything against him?"
Poirot said:
Hpci9 279
"He is a man who collects secrets--and
uses them to his advantage."
She said sharply:
"Do you think he knows anything--
about the murder?"
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. He said:
"He has quiet feet and long ears. He
may have overheard something that he is
keeping to himself."
Lydia said clearly:
"Do you mean that he may try to blackmail
one of us?"
"It is within the bounds of possibility.
But that is not what I came here to say."
"What did you come to say?"
Poirot said slowly:
"I have been talking with M. Alfred
Lee. He has made to me a proposition,
and I wished to discuss it with you before
accepting or declining it. But I was so
struck by the picture you made--the
charming pattern of your jumper against
the deep red of the curtains, that I paused
to admire."
Lydia said sharply:
"Really, M. Poirot, must we waste time
in compliments?"
"I beg your pardon, madame. So few
280
English ladies understand la toilette. The
dress you were wearing the first night I
saw you, its bold but simple pattern, it had
grace--distinction."
Lydia said impatiently:
"What was it you wanted to see me
about?"
Poirot became grave.
"Just this, madame. Your husband, he
wishes me to take up the investigation very
seriously. He demands that I stay here, in
the house, and do my utmost to get to the
bottom of the matter."
Lydia said sharply:
"Well?"
Poirot said slowly:
"I should not wish to accept an invitation
that was not endorsed by the lady
of the house."
She said coldly:
"Naturally I endorse my husband's
invitation."
"Yes, madame, but I need more than
that. Do you really want me to come
here?"
"Why not?"
"Let us be more frank. What I ask you
281
is this: do you want the truth to come out, or not?"
"Naturally."
Poirot sighed.
"Must you return me these conventional
replies?"
Lydia said:
"I am a conventional woman."
Then she bit her lip, hesitated, and said:
"Perhaps it is better to speak frankly.
Of course I understand you! The position
is not a pleasant one. My father-in-law has
been brutally murdered, and unless a case
can be made out against the most likely
suspect--Horbury--for robbery and
murder--and it seems that it cannot--
then it comes to this--one of his own
family killed him. To bring that person
to justice will mean bringing shame and
disgrace on us all. ... If I am to speak
honestly I must say that I do not want this
to happen."
Poirot said:
"You are content for the murderer to
escape unpunished?"
"There are probably several undiscovered
murderers at large in the world."
"That, I grant you."
282
"Does one more matter, then?"
Poirot said:
"And what about the other members of
the family? The innocent?"
She stared.
"What about them?"
"Do you realise that if it turns out as
you hope, no one will ever know. The
shadow will remain on all alike. ..."
She said uncertainly:
"I hadn't thought of that."
Poirot said:
"No one will ever know who the guilty
person is. . . ."
He added softly:
"Unless you already know, madame?"
She cried out:
"You have no business to say that! It's
not true! Oh! If only it could be a stranger
—not a member of the family."
Poirot said:
"It might be both."
She stared at him.
"What do you mean?"
"It might be a member of the family—
and, at the same time, a stranger. . . . You
do not see what I mean? Eh bien, it is an
283
idea that has occurred to the mind of
Hercule Poirot."
He looked at her.
"Well, madame, what am I to say to
Mr. Lee?"
Lydia raised her hands and let them fall
in a sudden helpless gesture.
She said:
"Of course—you must accept."
Pilar stood in the centre of the musicroom.
She stood very straight, her eyes
darting from side to side like an animal
who fears an attack.
She said:
"I want to get away from here!"
Stephen Farr said gently:
"You're not the only one who feels like
that. But they won't let us go, my dear."
"You mean—the police?"
"Yes."
Pilar said very seriously:
"It is not nice to be mixed up with the
police. It is a thing that should not happen
to respectable people."
Stephen said with a faint smile:
"Meaning yourself?"
Pilar said:
284
"No, I mean Alfred and Lydia and
David and George and Hilda and—yes—
Magdalene, too."
Stephen lit a cigarette. He puffed at it
for a moment or two before saying:
"Why the exception?"
"What is that, please?"
Stephen said:
"Why leave out brother Harry?"
Pilar laughed, her teeth showing white
and even.
"Oh, Harry is different! I think he
knows very well what it is to be mixed up
with the police."
"Perhaps you are right. He certainly is
a little too picturesque to blend well into
the domestic picture."
He went on:
"Do you like your English relations,
Pilar?"
Pilar said doubtfully:
"They are kind—they are all very kind.
But they do not laugh much, they are not
gay."
"My dear girl, there's just been a
murder in the house!"
"Y—es," said Pilar doubtfully.
"A murder," said Stephen instructively,
285
"is not such an everyday occurrence as
your nonchalance seems to imply. In
England they take their murders seriously
whatever they may do in Spain."
Pilar said:
"You are laughing at me. ..."
Stephen said:
"You're wrong. I'm not in a laughing
mood."
Pilar looked at him and said:
"Because you, too, wish to get away
from here?"
"Yes."
"And the big, handsome policeman will
not let you go?"
"I haven't asked him. But if I did, I've
no doubt he'd say no. I've got to watch
my step, Pilar, and be very very careful."
"That is tiresome," said Pilar, nodding
her head.
"It's just a little bit more than tiresome,
my dear. Then there's that lunatic
foreigner prowling about. I don't suppose
he's any good but he makes me feel
jumpy."
Pilar was frowning. She said:
"My grandfather was very, very rich,
was he not?"
286
"I should imagine so."
"Where does his money go to now? To
Alfred and the others?"
"Depends on his will."
Pilar said thoughtfully: "He might have
left me some money, but I am afraid that
perhaps he did not."
Stephen said kindly:
"You'll be all right. After all, you're one
of the family. You belong here. They'll
have to look after you."
Pilar said with a sigh: "I--belong here.
It is very funny, that. And yet it is not
funny at all."
"I can see that you mightn't find it very
humorous."
Pilar sighed again. She said:
"Do you think if we put on the gramophone, we could dance?"
Stephen said dubiously:
"It wouldn't look any too good. This is
a house of mourning, you callous Spanish
baggage."
Pilar said, her big eyes opening very
wide:
"But I do not feel sad at all. Because I
did not really know my grandfather, and
though I liked to talk to him, I do not
287
want to cry and be unhappy because he is
dead. It is very silly to pretend."
Stephen said: "You're adorable!"
Pilar said coaxingly:
"We could put some stockings and some
gloves in the gramophone, and then it
would not make much noise, and no one
would hear."
"Come along then, temptress."
She laughed happily and ran out of the
room, going along towards the ballroom at
the far end of the house.
Then, as she reached the side passage
which led to the garden door, she stopped
dead. Stephen caught up with her and
stopped also.
Hercule Poirot had unhooked a portrait
from the wall and was studying it by the
light from the terrace. He looked up and
saw them.
"Aha!" he said. "You arrive at an
opportune moment."
Pilar said: "What are you doing?"
She came and stood beside him.
Poirot said gravely:
"I am studying something very
important, the face of Simeon Lee when
he was a young man."
288
"Oh, is that my grandfather?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
She stared at the painted face. She said
slowly:
"How different--how very different.
. . . He was so old, so shrivelled up. Here
he is like Harry, like Harry might have
been ten years ago."
Hercule Poirot nodded.
"Yes, mademoiselle. Harry Lee is very
much the son of his father. Now here--"
He led her a little way along the gallery.
"Here is madame, your grandmother--a
long gentle face, very blonde hair, mild
blue eyes."
Pilar said:
"Like David."
Stephen said:
"Just a look of Alfred too."
Poirot said:
"The heredity, it is very interesting.
Mr. Lee and his wife were diametrically
opposite types. On the whole, the children
of the marriage took after the mother. See
here, mademoiselle."
He pointed to a picture of a girl of nineteen
or so, with hair like spun gold and ^de, laughing blue eyes. The colouring
289
was that of Simeon Lee's wife, but there
was a spirit, a vivacity that those mild blue
eyes and placid features had never known.
"Oh!" said Pilar.
The colour came up in her face.
Her hand went to her neck. She drew
out a locket on a long gold chain. She
pressed the catch and it flew open. The
same laughing face looked up at Poirot.
"My mother," said Pilar.
Poirot nodded. On the opposite side of
the locket was the portrait of a man. He
was young and handsome, with black hair
and dark blue eyes.
Poirot said: "Your father?"
Pilar said:
"Yes, my father. He is very beautiful,
is he not?"
"Yes, indeed. Few Spaniards have blue
eyes, have they, senorita?"
"Sometimes, in the North. Besides, my
father's mother was Irish."
Poirot said thoughtfully:
"So you have Spanish blood, and Irish
and English, and a touch of gypsy too. Do
you know what I think, mademoiselle?
With that inheritance, you should make a
bad enemy."
290
Stephen said, laughing:
"Remember what you said in the train,
Pilar? That your way of dealing with your
enemies would be to cut their throats.
Oh!"
He stopped—suddenly realising the
import of his words.
Hercule Poirot was quick to lead the
conversation away. He said:
"Ah, yes, there was something, senorita,
I had to ask you. Your passport. It is
needed by my friend the superintendent.
There are, you know, police regulations—
very stupid, very tiresome, but necessary
—for a foreigner in this country. And of
course, by law, you are a foreigner."
Pilar's eyebrows rose.
"My passport? Yes, I will get it. It is in
my room."
Poirot said apologetically as he walked
by her side:
"I am most sorry to trouble you. I am
indeed."
They had reached the end of the long
gallery. Here was a flight of stairs. Pilar
ran up and Poirot followed. Stephen came
too. Pilar's bedroom was just at the head
of the stairs.
291
She said as she reached the door: "I will
get it for you."
She went in. Poirot and Stephen Farr
remained waiting outside.
Stephen said remorsefully:
"Damn5 silly of me to say a thing like
that. I don't think she noticed, though, do
you?"
Poirot did not answer. He held his head
a little on one side as though listening.
He said:
"The English are extraordinarily fond of
fresh air. Miss Estravados must have
inherited that characteristic."
Stephen said staring:
"Why?"
Poirot said softly:
"Because though it is to-day extremely
cold--the black frost you call it (not like
yesterday so mild and sunny) Miss Estravados
has just flung up her lower windowsash.
Amazing to love so much the fresh
air."
Suddenly there was an exclamation in
Spanish from inside the room and Pilar
reappeared laughingly dismayed.
"Ah!" she cried. "But I am stupid--
and clumsy. My little case it was on the
292
window-sill, and I was sorting through it
so quickly and very stupidly I knock my
passport out of the window. It is down on
the flower-bed below. I will get it."
"I'll get it," said Stephen, but Pilar had
flown past him and cried back over her
shoulder:
"No, it was my stupidity. You go to the
drawing-room with M. Poirot and I will
bring it to you there."
Stephen Farr seemed inclined to go after
her, but Poirot's hand fell gently on his
arm and Poirot5 s voice said:
"Let us go this way."
They went along the first floor corridor
towards the other end of the house until
they got to the head of the main staircase,
Here Poirot said:
"Let us not go down for a minute. If
you will come with me to the room of the
crime there is something I want to ask
you."
They went along the corridor which led
to Simeon Lee's room. On their left they
passed an alcove which contained two
marble statues, stalwart nymphs clasping
their draperies in an agony of Victorian
propriety.
293
Stephen Farr glanced at them and
murmured:
"Pretty frightful by daylight. I thought
there were three of them when I came
along the other night, but thank goodness
there are only two!"
"They are not what is admired
nowadays," admitted Poirot. "But no
doubt they cost much money in their time.
They look better by night, I think."
"Yes, one sees only a white glimmering
figure."
Poirot murmured:
"All cats are grey in the dark!"
They found Superintendent Sugden in
the room. He was kneeling by the safe and
examining it with a magnifying glass. He
looked up as they entered.
"This was opened with the key all
right," he said. "By someone who knew
the combination. No sign of anything
else."
Poirot went up to him, drew him aside, and whispered something. The superintendent
nodded and left the room.
Poirot turned to Stephen Farr, who was
standing staring at the arm-chair in which
Simeon Lee always sat. His brows were
294
drawn together and the veins showed in
his forehead. Poirot looked at him for a
minute or two in silence, then he said:
"You have the memories—yes?"
Stephen said slowly:
"Two days ago he sat there alive—and
now...."
Then, shaking off his absorption, he
said:
"Yes, M. Poirot, you brought me here
to ask me something?"
"Ah, yes. You were, I think, the first
person to arrive on the scene that night?"
"Was I? I don't remember. No, I think
one of the ladies was here before me."
"Which lady?"
"One of the wives—George's wife or
David's—I know they were both here
pretty soon."
"You did not hear the scream, I think
you said?"
"I don't think I did. I can't quite
remember. Somebody did cry out but that
may have been someone downstairs."
Poirot said:
"You did not hear a noise like this?"
He threw his head back and suddenly
gave vent to a piercing yell.
Hpc.u 295
It was so unexpected that Stephen
started backwards and nearly fell over. He
said angrily:
"For the lord's sake, do you want to
scare the whole house? No, I didn't hear
anything in the least like that! You'll have
the whole place by the ears again! They'll
think another murder has happened!"
Poirot looked crestfallen. He murmured:

"True ... it was foolish . . . We must
go at once."
He hurried out of the room. Lydia and
Alfred were at the foot of the stairs peering
up--George came out of the library to join
them, and Pilar came running, a passport
held in her hand.
Poirot cried:
"It is nothing--nothing. Do not be
alarmed. A little experiment that I make.
That was all."
Alfred looked annoyed and George
indignant. Poirot left Stephen to explain
and he hurriedly slipped away along the
passage to the other end of the house.
At the end of the passage Superintendent
Sugden came quietly out of Pilar's
door and met Poirot.
296
"PA bien?" asked Poirot.
The superintendent shook his head.
"Not a sound."
His eyes met Poirot's appreciatively and
he nodded.
Alfred Lee said: "Then you accept, M.
Poirot?"
His hand, as it went to his mouth, shook
slightly. His mild brown eyes were alight
with a new and feverish expression. He
stammered slightly in his speech. Lydia, standing silently by, looked at him with
some anxiety.
Alfred said:
"You don't know--you cc-can't
imagine--what it m-m-means to me. . . .
My father's murderer must be ff-found."
Poirot said:
"Since you have assured me that you
have reflected long and carefully--yes, I
accept. But you comprehend, Mr. Lee, there can be no drawing back. I am not
the dog one sets on to hunt and then
recalls because you do not like the game
he puts up!"
"Of course ... of course. . . . Every 297
thing is ready. Your bedroom is prepared.
Stay as long as you like—"
Poirot said gravely: "It will not be
long."
"Eh? What's that?"
"I said it will not be long. There is in
this crime such a restricted circle that it
cannot possibly take long to arrive at the
truth. Already, I think, the end draws
near."
Alfred stared at him. "Impossible!" he
said.
"Not at all. The facts all point more or
less clearly in one direction. There is just
some irrelevant matter to be cleared out of
the way. When that is done the truth will
appear."
Alfred said incredulously:
"You mean you know?"
Poirot smiled. "Oh, yes," he said. "I
know."
Alfred said:
"My father—my father—" He turned
away.
Poirot said briskly:
"There are, M. Lee, two requests that
I have to make."
Alfred said in a muffled voice:
298
"Anything—anything."
"Then, in the first place, I would like
the portrait of M. Lee as a young man
placed in the bedroom you are good
enough to allot to me."
Alfred and Lydia stared at him.
The former said: "My father's portrait
—but why?"
Poirot said with a wave of the hand:
"It will—how shall I say—inspire me."
Lydia said sharply:
"Do you propose, M. Poirot, to solve a
crime by clairvoyance?"
"Let us say, madame, that I intend to
use not only the eyes of the body, but the
eyes of the mind."
She shrugged her shoulders.
Poirot continued:
"Next, M. Lee, I should like to know
of the true circumstances attending the
death of your sister's husband, Juan
Estravados."
Lydia said: "Is that necessary?"
"I want all the facts, madame."
Alfred said:
"Juan Estravados, as the result of a
quarrel about a woman, killed another
man in a cafe."
299
"How did he kill him?"
Alfred looked appealingly at Lydia. She
said evenly:
"He stabbed him. Juan Estravados was
not condemned to death, as there had been
provocation. He was sentenced to a term
of imprisonment and died in prison."
"Does his daughter know about her
father?"
"I think not."
Alfred said:
"No, Jennifer never told her."
"Thank you."
Lydia said:
"You don't think that Pilar— Oh, it's
absurd!"
Poirot said:
"Now, M. Lee, will you give me some
facts about your brother, M. Harry Lee?"
"What do you want to know?"
"I understand that he was considered
somewhat of a disgrace to the family.
Why?"
Lydia said:
"It is so long ago. ..."
Alfred said, the colour coming up in his
face:
"If you want to know, M. Poirot, he
300
stole a large sum of money by forging my
father's name to a cheque. Naturally my
father didn't prosecute. Harry's always
been crooked. He's been in trouble all over
the world. Always cabling for money to get
out of a scrape. He's been in and out of
gaol here, there and everywhere."
Lydia said:
"You don't really know all this,
Alfred."
Alfred said angrily, his hands shaking:
"Harry's no good—no good whatever!
He never has been!"
Poirot said:
"There is, I see, no love lost between
you?"
Alfred said:
"He victimised my father—victimised
him shamefully!"
Lydia sighed—a quick, impatient sigh.
Poirot heard it and gave her a sharp
glance.
She said:
"If only those diamonds could be found.
I'm sure the solution lies there."
Poirot said:
"They have been found, madame."
"What?"
301
Poirot said gently:
"They were found in your little garden
of the Dead Sea. ..."
Lydia cried:
"In my garden? How--how extraordinary!"

Poirot said softly:
"Is it not, madame?"
302
Part Six
December 27th
6
A FRED LEE said with a sigh:
"That was better than I feared!"
They had just returned from
the inquest.
Mr. Charlton, an old-fashioned type of
solicitor with a cautious blue eye, had been
present and had returned with them. He
said:
"Ah—I told you the proceedings would
be purely formal—purely formal—there
was bound to be an adjournment—to
enable the police to gather up additional
evidence."
George Lee said vexedly:
"It is all most unpleasant—really most
unpleasant—a terrible position in which to
be placed! I myself am quite convinced
that this crime was done by a maniac who
somehow or other gained admittance to the
house. That man Sugden is as obstinate as
a mule. Colonel Johnson should enlist the
aid of Scotland Yard. These local police
are no good. Thick-headed. What about
305
this man Horbury, for instance? I hear his
past is definitely unsatisfactory but the
police do nothing whatever about it."
Mr. Charlton said:
"Ah—I believe the man Horbury has a
satisfactory alibi covering the period of
time in question. The police have accepted
it."
"Why should they?" George fumed. "If
I were they, I should accept such an alibi
with reserve—with great reserve.
Naturally, a criminal always provides
himself with an alibi! It is the duty of the
police to break down the alibi—that is, if
they know their job."
"Well, well," said Mr. Charlton. "I
don't think it's quite our business to teach
the police their jobs, eh? Pretty competent
body of men on the whole."
George shook his head darkly.
"Scotland Yard should be called in. I'm
not at all satisfied with Superintendent
Sugden—he may be painstaking—but he
is certainly far from brilliant."
Mr. Charlton said:
"I don't agree with you, you know.
Sugden's a good man. Doesn't throw his
weight about, but he gets there."
306
Lydia said:
"I'm sure the police are doing their best.
Mr. Charlton, will you have a glass of
sherry?"
Mr. Charlton thanked her politely, but
declined. Then, clearing his throat, he
proceeded to the reading of the will, all
members of the family being assembled.
He read it with a certain relish, lingering
over its more obscure phraseology, and
savouring its legal technicalities.
He came to the end, took off his glasses,
wiped them, and looked round on the
assembled company inquiringly.
Harry Lee said:
"All this legal stuffs a bit hard to
follow. Give us the bare bones of it, will
you?"
"Really," said Mr. Charlton. "It's a
perfectly simple will."
Harry said:
"My God, what's a difficult will like,
then?"
Mr. Charlton rebuked him with a cold
glance. He said:
"The main provisions of the will are
quite simple. Half Mr. Lee's property goes
307
to his son, Mr. Alfred Lee, the remainder
is divided between his other children."
Harry laughed unpleasantly. He said:
"As usual, Alfred's struck lucky! Half
my father's fortune! Lucky dog, aren't
you, Alfred?"
Alfred flushed. Lydia said sharply:
"Alfred was a loyal and devoted son to
his father. He's managed the works for
years and has had all the responsibility."
Harry said: "Oh, yes, Alfred was always
the good boy."
Alfred said sharply:
"You may consider yourself lucky, I
think, Harry, that my father left you
anything at all!"
Harry laughed, throwing his head back.
He said:
"You'd have liked it better if he'd cut
me right out, wouldn't you? You've always
disliked me."
Mr. Charlton coughed. He was used—
only too well used—to the painful scenes
that succeeded the reading of a will. He
was anxious to get away before the usual
family quarrel got too well under way.
He murmured:
308
"I think--er--that that is all that I need .er--"
Harry said sharply: "What about Pilar?"
Mr. Charlton coughed again, this time
apologetically.
"Er-- Miss Estravados is not mentioned
in the will."
Harry said: "Doesn't she get her
mother's share?"
Mr. Charlton explained.
"Senora Estravados, if she had lived, would of course have received an equal
share with the rest of you, but as she is
dead, the portion that would have been
hers goes back into the estate to be shared
out between you."
Pilar said slowly in her rich Southern
voice:
"Then--I--have--nothing?"
Lydia said quickly:
"My dear, the family will see to that, of
course."
George Lee said:
"You will be able to make your home
here with Alfred--eh, Alfred? We--er--
you are our niece--it is our duty to look
after you."
309
Hilda said: "We shall always be glad to
have Pilar with us."
Harry said:
"She ought to have her proper share.
She ought to have Jennifer's whack."
Mr. Charlton murmured:
"Must really--er--be going. Goodbye, Mrs. Lee--anything I can do--er--
consult me at any time. ..."
He escaped quickly. His experience
enabled him to predict that all the ingredients
for a family row were present.
As the door shut behind him Lydia said
in her clear voice:
"I agree with Harry. I think Pilar is
entitled to a definite share. This will was
made many years before Jennifer's death."
"Nonsense," said George. "Very slipshod
and illegal way of thinking, Lydia.
The law's the law. We must abide by it."
Magdalene said:
"It's hard luck, of course, and we're all
very sorry for Pilar, but George is right.
As he says, the law is the law."
Lydia got up. She took Pilar by the
hand.
"My dear," she said. "This must be
310
FR1;very unpleasant for you. Will you please
leave us while we discuss the question?"
She led the girl to the door.
"Don't worry, Pilar, dear," she said.
"Leave it to me."
Pilar went slowly out of the room. Lydia
shut the door behind her and turned back.
There was a moment's pause while
everyone drew breath and in another
moment the battle was in full swing.
Harry said:
"You've always been a damned skinflint, George."
George retorted:
"At any rate, I've not been a sponge and
a rotter!"
"You've been just as much of a sponge
as I have! You've battened on Father all
these years."
"You seem to forget that I hold a
responsible and arduous position
which--"
Harry said:
"Responsible and arduous my foot!
You're only an inflated gasbag!"
Magdalene screamed: "How dare you?"
Hilda's calm voice, slightly raised, said:
"Couldn't we just discuss this quietly?"
HPC21 311
Lydia threw her a grateful glance.
David said with sudden violence:
"Must we have all this disgraceful fuss
over money!"
Magdalene said venomously to him:
"It's all very well to be so high-minded.
You're not going to refuse your legacy, are
you? You want money just as much as the
rest of us do! All this unworldliness is just
a pose!"
David said in a strangled voice:
"You think I ought to refuse it? I
wonder—"
Hilda said sharply:
"Of course you oughtn't. Must we all
behave like children? Alfred, you're the
head of the family—"
Alfred seemed to wake out of a dream.
He said:
"I beg your pardon. All of you shouting
at once. It—it confuses me."
Lydia said:
"As Hilda has just pointed out, why
must we behave like greedy children? Let
us discuss this thing quietly and sanely
and"—she added this quickly—"one at a
time. Alfred shall speak first because he is
312
the eldest. What do you think, Alfred, we
should do about Pilar?"
He said slowly:
"She must make her home here,
certainly. And we should make her an
allowance. I do not see that she has any
legal claim to the money which would have
gone to her mother. She's not a Lee,
remember. She's a Spanish subject."
"No legal claim, no," said Lydia. "But
I think she has a moral claim. As I see
it, your father, although his daughter had
married a Spaniard against his wishes,
recognised her to have an equal claim upon
him. George, Harry, David, and Jennifer
were to share equally. Jennifer only died
last year. I am sure that when he sent for
Mr. Charlton, he meant to make ample
provision for Pilar in a new will. He would
have allotted her at least her mother's
share. It is possible that he might have
done much more than that. She was the
only grandchild, remember. I think the
least we can do is to endeavour to remedy
an injustice that your father himself was
preparing to remedy."
Alfred said warmly:
"Well put, Lydia! I was wrong. I agree
313
with you that Pilar must be given
Jennifer's share of my father's fortune."
Lydia said: "Your turn, Harry."
Harry said:
"As you know, I agree. I think Lydia
has put the case very well, and I'd like to
say I admire her for it."
Lydia said:
"George?"
George was red in the face. He
spluttered:
"Certainly not! Whole thing's
preposterous! Give her a home and a
decent dress allowance. Quite enough for
her!"
"Then you refuse to co-operate?" asked
Alfred.
"Yes, I do."
"And he's quite right," said Magdalene.
"It's disgraceful to suggest he should do
anything of the kind! Considering that
George is the only member of the family
who has done anything in the world, I
think it's a shame his father left him so
little!"
Lydia said: "David?"
David said vaguely:
"Oh, I think you're right. It's a pity
314
there's got to be so much ugliness and
disputing about it all."
Hilda said:
"You're quite right, Lydia. It's only
justice!"
Harry looked round. He said:
"Well, that's clear. Of the family,
Alfred, myself and David are in favour of
the motion. George is against it. The ayes
have it."
George said sharply:
"There is no question of ayes or noes.
My share of my father's estate is mine
absolutely. I shall not part with a penny
of it."
"No, indeed," said Magdalene.
Lydia said sharply:
"If you like to stand out, that is your
business. The rest of us will make up your
share of the total."
She looked round for assent and the
others nodded.
Harry said: "Alfred's got the lion's
share. He ought to stand most of the
racket."
Alfred said: "I see that your original
disinterested suggestion will soon break
down."
315
Hilda said firmly:
"Don't let's start again! Lydia shall tell
Pilar what we've decided. We can settle
details later." She added in the hope of
making a diversion, "I wonder where Mr.
Farr is, and M. Poirot?"
Alfred said:
"We dropped Poirot in the village on
our way to the inquest. He said he had an
important purchase to make."
Harry said: "Why didn't he go to the
inquest? Surely he ought to have done!"
Lydia said:
"Perhaps he knew it was not going to
be important. Who's that out there in the
garden? Superintendent Sugden, or Mr.
Farr?"
The efforts of the two women were
successful. The family conclave broke up.
Lydia said to Hilda privately:
"Thank you, Hilda. It was nice of you
to back me up. You know, you really have
been a comfort in all this."
Hilda said thoughtfully: "Queer how
money upsets people."
The others had all left the room. The
two women were alone.
Lydia said:
316
"Yes—even Harry—although it was his
suggestion! And my poor Alfred—he is so
British—he doesn't really like Lee money
going to a Spanish subject."
Hilda said, smiling:
"Do you think we women are more
unworldly?"
Lydia said with a shrug of her graceful
shoulders:
"Well, you know, it isn't really our
money—not our own! That may make a
difference."
Hilda said thoughtfully:
"She is a strange child—Pilar, I mean.
I wonder what will become of her?"
Lydia sighed.
"I'm glad that she will be independent.
To live here, to be given a home and a
dress allowance, would not, I think, be
very satisfactory to her. She's too proud
and, I think, too—too—alien."
She added musingly:
"I once brought some beautiful blue
lapis home from Egypt. Out there, against
the sun and the sand, it was a glorious
colour—a brilliant warm blue. But when I
got it home, the blue of it hardly showed
317
any more. It was just a dull, darkish string
of beads."
Hilda said:
"Yes, I see. ..."
Lydia said gently:
"I am so glad to come to know you and
David at last. I'm glad you both came
here."
Hilda sighed:
"How often I've wished in the last few
days that we hadn't!"
"I know. You must have done. . . . But
you know, Hilda, the shock hasn't affected
David nearly as badly as it might have
done. I mean, he is so sensitive that it
might have upset him completely. Actually, since the murder, he's seemed ever so
much better--"
Hilda looked slightly disturbed. She
said:
"So you've noticed that? It's rather
dreadful in a way. . . . But oh! Lydia, it's
undoubtedly so!"
She was silent a minute recollecting
words that her husband had spoken only
the night before. He had said to her, eagerly, his fair hair tossed back from his
forehead:
318
"Hilda, you remember in Tosca--when
Scarpia is dead and Tosca lights the
candles at his head and feet? Do you
remember what she says: 'Now I can
forgive him. . . .' That is what I feel--
about Father. I see now that all these years
I couldn't forgive him, and yet I really wanted to. ... But now--now--there's
no rancour any more. It's all wiped away.
And I feel--oh, I feel as though a great
load had been lifted from my back."
She had said, striving to fight back a
sudden fear:
"Because he's dead?"
He had answered quickly, stammering
in his eagerness:
"No, no, you don't understand. Not
because he is dead, but because my
childish stupid hate of him is dead. ..."
Hilda thought of those words now.
She would have liked to repeat them to
the woman at her side, but she felt instinctively
that it was wiser not.
She followed Lydia out of the drawingroom
into the hall.
Magdalene was there, standing by the
hall table with a little parcel in her hand.
She jumped when she saw them. She said:
319
"Oh, this must be M. Poirofs important
purchase. I saw him put it down here just
now. I wonder what it is."
She looked from one to the other of
them, giggling a little, but her eyes were
sharp and anxious, belying the affected
gaiety of her words.
Lydia's eyebrows rose. She said:
"I must go and wash before lunch."
Magdalene said, still with that affectation
of childishness, but unable to keep
the desperate note out of her voice:
"I must just peep!"
She unrolled the piece of paper and gave
a sharp exclamation. She stared at the
thing in her hand.
Lydia stopped and Hilda too. Both
women stared.
Magdalene said in a puzzled voice:
"It's a false moustache. But--but--
why--?"
Hilda said doubtfully:
"Disguise? But--"
Lydia finished the sentence for her.
"But M. Poirot has a very fine
moustache of his own!"
Magdalene was wrapping the parcel up
again. She said:
320
"I don't understand. It's—it's mad.
Why does M. Poirot buy a false
moustache?"
When Pilar left the drawing-room she
walked slowly along the hall. Stephen Farr
was coming in through the garden door.
He said:
"Well? Is the family conclave over? Has
the will been read?"
Pilar said, her breath coming fast:
"I have got nothing—nothing at all! It
was a will made many years ago. My
grandfather left money to my mother, but
because she is dead it does not go to me
but goes back to them."
Stephen said:
"That seems rather hard lines."
Pilar said:
"If that old man had lived, he would
have made another will. He would have
left money to me—a lot of money!
Perhaps in time he would have left me all
the money!"
Stephen said, smiling:
"That wouldn't have been very fair
either, would it?"
321
"Why not? He would have liked me
best, that is all."
Stephen said:
"What a greedy child you are. A real
little gold-digger."
Pilar said soberly:
"The world is very cruel to women.
They must do what they can for themselves—while
they are young. When they
are old and ugly no one will help them."
Stephen said slowly:
"That's more true than I like to think.
But it isn't quite true. Alfred Lee, for
instance, was genuinely fond of his father
in spite of the old man being thoroughly
trying and exacting."
Pilar's chin went up.
"Alfred," she said, "is rather a fool."
Stephen laughed.
Then he said:
"Well, don't worry, lovely Pilar. The
Lees are bound to look after you, you
know."
Pilar said disconsolately:
"It will not be very amusing, that."
Stephen said slowly:
"No, I'm afraid it won't. I can't see you
322
living here, Pilar. Would you like to come
to South Africa?"
Pilar nodded.
Stephen said:
"There's sun there, and space. There's
hard work too. Are you good at work, Pilar?"
Pilar said doubtfully:
"I do not know."
He said:
"You'd rather sit on a balcony and eat
sweets all day long? And grow enormously
fat and have three double chins?"
Pilar laughed and Stephen said:
"That's better. I've made you laugh."
Pilar said:
"I thought I should laugh this
Christmas! In books I have read that an
English Christmas is very gay, that one
eats burning raisins and there is a plum
pudding all in flames, and something that
is called a Yule log."
Stephen said:
"Ah, but you must have a Christmas
uncomplicated by murder. Come in here a
minute, Lydia took me in here yesterday.
It's her storeroom."
323
He led her into a small room little bigger
than a cupboard.
"Look, Pilar, boxes and boxes of
crackers, and preserved fruits and oranges
and dates and nuts. And here—"
"Oh!" Pilar clasped her hands. "They
are pretty, these gold and silver balls."
"Those were to hang on a tree, with
presents for the servants. And here are
little snow men all glittering with frost to
put on the dinner table. And here are
balloons of every colour all ready to blow
up!"
"Oh!" Pilar's eyes shone. "Oh! can we
blow one up? Lydia would not mind. I do
love balloons."
Stephen said: "Baby! Here, which will
you have?"
Pilar said: "I will have a red one."
They selected their balloons and blew,
their cheeks distended. Pilar stopped
blowing to laugh, and her balloon went
down again.
She said:
"You look so funny—blowing—with
your cheeks puffed out."
Her laugh rang out. Then she fell to,
blowing industriously. They tied up their
324
balloons carefully and began to play with
them, patting them upwards, sending
them to and fro.
Pilar said:
"Out in the hall there would be more
room."
They were sending the balloons to each
other, and laughing, when Poirot came
along the hall. He regarded them
indulgently.
"So you play les jeux d'enfants^ It is
pretty, that!"
Pilar said breathlessly:
"Mine is the red one. It is bigger than
his. Much bigger. If we took it outside it
would go right up in the sky."
"Let's send them up and wish," said
Stephen.
"Oh, yes, that is a good idea."
Pilar ran to the garden door, Stephen
followed. Poirot came behind, still looking
indulgent.
"I will wish for a great deal of money,"
announced Pilar.
She stood on tiptoe, holding the string
of the balloon. It tugged gently as a puff
of wind came. Pilar let go and it floated
along, taken by the breeze.
325
Stephen laughed.
"You mustn't tell your wish."
"No? Why not?"
"Because it doesn't come true. Now,
I'm going to wish."
He released his balloon. But he was not
so lucky. It floated sideways, caught on a
holly bush and expired with a bang.
Pilar ran to it.
She announced tragically:
"It is gone. ..."
Then, as she stirred the little limp wisp
of rubber with her toe, she said:
"So that was what I picked up in Grandfather's
room. He, too, had had a balloon, only his was a pink one."
Poirot gave a sharp exclamation. Pilar
turned inquiringly.
Poirot said:
"It is nothing. I stabbed--no stubbed
--the toe."
He wheeled round and looked at the
house.
He said:
"So many windows! A house, mademoiselle, has its eyes--and its ears. It is
indeed regrettable that the English are so
fond of open windows."
326
Lydia came out on the terrace. She said:
"Lunch is just ready. Pilar, my dear, everything has been settled quite satisfactorily.
Alfred will explain the exact details
to you after lunch. Shall we come in?"
They went into the house. Poirot came
last. He was looking grave.
Lunch was over.
As they came out of the dining-room, Alfred said to Pilar:
"Will you come into my room? There is
something I want to talk over with you."
He led her across the hall and into his
study, shutting the door after him. The
others went on into the drawing-room.
Only Hercule Poirot remained in the hall
looking thoughtfully at the closed study
door.
He was aware suddenly of the old butler
hovering uneasily near him.
Poirot said: "Yes, Tressilian, what is
it?"
The old man seemed troubled. He said:
"I wanted to speak to Mr. Lee. But I
don't like to disturb him now."
Poirot said: "Something has occurred?"
Tressilian said slowly:
HPC^2 327
"It's such a queer thing. It doesn't make
sense."
"Tell me," said Hercule Poirot.
Tressilian hesitated. Then he said:
"Well, it's this, sir. You may have
noticed that each side of the front door
there was a cannon ball. Big heavy stone
things. Well, sir, one of them's gone."
Hercule Poirot's eyebrows rose. He said:
"Since when?"
"They were both there this morning,
sir. I'll take my oath on that."
"Let me see."
Together they went outside the front
door. Poirot bent and examined the
remaining cannon ball. When he
straightened himself, his face was very
grave.
Tressilian quavered:
"Who'd want to steal a thing like that,
sir? It doesn't make sense."
Poirot said: "I do not like it. I do not
like it at all. ..."
Tressilian was watching him anxiously.
He said slowly:
"What's come to the house, sir? Ever
since the master was murdered it doesn't
seem like the same place. I feel the whole
328
time as though I was going about in a
dream. I mix things up, and I sometimes
feel I can't trust my own eyes."
Hercule Poirot shook his head. He said:
"You are wrong. Your own eyes are just
what you must trust."
Tressilian said, shaking his head:
"My sight's bad—I can't see like I used
to do. I get things mixed up—and people.
I'm getting too old for my work."
Hercule Poirot clapped him on the
shoulder and said:
"Courage."
"Thank you, sir. You mean it kindly, I
know. But there it is, I am too old. I'm
always going back to the old days and the
old faces. Miss Jenny and Master David
and Master Alfred. I'm always seeing them
as young gentlemen and ladies. Ever since
that night when Mr. Harry came home—"
Poirot nodded.
"Yes," he said, "that is what I thought.
You said just now 'Ever since the master
was murdered'—but it began before that.
It is ever since Mr. Harry came home, is
it not, that things have altered and seemed
unreal?"
The butler said:
329
"You're quite right, sir. It was then.
Mr. Harry always brought trouble into the
house, even in the old days."
His eyes wandered back to the empty
stone base.
"Who can have taken it, sir?" he whispered.
"And why? It's--it's like a
madhouse."
Hercule Poirot said:
"It is not madness I am afraid of. It is
sanity! Somebody, Tressilian, is in great
danger."
He turned and re-entered the house.
At that moment Pilar came out from the
study. A red spot shone on either cheek.
She held her head high and her eyes
glittered.
As Poirot came up to her, she suddenly
stamped her foot and said: "I will not take
it."
Poirot raised his eyebrows. He said:
"What is it that you will not take, mademoiselle?"
Pilar said:
"Alfred has just told me that I am to
have my mother's share of the money my
grandfather left."
"Well?"
330
"I could not get it by law, he said. But
he and Lydia and the others consider it
should be mine. They say it is a matter of
justice. And so they will hand it over to
me."
Poirot said again:
"Well?"
Pilar stamped once more with her foot.
"Do you not understand? They are
giving it to me--giving it to me."
"Need that hurt your pride? Since what
they say is true--that it should in justice
be yours?"
Pilar said:
"You do not understand ..."
Poirot said:
"On the contrary--I understand very
well."
"Oh! ..." She turned away pettishly.
There was a ring at the bell. Poirot
glanced over his shoulder. He saw the
silhouette of Superintendent Sugden outside
the door. He said hurriedly to Pilar:
"Where are you going?"
She said sulkily:
"To the drawing-room. To the others."
Poirot said quickly:
"Good. Stay with them there. Do not
331
wander about the house alone, especially
after dark. Be on your guard. You are in
great danger, mademoiselle. You will
never be in greater danger than you are
today."
He turned away from her and went to
meet Sugden.
The latter waited till Tressilian had gone
back into his pantry.
Then he shoved a cable form under
Poirofs nose.
"Now we've got it!" he said. "Read
that. It's from the South African Police."
The cable said:
"Ebenezer Farr's only son died two
years ago."
Sugden said:
"So now we know! Funny--I was on a
different tack altogether. ..."
Pilar marched into the drawing-room, her
head held high.
She went straight up to Lydia, who was
sitting in the window with some knitting.
Pilar said:
"Lydia, I have come to tell you that I
will not take that money. I am going away
-at once. ..."
332
Lydia looked astonished. She laid down
her knitting. She said:
"My dear child, Alfred must have
explained very badly! It is not in the least
a matter of charity, if that is what you feel.
Really, it is not a question of kindness or
generosity on our part. It is a plain matter
of right and wrong. In the ordinary course
of events your mother would have
inherited this money, and you would have
come into it from her. It is your right—
your blood right. It is a matter, not of
charity, but of justiceV
Pilar said fiercely:
"And that is why I cannot do it—not
when you speak like that—not when you
are like that! I enjoyed coming here. It was
fun! It was an adventure, but now you
have spoilt it all! I am going away now, at
once—you will never be bothered by me
again. ..."
Tears choked her voice. She turned and
ran blindly out of the room.
Lydia stared. She said helplessly:
"I'd no idea she would take it like that!"
Hilda said:
"The child seems quite upset."
333
George cleared his throat and said
portentously:
"Er--as I pointed out this morning--
the principle involved is wrong. Pilar has
the wit to see that for herself. She refuses
to accept charity--"
Lydia said sharply:
"It is not charity. It is her right!"
George said:
"She does not seem to think so!"
Superintendent Sugden and Hercule
Poirot came in. The former looked round
and asked:
"Where's Mr. Farr? I want a word with
him."
Before anyone had time to answer,
Hercule Poirot said sharply:
"Where is the Senorita Estravados?"
George Lee said with a trace of
malicious satisfaction:
"Going to clear out, so she says. Apparently
she has had enough of her English
relations."
Poirot wheeled round.
He said to Sugden:
"Come!"
As the two men emerged into the hall,
334
there was the sound of a heavy crash and
a far-away shriek.
Poirot cried:
"Quick. . . . Come. ..."
They raced along the hall and up the far
staircase. The door of Pilar's room was
open and a man stood in the doorway. He
turned his head as they ran up. It was
Stephen Farr.
He said:
"She's alive. ..."
Pilar stood crouched against the wall of
her room. She was staring at the floor
where a big stone cannon ball was lying.
She said breathlessly:
"It was on top of my door, balanced
there. It would have crashed down on my
head when I came in, but my skirt caught
on a nail and jerked me back just as I was
coming in."
Poirot knelt down and examined the
nail. On it was a thread of purple tweed.
He looked up and nodded gravely.
"That nail, mademoiselle," he said,
"saved your life."
The superintendent said, bewildered:
"Look here, what's the meaning of all
this?"
335
Pilar said:
"Someone tried to kill me!"
She nodded her head several times.
Superintendent Sugden glanced up at
the door.
"Booby trap," he said. "An oldfashioned
booby trap—and its purpose
was murder! That's the second murder
planned in this house. But this time it
didn't come off!"
Stephen Farr said huskily:
"Thank God you're safe."
Pilar flung out her hands in a wide,
appealing gesture.
"Madre de Di'os," she cried. "Why
should anyone wish to kill me? What have
I done?"
Hercule Poirot said slowly:
"You should rather ask, mademoiselle,
what do I know?"
She stared.
"Know? I do not know anything."
Hercule Poirot said:
"That is where you are wrong. Tell me,
Mademoiselle Pilar, where were you at the
time of the murder? You were not in this
room."
"I was. I have told you so!"
336
Superintendent Sugden said with deceptive
mildness:
"Yes, but you weren't speaking the
truth when you said that, you know. You
told us you heard your grandfather scream
--you couldn't have heard that if you were
in here--Mr. Poirot and I tested that
yesterday."
"Oh!" Pilar caught her breath.
Poirot said:
"You were somewhere very much nearer
his room. I will tell you where I think you
were, mademoiselle. You were in the
recess with the statues quite close to your
grandfather's door."
Pilar said, startled:
"Oh. . . . How did you know?"
Poirot said with a faint smile:
"Mr. Farr saw you there."
Stephen said sharply:
"I did not. That's an absolute lie!"
Poirot said:
"I ask your pardon, Mr. Farr, but you did see her. Remember your impression
that there were three statues in that recess, not two. Only one person wore a white
dress that night. Mademoiselle Estravados.
337
She was the third white figure you saw.
That is so, is it not, mademoiselle?"
Pilar said, after a moment's hesitation:
"Yes, it is true."
Poirot said gently: "Now tell us, mademoiselle, the whole truth. Why were
you there?"
Pilar said:
"I left the drawing-room after dinner
and I thought I would go and see my
grandfather. I thought he would be
pleased. But when I turned into the
passage I saw someone else was there at
his door. I did not want to be seen because
I knew my grandfather had said he did not
want to see anyone that night. I slipped
into the recess in case the person at the
door turned round."
"Then, all at once, I heard the most
horrible sounds, tables--chairs"--she
waved her hands--"everything falling and
crashing. I did not move. I do not know
why. I was frightened. And then there was
a terrible scream"--she crossed herself--
"and my heart it stopped beating, and I
said, 'Someone is dead. . . .'"
"And then?"
"And then people began coming run338
ning along the passage and I came out at
the end and joined them."
Superintendent Sugden said sharply:
"You said nothing of all this when we
first questioned you. Why not?"
Pilar shook her head. She said, with an
air of wisdom:
"It is not good to tell too much to the
police. I thought, you see, that if I said I
was near there you might think that I had
killed him. So I said I was in my room."
Sugden said sharply:
"If you tell deliberate lies all that it ends
in is that you're bound to come under
suspicion."
Stephen Farr said: "Pilar?"
"Yes?"
"Who did you see standing at the door
when you turned into the passage? Tell
us."
Sugden said: "Yes, tell us."
For a moment the girl hesitated. Her
eyes opened, then narrowed. She said
slowly:
"I don't know who it was. It was too
dimly lit to see. But it was a woman. ..."
Superintendent Sugden looked round at
s 339
the circle effaces. He said, with something
as near irritation as he had yet shown:
"This is very irregular, Mr. Poirot."
Poirot said:
"It is a little idea of mine. I wish to
share with everyone the knowledge that I
have acquired. I shall then invite their
co-operation, and so we shall get at the
truth."
Sugden murmured under his breath:
"Monkey tricks."
He leaned back in his chair. Poirot said:
"To begin with, you have, I think, an
explanation to ask of Mr. Farr."
Sugden's mouth tightened.
"I should have chosen a less public
moment," he said. "However, I've no
objection." He handed the cable to
Stephen Farr. "Now, Mr. Farr, as you call
yourself, perhaps you can explain (aj's?"
Stephen Farr took it. Raising his
eyebrows, he read it slowly out loud.
Then, with a bow, he handed it back to
the superintendent.
"Yes," he said. "It's pretty damning,
isn't it?"
Sugden said:
"Is that all you've got to say about it?
340
You quite understand there is no obligation
on you to make a statement--"
Stephen Farr interrupted. He said:
"You needn't caution me, Superintendent.
I can see it trembling on your
tongue! Yes, I'll give you an explanation.
It's not a very good one, but it's the
truth."
He paused. Then he began:
"I'm not Ebenezer Farr's son. But I
knew both father and son quite well. Now
try and put yourself in my place. (My
name is Stephen Grant, by the way.) I
arrived in this country for the first time in
my life. I was disappointed. Everything
and everybody seemed drab and lifeless.
Then I was travelling by train and I saw a
girl. I've got to say it straight out: I fell for
that girl! She was the loveliest and most
unlikely creature in the world! I talked to
her for a while in the train and I made up
my mind then and there not to lose sight
of her. As I was leaving the compartment
I caught sight of the label on her suitcase.
Her name meant nothing to me, but the
address to which she was travelling did.
I'd heard of Gorston Hall, and I knew all
about its owner. He was Ebenezer Farr's
341
one-time partner and old Eb often talked
about him and said what a personality he
was.
"Well, the idea came to me to go to
Gorston Hall and pretend I was Eb's son.
He had died, as this cable says, two years
ago, but I remembered old Eb saying that
he had not heard from Simeon Lee now
for many years, and I judged that Lee
would not know of the death of Eb's son.
Anyway, I felt it was worth trying."
Sugden said: "You didn't try it on at
once, though. You stayed in the King's
Arms at Addlesfield for two days."
Stephen said:
"I was thinking it over--whether to try
it or not. At last I made up my mind I
would. It appealed to me as a bit of an
adventure. Well, it worked like a charm!
The old man greeted me in the friendliest
manner and at once asked me to come and
stay in the house. I accepted. There you
are. Superintendent, there's my explanation.
If you don't fancy it, cast your
mind back to your courting days and see
if you don't remember some bit of foolishness
you indulged in then. As for my real
name, as I say, it's Stephen Grant. You
342
can cable to South Africa and check up on
me, but I'll tell you this: you'll find I'm a
perfectly respectable citizen. I'm not a
crook or a jewel thief."
Poirot said softly: "I never believed you
were."
Superintendent Sugden stroked his jaw
cautiously. He said:
"I'll have to check up on that story.
What I'd like to know is this: Why didn't
you come clean after the murder instead
of telling us a pack of lies?"
Stephen said disarmingly:
"Because I was a fool! I thought I could
get away with it! I thought it would look
fishy if I admitted to being here under a
false name. If I hadn't been a complete
idiot I would have realised you were bound
to cable to Jo'burg."
Sugden said:
"Well, Mr. Farr—er— Grant—I'm not
saying I disbelieve your story. It will be
proved or disproved soon enough."
He looked across inquiringly at Poirot.
The latter said:
"I think Miss Estravados has something
to say."
HPC23
343

Pilar had gone very white. She said, in
a breathless voice:
"It is true. I would never have told you, but for Lydia and the money. To come here
and pretend and cheat and act--that was
fun, but when Lydia said the money
was mine and that it was only justice, that
was different, it was not fun any longer."
Alfred Lee said with a puzzled face:
"I do not understand, my dear, what
you are talking about."
Pilar said:
"You think I am your niece, Pilar Estravados?
But that is not so! Pilar was killed
when I was travelling with her in a car in
Spain. A bomb came and it hit the car and
she was killed, but I was not touched. I
did not know her very well, but she had
told me all about herself and how her
grandfather had sent for her to go to
England and that he was very rich. And I
had no money at all and I did not know
where to go or what to do. And I thought
suddenly: 'Why should not I take Pilar's
passport and go to England and become
very rich?'" Her face lit up with its
sudden wide smile. "Oh, it was fun
wondering if I could get away with it! Our
344
faces on the photograph were not unlike.
But when they wanted my passport here I
opened the window and threw it out and
ran down to get it, and then I rubbed some
earth just over the face a little because at
a barrier travelling they do not look very
closely, but here they might--"
Alfred Lee said angrily:
"Do you mean to say that you
represented yourself to my father as his
granddaughter, and played on his affection
for you?"
Filar nodded. She said complacently:
"Yes, I saw at once I could make him
like me very much."
George Lee broke out:
"Preposterous!" he spluttered. "Criminal!
Attempting to get money by false
pretences."
Harry Lee said:
"She didn't get any from you, old boy!
Pilar, I'm on your side! I've got a
profound admiration for your daring. And, thank goodness, I'm not your uncle any
more! That gives me a much freer hand."
Pilar said to Poirot: "You knew? When
did you know?"
Poirot smiled:
345
"Mademoiselle, if you have studied the
laws of Mendel you would know that two
blue-eyed people are not likely to have a
brown-eyed child. Your mother was, I was
sure, a most chaste and respectable lady.
It followed, then, that you were not Pilar
Estravados at all. When you did your trick
with the passport, I was quite sure of it.
It was ingenious, but not, you understand,
quite ingenious enough."
Superintendent Sugden said unpleasantly:

"The whole thing's not quite ingenious
enough."
Pilar stared at him. She said:
"I don't understand. ..."
Sugden said: "You've told us a story--
but I think there's a good deal more you
haven't told."
Stephen said: "You leave her alone!"
Superintendent Sugden took no notice.
He went on:
"You've told us that you went up to
your grandfather's room after dinner. You
said it was an impulse on your part. I'm
going to suggest something else. It was you
who stole those diamonds. You'd handled
them. On occasion, perhaps, you'd put
346
them away in the safe and the old man
hadn't watched you do it! When he found
the stones were missing, he saw at once
that only two people could have taken
them. One was Horbury, who might have
got to know the combination and have
crept in and stolen them during the night.
The other person was you.
"Well, Mr. Lee at once took measures.
He rang me up and had me come to see
him. Then he sent word to you to come
and see him immediately after dinner. You
did so and he accused you of the theft.
You denied it; he pressed the charge. I
don't know what happened next--perhaps
he tumbled to the fact that you weren't
his granddaughter, but a very clever little
professional thief. Anyway, the game was
up, exposure loomed over you, and you
slashed at him with a knife. There was a
struggle and he screamed. You were properly
up against it then. You hurried out of
the room, turned the key from the outside
and then, knowing you could not get away, before the others came, you slipped into
the recess by the statues."
Pilar cried shrilly:
"It is not true! It is not true! I did not
347
steal the diamonds! I did not kill him. I
swear it by the Blessed Virgin."
Sugden said sharply:
"Then who did? You say you saw a
figure standing outside Mr. Lee's door.
According to your story, that person must
have been the murderer. No one else
passed the recess! But we've only your
word for it that there was a figure there at
all. In other words, you made that up to
exculpate yourself!"
George Lee said sharply:
"Of course she's guilty! It's all clear
enough! I always said an outsider killed
my father! Preposterous nonsense to
pretend one of his family would do a thing
like that! It—it wouldn't be natural!"
Poirot stirred in his seat. He said:
"I disagree with you. Taking into
consideration the character of Simeon Lee,
it would be a very natural thing to
happen."
"Eh?" George's jaw dropped. He stared
at Poirot.
Poirot went on:
"And, in my opinion, that very thing
did happen. Simeon Lee was killed by his
own flesh and blood, for what seemed to
348
the murderer a very good and sufficient
reason."
George cried: "One of us? I deny—"
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 was 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
349
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
350
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
351
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.
352
"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. ..."
Alfred sprang to his feet.
"You devil!" he said. His voice was
inarticulate.
Sugden was staring at Poirot. He said:
"Do you really mean--?"
Poirot said, with a sudden ring of authority
in his voice:
353
<<I have had to show you the possibilities[ These are the things that might have
happened! Which of them actually did happen we can only tell by passing from
the outside appearance to the inside
reality. ..."
He paused and then said slowly:
"We must come back, as I said before, to the character of Simeon Lee himself.
..."
There was a momentary pause. Strangely
enough, all indignation and all rancour had
died down. Hercule Poirot held his audience
under the spell of his personality.
They watched him, fascinated, as he began
slowly to speak.
"It is all there, you see. The dead man
is the focus and centre of the mystery! We
must probe deep into the heart and mind
of Simeon Lee and see what we find there.
For a man does not live and die to himself
alone. That which he has, he hands on--
to those who come after him. . . .
"What had Simeon Lee to bequeath to
his sons and daughter? Pride, to begin
with--a pride which, in the old man, was
frustrated in his disappointment over his
354
children. Then there was the quality of
patience. We have been told that Simeon
Lee waited patiently for years in order to
revenge himself upon someone who had
done him an injury. We see that that
aspect of his temperament was inherited
by the son who resembled him least in
face. David Lee also could remember and
continue to harbour resentment through
long years. In face. Harry Lee was the
only one of his children who closely
resembled him. That resemblance is quite
striking when we examine the portrait of
Simeon Lee as a young man. There is the
same high-bridged aquiline nose, the long
sharp line of the jaw, the backward poise
of the head. I think, too, that Harry
inherited many of his father's mannerisms
—that habit, for instance, of throwing
back his head and laughing, and another
habit of drawing his finger along the line
of his jaw.
"Bearing all these things in mind, and
being convinced that the murder was
committed by a person closely connected
with the dead man, I studied the family
from the psychological standpoint. That is,
I tried to decide which of them were
355
psychologically possible criminals. And, in
my judgment, only two persons qualified
in that respect. They were Alfred Lee and
Hilda Lee, David's wife. David himself I
rejected as a possible murderer. I do not
think a person of his delicate susceptibilities
could have faced the actual bloodshed
of a cut throat. George Lee and his wife I
likewise rejected. Whatever their desires, I
did not think they had the temperament
to take a risk. They were both essentially
cautious. Mrs. Alfred Lee I felt sure was
quite incapable of an act of violence. She
has too much irony in her nature. About
Harry Lee I hesitated. He had a certain
coarse truculence of aspect, but I was
nearly sure that Harry Lee, in spite of his
bluff and his bluster, was essentially a
weakling. That, I now know, was also his
father's opinion. Harry, he said, was worth
no more than the rest. That left me with
two people I have already mentioned.
Alfred Lee was a person capable of a great
deal of selfless devotion. He was a man
who had controlled and subordinated
himself to the will of another for many
years. It was always possible under these
conditions for something to snap. More356

over, he might quite possibly have
harboured a secret grudge against his
father which might gradually have grown
in force through never bein^ expressed in
any way. It is the quietest and meekest
people who are often capable of the most
sudden and unexpected violence for the
reason that when their control does snap, it does so entirely! The other person I
considered was capable of the crime was
Hilda Lee. She is the kind of individual
who is capable, on occasions, of taking the
law into her own hands--though never
through selfish motives. Such people judge
and also execute. Many Old Testament
characters are of this type. Jael and Judith, for example.
"And now having got so far I examined
the circumstances of the crime itself. And
the first thing that arises--that strikes one
in the face, as it were--is the extraordinary
conditions under which that crime
took place! Take your minds back to that
room where Simeon Lee lay dead. If you
remember, there was both a heavy table
and a heavy chair overturned, a lamp, crockery, glasses, etc. But the chair and
the table were especially surprising. They
357
were of solid mahogany. It was hard to see
how any struggle between that frail old
man and his opponent could result in so
much solid furniture being overturned and
knocked down. The whole thing seemed unreal. And yet surely no one in their
senses would stage such an effect if it had
not really occurred--unless possibly
Simeon Lee had been killed by a powerful
man and the idea was to suggest that the
assailant was a woman or somebody of
weak physique.
"But such an idea was unconvincing in
the extreme, since the noise of the furniture
would give the alarm and the
murderer would thereby have very little
time to make his exit. It would surely be
to anyone's advantage to cut Simeon Lee's
throat as quietly as possible.
"Another extraordinary point was the
turning of the key in the lock from the
outside. Again, there seemed no reason for
such a proceeding. It could not suggest
suicide, since nothing in the death itself
accorded with suicide. It was not to
suggest escape through the windows--for
those windows were so arranged that
escape that way was impossible! Moreover,
358
once again, it involved time. Time which must be precious to the murderer!
"There was one other incomprehensible
thing--a piece of rubber cut from Simeon
Lee's spongebag and a small wooden peg
shown to me by Superintendent Sugden.
These had been picked up from the floor
by one of the persons who first entered
that room. There again--these things did
not make sense! They meant exactly
nothing at all! Yet they had been there.
"The crime, you perceive, is becoming
increasingly incomprehensible. It has no
order, no method--enfin, it is not reasonable.
"And now we come to a further
difficulty. Superintendent Sugden was sent
for by the dead man; a robbery was
reported to him, and he was asked to
return an hour and a half later. Why? If it is because Simeon Lee suspected his
granddaughter or some other member of
the family, why does he not ask Superintendent
Sugden to wait downstairs while
he has his interview straightaway with the
suspected party? With the superintendent
actually in the house, his lever over the
HPC24 359
guilty person would have been much
stronger.
"So now we arrive at the point where
not only the behaviour of the murderer is
extraordinary, but the behaviour of
Simeon Lee also is extraordinary!
"And I say to myself: 'This thing is all
wrong!' Why? Because we are looking at
it from the wrong angle. We are looking
at it from the angle that the murderer
wants us to look at it. . . .
"We have three things that do not make
sense: the struggle, the turned key, and
the snip of rubber. But there must be
some way of looking at those three things
which would make sense! And I empty my
mind blank and forget the circumstances
of the crime and take these things on their
own merits. I say—a struggle. What does
that suggest? Violence—breakage—
noise. . . . The key? Why does one turn a
key? So that no one shall enter? But the
key did not prevent that, since the door
was broken down almost immediately. To
keep someone in? To keep someone our?
A snip of rubber? I say to myself: 'A little
piece of a spongebag is a little piece of a
spongebag, and that is all!5
360
"So you would say there is nothing
there--and yet that is not strictly true, for
three impressions remain: noise--seclusion--blankness.
. . .
"Do they fit with either of my two possibles?
No, they do not. To both Alfred
Lee and Hilda Lee a quiet murder would
have been infinitely preferable, to have
wasted time in locking the door from the
outside is absurd, and the little piece of
spongebag means yet once more--nothing
at all!
"And yet I have very strongly the
feeling that there is nothing absurd about
this crime--that it is on the contrary, very
well planned and admirably executed.
That it has, in fact, succeeded^. Therefore
that everything that has happened was meant. . . .
"And then, going over it again, I got my
first glimmer of light. . . .
"Blood--so much blood--blood
everywhere. ... An insistence on blood--
fresh, wet, gleaming blood. ... So much
blood--too much blood. . . .
"And a second thought comes with that.
This is a crime of blood--it is in the
361
blood. It is Simeon Lee's own blood that
rises up against him. ..."
Hercule Poirot leaned forward.
"The two most valuable clues in this
case were uttered quite unconsciously by
two different people. The first was when
Mrs. Alfred Lee quoted a line from
Macbeth: 'Who would have thought the
old man to have had so much blood in
him?9 The other was a phrase uttered by
Tressilian, the butler. He described how
he felt dazed and things seemed to be
happening that had happened before. It
was a very simple occurrence that gave
him that strange feeling. He heard a ring
at the bell and went to open the door to
Harry Lee, and the next day he did the
same thing to Stephen Farr.
"Now why did he have that feeling?
Look at Harry Lee and Stephen Farr and
you will see why. They are astoundingly
alike! That was why opening the door to
Stephen Farr was just like opening the
door to Harry Lee. It might almost have
been the same man standing there. And
then, only to-day, Tressilian mentioned
that he was always getting muddled
between people. No wonder! Stephen Farr
362
has a high-bridged nose, a habit of
throwing his head back when he laughs, and a trick of stroking his jaw with his
forefinger. Look long and earnestly at the
portrait of Simeon Lee as a young man and
you see not only Harry Lee, but Stephen
Farr. ..."
Stephen moved. His chair creaked.
Poirot said:
"Remember that outburst of Simeon
Lee, his tirade against his family. He said,
you remember it, that he would swear he
had better sons born the wrong side of the
blanket. We are back again at the
character of Simeon Lee. Simeon Lee, who was successful with women and who
broke his wife's heart! Simeon Lee, who
boasted to Pilar that he might have a bodyguard
of sons almost the same age! So I
came to this conclusion: Simeon Lee had
not only his legitimate family in the house, but an unacknowledged and unrecognised
son of his own bloody
Stephen got to his feet, Poirot said:
"That was your real reason, wasn't it?
Not that pretty romance of the girl you
met in the train! You were coming here
363
before you met her. Coming to see what
kind of a man your father was. ..."
Stephen had gone dead white. He said,
and his voice was broken and husky:
"Yes, I've always wondered. . . .
Mother spoke about him sometimes. It
grew into a kind of obsession with me—
to see what he was like! I made a bit of
money and I came to England. I wasn't
going to let him know who I was. I
pretended to be old Eb's son. I came here
for one reason only—to see the man who
was my father. ..."
Superintendent Sugden said in almost a
whisper:
"Lord, I've been blind. ... I can see it
now. Twice I've taken you for Mr. Harry
Lee and then seen my mistake, and yet I
never guessed!"
He turned on Pilar.
"That was it, wasn't it? It was Stephen
Farr you saw standing outside that door?
You hesitated, I remember, and looked at
him before you said it was a woman. It
was Farr you saw, and you weren't going
to give him away.f)
There was a gentle rustle. Hilda Lee's
deep voice spoke:
364
"No," she said. "You're wrong. It was
I whom Pilar saw. ..."
Poirot said:
"You, madame? Yes, I thought
so. . . ."
Hilda said quietly:
"Self-preservation is a curious thing. I
wouldn't believe I could be such a coward.
To keep silence just because I was afraid!"
Poirot said:
"You will tell us now?"
She nodded.
"I was with David in the music-room.
He was playing. He was in a very queer
mood. I was a little frightened and I felt
my responsibility very keenly because it
was I who had insisted on coining here.
David began to play the 'Dead March /
and suddenly I made up my mind.
However odd it might seem, I determined
that we would both leave at once—that
night. I went quietly out of the musicroom
and upstairs. I meant to go to old
Mr. Lee and tell him quite plainly why we
were going. I went along the corridor to
his room and knocked on the door. There
^s no answer. I knocked again a little
louder. There was still no answer. Then I
365
tried the door handle. The door was
locked. And then, as I stood hesitating, J
heard a sound inside the room—"
She stopped.
"You won't believe me, but it's true!
Someone was in there—assaulting Mr.
Lee. I heard tables and chairs overturned
and the crash of glass and china, and then
I heard that one last horrible cry that died
away to nothing—and then silence.
"I stood there paralysed! I couldn't
move! And then Mr. Farr came running
along and Magdalene and all the others
and Mr. Farr and Harry began to batter
on the door. It went down and we saw the
room, and there was no one in it—except
Mr. Lee lying dead in all that blood."
Her quiet voice rose higher. She cried:
"There was no one else there—no one,
you understand! And no one had come out
of the room. ..."
Superintendent Sugden drew a deep
breath. He said:
"Either I'm going mad or everybody
else is! What you've said, Mrs. Lee, is just
plumb impossible. It's crazy!"
Hilda Lee cried:
366
"I tell you I heard them fighting in
there, and I heard the old man scream
when his throat was cut—and no one came
out and no one was in the room!"
Hercule Poirot said:
"And all this time you have said
nothing."
Hilda Lee's face was white, but she said
steadily:
"No, because if I told you what had
happened, there's only one thing you
could say or think—that it was I who
killed him. ..."
Poirot shook his head.
"No," he said. "You did not kill him.
His son killed him."
Stephen Farr said:
"I swear before God I never touched
him!"
"Not you," said Poirot. "He had other
sons!"
Harry said:
"What the hell—?"
George stared. David drew his hand
across his eyes, Alfred blinked twice.
Poirot said:
"The very first night I was here—the
night of the murder—I saw a ghost. It was
367
the ghost of the dead man. When I first
saw Harry Lee I was puzzled. I felt I had
seen him before. Then I noted his features
carefully and I realised how like his father
he was, and I told myself that that was
what caused the feeling of familiarity.
"But yesterday a man sitting opposite
me threw back his head and laughed—and
I knew who it was Harry Lee reminded
me of. And I traced again, in another face,
the features of the dead man.
"No wonder poor old Tressilian felt
confused when he had answered the door
not to two, but to three men who
resembled each other closely. No wonder
he confessed to getting muddled about
people when there were three men in the
house who, at a little distance, could pass
for each other! The same build, the same
gestures (one in particular, a trick of
stroking the jaw), the same habit of
laughing with the head thrown back, the
same distinctive high-bridged nose. Yet
the similarity was not always easy to see—
for the third man had a moustache."
He leaned forward.
"One forgets sometimes that police
officers are men, that they have wives and
368
children, mothers"—he paused—and
fathers . . . Remember Simeon Lee's local
reputation: a man who broke his wife's
heart because of his affairs with women. A
son born the wrong side of the blanket
may inherit many things. He may inherit
his father's features and even his gestures.
He may inherit his pride and his patience
and his revengeful spirit!"
His voice rose.
"AH your life, Sugden, you've resented
the wrong your father did you. I think you
determined long ago to kill him. You come
from the next county, not very far away.
Doubtless your mother, with the money
Simeon Lee so generously gave her, was
able to find a husband who would stand
father to her child. Easy for you to enter
the Middleshire Police Force and wait
your opportunity. A police superintendent
has a grand opportunity of committing a
murder and getting away with it."
Sugden's face had gone white as paper.
He said:
"You're mad! I was outside the house
when he was killed."
Poirot shook his head.
"No, you killed him before you left the
369
house the first time. No one saw him alive
after you left. It was all so easy for you.
Simeon Lee expected you, yes, but he
never sent for you. It was you who rang
him up and spoke vaguely about an
attempt at robbery. You said you would
call upon him just before eight that night
and would pretend to be collecting for a
police charity. Simeon Lee had no
suspicions. He did not know you were his
son. You came and told him a tale of
substituted diamonds. He opened the safe
to show you that the real diamonds were
safe in his possession. You apologised,
came back to the hearth with him and,
catching him unawares, you cut his throat,
holding your hand over his mouth so that
he shouldn't cry out. Child's play to a man
of your powerful physique.
"Then you set the scene. You took the
diamonds. You piled up tables and chairs,
lamps and glasses, and twined a very thin
rope or cord which you had brought in
coiled round your body, in and out
between them. You had with you a bottle
of some freshly killed animal's blood to
which you had added a quantity of sodium
citrate. You sprinkled this about freely and
370
added more sodium citrate to the pool of
blood which flowed from Simeon Lee's
wound. You made up the fire so that the
body should keep its warmth. Then you
passed the two ends of the cord out
through the narrow slit at the bottom of
the window and let them hang down the
wall. You left the room and turned the key
from the outside. That was vital, since no
one must, by any chance, enter that room.
"Then you went out and hid the
diamonds in the stone sink garden. If,
sooner or later, they were discovered
there, they would only focus suspicion
more strongly where you wanted it: on the
members of Simeon Lee's legitimate
family. A little before nine-fifteen you
returned and, going up to the wall underneath
the window, you pulled on the cord.
That dislodged the carefully-piled-up
structure you had arranged. Furniture and
china fell with a crash. You pulled on one
end of the cord and re-wound it round
your body under your coat and waistcoat.
"You had one further device!"
He turned to the others.
"Do you remember, all of you, how
each of you described the dying scream of
371
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
372
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 sponge-bag and
produced that, together with a wooden
peg. Superficially it answered to the same
description--a fragment of rubber a piece
of wood. It meant, as I realised 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.
373
"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. ..."
374
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!"
HPC25	375
Part Seven
December 28th
7
E3IA 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
379
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."
Lydia caught her breath. She said:
"No, it was not a nice Christmas. ..."
Harry said:
"Well, good-bye, Alfred. Don't suppose
you'll be troubled by seeing much of me.
I'm off to Hawaii. Always meant to live
there if I had a bit of money."
Alfred said:
"Good-bye, Harry. I expect you'll enjoy
yourself. I hope so."
Harry said rather awkwardly:
"Sorry I riled you so much, old man.
Rotten sense of humour I've got. Can't
help trying to pull a fellow's leg."
Alfred said with an effort:
"Suppose I must learn to take a joke."
Harry said with relief:
380
"Well--so-long."
Alfred said:
"David, Lydia and I have decided to sell
up this place. I thought perhaps you'd like
some of the things that were our mother's
--her chair and that footstool. You were
always her favourite."
David hesitated a minute. Then he said
slowly:
"Thanks for the thought, Alfred, but do
you know, I don't think I will. I don't
want anything out of the house. I feel it's
better to break with the past altogether."
Alfred said:
"Yes, I understand. Maybe you're
right."
George said:
"Well, good-bye, Alfred. Goodbye,
Lydia. What a terrible time we have been
through. There's the trial coming on, too.
I suppose the whole disgraceful story is
bound to come out-- Sugden being--er--
my father's son. One couldn't arrange for
it to be put to him, I suppose, that it
would be better if he pleaded advanced
381
Communist views and dislike of my father
as a Capitalist—something of that kind?"
Lydia said:
"My dear George, do you really imagine
that a man like Sugden would tell lies to
soothe our feelings?"
George said:
"Er—perhaps not. No, I see your point.
All the same, the man must be mad. Well,
good-bye again."
Magdalene said:
"Good-bye. Next year do let's all go to
the Riviera or somewhere for Christmas
and be really gay."
George said:
"Depends on the Exchange."
Magdalene said:
"Darling, don't be mean"
Alfred came out on the terrace. Lydia
was bending over a stone sink. She
straightened up when she saw him.
He said with a sigh:
"Well—they've all gone."
Lydia said:
"Yes—what a blessing."
"It is, rather."
Alfred said:
382
"You'll be glad to leave here."
She asked:
"Will you mind very much?"
"No, I shall be glad. There are so many
interesting things we can do together. To
live on here would be to be constantly
reminded of that nightmare. Thank God
it's all over!"
Lydia said:
"Thanks to Hercule Poirot."
"Yes. You know, it was really amazing
the way everything fell into place when he
explained it."
"I know. Like when you finish a jigsaw
puzzle and all the queer-shaped bits you
swear won't fit in anywhere find their
places quite naturally."
Alfred said:
"There's one little thing that never fitted
in. What was George doing after he telephoned.
Why wouldn't he say?"
"Don't you know? I knew all the time.
He was having a look through your papers
on your desk."
"Oh! No, Lydia, no one would do a
thing like that!"
"George would. He's frightfully curious
about money matters. But of course he
383
couldn't say so. He'd have had to be actually
in the dock before he'd have owned
up to that."
Alfred said:
"Are you making another garden?"
"Yes."
"What is it this time?"
"I think," said Lydia, "it's an attempt
at the Garden of Eden. A new version--
without any serpent--and Adam and Eve
are definitely middle-aged."
Alfred said gently:
"Dear Lydia, how patient you have
been all these years. You have been very
good to me."
Lydia said:
"But, you see, Alfred, I love you. ..."
Colonel Johnson said:
"God bless my soul!" Then he said:
"Upon my word!" And finally, once
more: "God bless my soul!"
He leaned back in his chair and stared
at Poirot. He said plaintively:
"My best man! What's the police
coming to?"
Poirot said:
384
"Even policemen have private lives!
Sugden was a very proud man."
Colonel Johnson shook his head.
To relieve his feelings he kicked at the
logs in the grate. He said jerkily:
"I always say—nothing like a wood
fire."
Hercule Poirot, conscious of the
draughts round his neck, thought to
himself:
"Pour moi, every time the central
heating. ..."
THE END