Poirot's Early Cases - Christie Agatha (книги txt) 📗

'You see,' continued Poirot dreamily, 'if a man wants to get at some poison quickly to put in a glass, unobserved, he positively must keep it in his right-hand coat pocket; there is nowhere else.

I knew it would be there.' He dropped his hand into his pocket and brought out a few white, lumpy crystals. 'Exceedingly dangerous,' he murmured, 'to carry it like that - loose.' Calmly and without hurrying himself, he took from another pocket a wide-mouthed bottle. He slipped in the crystals, stepped to the table and filled up the bottle with plain water. Then carefully corking it, he shook it until all the crystals were dissolved.

Harrison watched him as though fascinated.

Satisfied with his solution, Poirot stepped across to the nest.

He uncorked the bottle, turned his head aside, and poured the solution into the wasps' nest, then stood back a pace or two watching.

Some wasps that were returning alighted, quivered a little and then lay still. Other wasps crawled out of the hole only to die.

Poirot watched for a minute or two and then nodded his head and came back to the veranda.

'A quick death,' he said. 'A very quick death.' Harrison found his voice. 'How much do you know?' Poirot looked straight ahead. 'As I told you, I saw Claude Langton's name in the book. What I did not tell you was that almost immediately afterwards, I happened to meet him. He told me he had been buying cyanide of potassium at your request - to take a wasps' nest. That struck me as a little odd, my friend, because I remember that at that dinner of which you spoke, you held forth on the superior merits of petrol and denounced the buying of cyanide as dangerous and unnecessary.' 'Go on.' 'I knew something else. I had seen Claude Langton and Molly Deane together when they thought no one saw them. I do not know what lovers' quarrel it was that originally parted them and drove her into your arms, but I realized that misunderstandings were over and that Miss Deane was drifting back to her love.' Go on.' 'I knew something more, my fricnd. I was in Harley Street the

other day, and I saw you come out of a certain doctor's house. I know that doctor and for what disease one consults him, and I read the expression on your face. I have seen it only once or twice in my lifetime, but it is not easily mistaken. It was the face of a man under sentence of death. I am right, am I not?' 'Quite right. He gave me two months.' 'You did not see me, my friend, for you had other things to think about. I saw something else on your face - the thing that I told you this afternoon men try to conceal. I saw hate there, my friend. You did not trouble to conceal it, because you thought there were none to observe.' 'Go on,' said Harrison.

'There is not much more to say. I came down here, saw Lang-ton's name by accident in the poison book as I tell you, met him, and came here to you. I laid traps for you. You denied having asked Langton to get cyanide, or rather you expressed surprise at his having done so. You were taken aback at first at my appearance, but presently you saw how well it would fit in and you encouraged my suspicions. I knew from Langton himself that he was coming at half past eight. You told me nine o'clock, thinking I should come and find everything over. And so I knew everything.' 'Why did you come?' cried Harrison. 'If only you hadn't comel' Poirot drew himself up. 'I told you,' he said, 'murder is my business.' 'Murder? Suicide, you mean.' 'No.' Poirot's voice rang out sharply and clearly. 'I mean murder.

Your death was to be quick and easy, but the death you planned for Langton was the worst death any man can die. He bought the poison; he comes to see you, and he is alone with you. You die suddenly, and the cyznide is found in your glass, and Claude Langton hangs. That was your plan.' Again Harrison moaned.

'Why did you come? Why did you come?' 'I have told you, but there is another reason. I liked you.

Listen, rnon ami, you are a dying man; you have lost the girl you loved, but there is one thing that you are not: you are not a murderer. Tell me now: are you glad or sorry that I came?'

There was a moment's pause and Harrison drew himself up.

There was a new dignity in his face - the look of a man who has conquered his own baser self. He stretched out his hand across the table.

'Thank goodness you came,' he cried. 'Oh, thank goodness you came.'

Chapter XVI. The Veiled Lady

I had noticed that for some time Poirot had been growing in-creasingly dissatisfied and restless. We had had no interesting cases of late, nothing on which my little friend could exercise his keen wits and remarkable powers of deduction. This morning he flung down the newspaper with an impatient 'Tchah!' - a favourite exclamation of his which sounded exactly like a cat sneezing.

'They fear me, Hastings; the criminals of your England they fear mci When the cat is there, the little mice, they come no more to the cheesel'

'I don't suppose the greater part of them even know of your existence,' I said, laughing.

Poirot looked at me reproachfully. He always imagines that the whole world is thinking and talking of Hercule Poirot. tie had certainly made a name for himself in London, but I could hardly believe that his existence struck terror into the criminal world.

'What about that daylight robbery of jewels in Bond Street the other day?' I asked.

'A neat coup,' said Poirot approvingly, 'though not in my line.

Pas de finesse, seuelment de l'audace! A man with a loaded cane smashes the plate-glass window of a jeweller's shop and grabs a number of precious stones. Worthy citizens immediately seize him; a policeman arrives. He is caught red-handed with the jewels on him. He is marched off to the police, and then it is discovered that the stones are paste. He has passed the real ones to a confederate - one of the aforementioned worthy citizens. He will go to prison - true; but when he comes out, there will be a nice little fortune awaiting him. Yes, not badly imagined. But I could do better than that. Sometimes, Hastings, I regret that I am of such a moral disposition. To work against the law, it would be pleasing, for a change.'

'Cheer up, Poirot; you know you are unique in your own line.' 'But what is there on hand in my own line?' I picked up the paper.

'Here's an Englishman mysteriously done to death in Holland,' I said.

'They always say that - and later they find that he ate the tinned fish and that his death is perfectly natural.' 'Well, if you're determined to grouse?

'Tiens!' said Poirot, who had strolled across to the window.

'Here in the street is what they call in novels a "heavily veiled lady". She mounts the steps; she rings the bell - she comes to consult us. Here is a possibility of something interesting. When one is as young and pretty as that one, one does not veil the face except for a big affair.' A minute later our visitor was ushered in. As Poirot had said, she was indeed heavily veiled. It was impossible to distinguish her features until she raised her veil of black Spanish lace. Then I saw that Poirot's intuition had been right; the lady was extremely pretty, with fair hair and large blue eyes. From the costly simplicity of her attire, I deduced at once that she belonged to the upper strata of society.

'Monsieur Poirot,' said the lady in a soft, musical voice, 'I am in great trouble. I can hardly believe that you can help me, but I have heard such wonderful things of you that I come literally as a last hope to beg you to do the impossible.' 'The impossible, it pleases me always,' said Poirot. 'Continue, I beg of you, mademoiselle.' Our fair guest hesitated.

'But you must be frank,' added Poirot. 'You must not leave me in the dark on any point.' 'I will trust you,' said the girl suddenly. 'You have heard of Lady Millicent Castle Vaughan?' I looked up with keen interest. The announcement of Lady Millicent's engagement to the young Duke of Southshire had appeared a few days previously. She was, I knew, the fifth daughter of an impecunious Irish peer, and the Duke of Southshire was one of the best matches in England.