lfred 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 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.'

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 stuff's 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 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:

'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.

'Sen˜ora 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.'

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 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?'

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 thing at a time. Alfred shall speak first because he is 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 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, recognized 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 any injustice that your father himself was preparing to remedy.'

Alfred said warmly:

'Well put, Lydia! I was wrong. I agree 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 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 and 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.'

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:

'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 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:

'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 no—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 drawing-room 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:

'Oh, this must be M Poirot's 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:

'I don't understand. It's—it's mad. Why does M. Poirot buy a false moustache?'

II

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?'

'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 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 store-room.'

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 snowmen 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 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.

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.'

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.

III

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:

'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 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:

'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?'

'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 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 Poirot's 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...'

IV

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...'

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 justice!'

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.'

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 señorita 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, 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?'

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 old-fashioned 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 Dios,' 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!'

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. 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 running 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...'

V

Superintendent Sugden looked round at the circle of faces. 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 this?'

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? 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 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 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 realized 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.'

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 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?'

Pilar 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:

'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 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 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 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 and failed, 'many stupid men have been criminals!'

He turned his eyes on Magdalene.

'Madame, too, she also had a motive. She is, I think, in debt, and the tone of certain of your father's remarks may—have caused her uneasiness. She, too, has no alibi. She went to telephone, but she did not telephone, and we have only her word for what she did do...

'Then,' he paused, 'there is Mr David Lee. We have heard, not once but many times, of the revengeful tempers and long memories that went with the Lee blood. Mr David Lee did not forget or forgive the way his father had treated his mother. A final jibe directed at the dead lady may have been the last straw. David Lee is said to have been playing the piano at the time of the murder. By a coincidence he was playing the "Dead March". But suppose somebody else was playing that "Dead March", somebody who knew what he was going to do, and who approved his action?'

Hilda Lee said quietly:

'That is an infamous suggestion.'

Poirot turned to her. 'I will offer you another, madame. It was your hand that did the deed. It was you who crept upstairs to execute judgment on a man you considered beyond human forgiveness. You are of those, madame, who can be terrible in anger...'

Hilda said: 'I did not kill him.'

Superintendent Sugden said brusquely:

'Mr Poirot's quite right. There is a possible case against everyone except Mr Alfred Lee, Mr Harry Lee, and Mrs Alfred Lee.'

Poirot said gently:

'I should not even except those three...'

The superintendent protested: 'Oh, come now, Mr Poirot!'

Lydia Lee said:

'And what is the case against me, M. Poirot?'

She smiled a little as she spoke, her brows raised ironically.

Poirot bowed. He said:

'Your motive, madame, I pass over. It is sufficiently obvious. As to the rest, you were wearing last night a flowered taffeta dress of a very distinctive pattern with a cape. I will remind you of the fact that Tressilian, the butler, is shortsighted. Objects at a distance are dim and vague to him. I will also point out that your drawing-room is big and lighted by heavily shaded lamps. On that night, a minute or two before the cries were heard, Tressilian came into the drawing-room to take away the coffee-cups. He saw you, as he thought, in a familiar attitude by the far window half concealed by the heavy curtains.'

Lydia Lee said: 'He did see me.'

Poirot went on:

'I suggest that it is possible that what Tressilian saw was the cape of your dress, arranged to show by the window curtain, as though you yourself were standing there.'

Lydia said: 'I was standing there...'

Alfred said: 'How dare you suggest—?'

Harry interrupted him.

'Let him go on, Alfred. It's our turn next. How do you suggest that dear Alfred killed his beloved father since we were both together in the dining-room at the time?'

Poirot beamed at him.

'That,' he said, 'is very simple. An alibi gains in force accordingly as it is unwillingly given. You and your brother are on bad terms. It is well known. You jibe at him in public. He has not a good word to say for you! But, supposing that were all part of a very clever plot. Supposing that Alfred Lee is tired of dancing attendance upon an exacting taskmaster. Supposing that you and he have got together some time ago. Your plan is laid. You come home. Alfred appears to resent your presence. He shows jealousy and dislike of you. You show contempt for him. And then comes the night of the murder you have so cleverly planned together. One of you remains in the dining-room, talking and perhaps quarrelling aloud as though two people were there. The other goes upstairs and commits the crime...'

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:

'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...'

VI

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 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 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. Moreover, he might quite possibly have harboured a secret grudge against his father which might gradually have grown in force through never being 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 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, 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 the 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 straight away with the suspected party? With the superintendent actually in the house, his lever over the 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 out? 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!"

'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 is 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 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?" 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 today, Tressilian mentioned that he was always getting muddled between people. No wonder! Stephen Farr 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 unrecognized son of his own blood.'

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 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.'

There was a gentle rustle. Hilda Lee's deep voice spoke:

'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 coming 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 music-room 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 was no answer. I knocked again a little louder. There was still no answer. Then I tried the door handle. The door was locked. And then, as I stood hesitating, I 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...'

VII

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:

'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 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 realized 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 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.

'All 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 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 apologized, 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 added more sodium citrate to the pool of blood which flowed from Simeon Lee's wound. You made up 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 Mr Lee in a different way? You, Mr Lee, described it as the cry of a man in mortal agony. Your wife and David Lee both used the expression: a soul in hell. Mrs David Lee, on the contrary, said it was the cry of someone who had no soul. She said it was inhuman, like a beast. It was Harry Lee who came nearest to the truth. He said it sounded like killing a pig.

'Do you know those long pink bladders that are sold at fairs with faces painted on them called "Dying Pigs"? As the air rushes out they give forth an inhuman wail. That, Sugden, was your final touch. You arranged one of those in the room. The mouth of it was stopped up with a peg, but that peg was connected to the cord. When you pulled on the cord the peg came out and the pig began to deflate. On top of the falling furniture came the scream of the "Dying Pig".'

He turned once more to the others.

'You see now what it was that Pilar Estravados picked up? The superintendent had hoped to get there in time to retrieve that little wisp of rubber before anyone noticed it. However, he took it from Pilar quickly enough in his most official manner. But remember he never mentioned that incident to anyone. In itself, that was a singularly suspicious fact. I heard of it from Magdalene Lee and tackled him about it. He was prepared for that eventuality. He had snipped a piece from Mr Lee's rubber spongebag and produced that, together with a wooden peg. Superficially it answered to the same description—a fragment of rubber and a piece of wood. It meant, as I realized at the time, absolutely nothing! But, fool that I was, I did not at once say; "This means nothing, so it cannot have been there, and Superintendent Sugden is lying..." No, I foolishly went on trying to find an explanation for it. It was not until Mademoiselle Estravados was playing with a balloon that burst, and she cried out that it must have been a burst balloon she picked up in Simeon Lee's room, that I saw the truth.

'You see now how everything fits in? The improbable struggle, which is necessary to establish a false time of death; the locked door—so that nobody shall find the body too soon; the dying man's scream. The crime is now logical and reasonable.

'But from the moment that Pilar Estravados cried aloud her discovery about the balloon, she was a source of danger to the murderer. And if that remark had been heard by him from the house (which it well might, for her voice was high and clear and the windows were open), she herself was in considerable danger. Already she had given the murderer one very nasty moment. She had said, speaking of old Mr Lee, "He must have been very good-looking when he was young." And had added, speaking directly to Sugden: "Like you." She meant that literally, and Sugden knew it. No wonder Sugden went purple in the face and nearly choked. It was so unexpected and so deadly dangerous. He hoped, after that, to fix the guilt on her, but it proved unexpectedly difficult, since, as the old man's portionless granddaughter, she had obviously no motive for the crime. Later, when he overheard from the house her clear, high voice calling out its remark about the balloon, he decided on desperate measures. He set that booby trap when we were at lunch. Luckily, almost by a miracle, it failed...'

There was dead silence. Then Sugden said quietly:

'When were you sure?'

Poirot said:

'I was not quite sure till I brought home a false moustache and tried it on Simeon Lee's picture. Then—the face that looked at me was yours.'

Sugden said:

'God rot his soul in hell! I'm glad I did it!'