'Do you really want me to stay on here, Father?' asked Harry. He tilted his head back. 'I'm stirring up rather a hornet's 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 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.'

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.'

'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 today, and a nice Christmas spirit abroad—I don't think!'

II

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 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 today, 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 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:

'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 on 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!'

'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 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.'

Simeon said: 'Well, what of it?'

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 specialized 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:

'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.'

III

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 you've no business to touch, and look what happens!'

'I'm sorry, Mr Tressilian. I am indeed,' the other apologized. 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 open-handed gentleman.'

Horbury nodded.

'It's the best thing about him! Well, I'll be off now.'

'Going to the pictures?'

'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 tonight. Good thing: the weather's been very unseasonable lately.'

Tressilian said, shaking his head:

'The damp affects my rheumatism.'

The superintendent said that the 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 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 criticized 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 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 soufflé. 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 tonight. 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 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.

Tressilian 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 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 tonight. 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 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.

'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.

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?...'

IV

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...'

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 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 recognized 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, 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: 'I 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 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...'

V

'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 edged 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. '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 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? 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 over eating! 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". 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 are putting great pressure on themselves to appear amiable! There is at Christmas time a great deal of hypocrisy, honourable hypocrisy, hypocrisy undertaken pour le 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. Iam 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.

'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 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.'

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. Iam only the unofficial consultant.'

Colonel Johnson said warmly:

'You're a good fellow, Poirot.'

With those words of commendation, the two men started out.

VI

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 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 amilitary bearing who had an aquiline nose, a pugnacious jaw and a large flourishing chestnut-coloured 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—?'

'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. 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." 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 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 servant and the other was a member of the family.'

Poirot nodded appreciatively.

'Très 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 police, the superintendent has only just left." Then the thief asks the butler, say, and the butler confirms that. He says, "Yes, the superintendent was here just before dinner." Then the chief is convinced the old gentleman means business and it's 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 family" 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 nine-fifteen 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 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.'

'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 not more than a few minutes previously.'

VII

Colonel Johnson stared at Sugden for some minutes before he spluttered:

'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.

'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—possibily 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, M. 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 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 même,' Poirot pointed out gently, 'he has escaped to this extent: You do not know who he is.'

Superintendent Sugden said gently bur firmly:

'I rather fancy that we soon shall. We 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 has 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 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.'

'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 drawing-room 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.

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 débris.

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.

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 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 débris.

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 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:

'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...'

VIII

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.'

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 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 tonight. 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.'

'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?'

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.'

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 goodnight 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.'

'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 drawing-room.' His voice faltered. His eyes began to stare again. 'We were sitting there—at the table...Suddenly there was the most astounding noise overheard. 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 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 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 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 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.

'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 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.'

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.'

'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.'

'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 realized 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. But 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 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.

IX

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 lunatic!'

Colonel Johnson said politely:

'That is your theory?'

'Yes. Yes, indeed. A homicidal maniac. 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 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.'

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...'

X

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 noted the features: the high-bridged nose, the arrogant poise of the head, the line of the jaw; and he realized 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.

'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 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-in-the-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 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 half-witted footman? Not on your life. 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.'

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. 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 after-dinner 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 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:

'What about it, Sugden?'

The superintendent shook his head doubtfully. He said:

'He's afraid of something. I wonder why?...'

XI

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. Mais elle a les yeux durs.'

Colonel Johnson was thinking:

'Damned good-looking girl. George Lee 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.'

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 he thought to himself:

Elle joue très bien la comédie, cette petite...'

'Yes, yes,' said Colonel Johnson. 'Now just tell me about the last time you saw your father-in-law—Mr Lee—alive.'

'Oh, that! That was this afternoon. It was dreadful!'

Johnson said quickly:

'Dreadful? Why?'

'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.'

'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.'

'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 nightmare! 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 in it 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, 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 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 straightened the blotter in front of him and flicked 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 Iago'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 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 cher,' 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:

'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 naïvely—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 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 had to say to George Lee and George Lee's wife—'

He broke off. The door opened and David Lee came in.

XII

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. 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 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 economize. 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:

'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:

'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?'

'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.

XIII

Colonel Johnson had had no time to do more than clear his throat when the door opened again and Hilda Lee came in.

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 hair-dressing 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.

'...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 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:

'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 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 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?'

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 apologize. 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 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 economize. 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. 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 realized how his pride was hurt by it.'

'And then?'

'And then,' said Hilda slowly, 'we all 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 music-room. 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 hell?'

Hilda Lee said:

'It was worse than that!'

'What do you mean, madame?'

'It was like someone who had no 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.

XIV

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 her 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?'

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 was very, very old. He had to sit in a chair—and his face was all dried up. But I liked 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 naïve pleasure on his handsome face, which had turned brick-red at the compliment.

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, señorita?' 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:

'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 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.'

'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 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—'The 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.

Colonel Johnson said:

'The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small. And David Lee said that!'

XV

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 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 today at all?'

'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 realized 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—a kind of ballroom, I fancy. 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:

'Señorita 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:

'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 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.'

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 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 smiled 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 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—also possibly diamonds hidden somewhere.'

'That covers everything, I think,' said Colonel Johnson approvingly. 'Can you suggest anything, M. 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 knick-knacks 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 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.

'Mon 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 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 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 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.

XVI

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:

'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:

'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 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?'

'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:

'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 coffee-cup,' 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 seemed 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 disrepectfully he spoke—and then he went off.'

'Which way?'

'Out through the door to the servants' hall.'

Sugden interposed:

'All that's O.K., 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 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.'

XVII

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.'

'Yes, sir, certainly, sir.'

'What time did you go out tonight, 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 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.'

'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.'

'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?'

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 us 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 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 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.'

'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 absent-minded 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.'

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 summarized 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.'

'How, then, did he manage to re-enter 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 tonight 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 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 thing 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 note-book 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.