The chief constable and Superintendent Sugden stared at Poirot incredulously. The latter returned a stream of small pebbles carefully into a small cardboard box and pushed it across to the chief constable.

'Oh, yes,' he said. 'It is the diamonds all right.'

'And you found them where, did you say? In the garden?'

'In one of the small gardens constructed by Madame Alfred Lee.'

'Mrs Alfred?' Sugden shook his head. 'Doesn't seem likely.'

Poirot said:

'You mean, I suppose, that you do not consider it likely that Mrs Alfred cut her father-in-law's throat?'

Sugden said quickly:

'We know she didn't do that. I meant it seemed unlikely that she pinched these diamonds.'

Poirot said:

'One would not easily believe her a thief—no.'

Sugden said:

'Anybody could have hidden them there.'

'That is true. It was convenient that in that particular garden—the Dead Sea as it represents—there happened to be pebbles very similar in shape and appearance.'

Sugden said:

'You mean she fixed it like that beforehand? Ready?'

Colonel Johnson said warmly:

'I don't believe it for a moment. Not for a moment. Why should she take the diamonds in the first place?'

'Well, as to that—' Sugden said slowly.

Poirot nipped in quickly:

'There is a possible answer to that. She took the diamonds to suggest a motive for the murder. That is to say she knew that murder was going to be done though she herself took no active part in it.'

Johnson frowned.

'That won't hold water for a minute. You're making her out to be an accomplice—but whose accomplice would she be likely to be? Only her husband's. But as we know that he, too, had nothing to do with the murder, the whole theory falls to the ground.'

Sugden stroked his jaw reflectively.

'Yes,' he said, 'that's so. No, if Mrs Lee took the diamonds—and it's a big if—it was just plain robbery, and it's true she might have prepared that garden specially as a hiding-place for them till the hue and cry had died down. Another possibility is that of coincidence. That garden, with its similarity of pebbles, struck the thief, whoever he or she was, as an ideal hiding-place.'

Poirot said:

'That is quite possible. I am always prepared to admit one coincidence.'

Superintendent Sugden shook his head dubiously.

Poirot said:

'What is your opinion, Superintendent?'

The superintendent said cautiously:

'Mrs Lee's a very nice lady. Doesn't seem likely that she'd be mixed up in any business that was fishy. But, of course, one never knows.'

Colonel Johnson said testily:

'In any case, whatever the truth is about the diamonds, her being mixed up in the murder is out of the question. The butler saw her in the drawing-room at the actual time of the crime. You remember that, Poirot?'

Poirot said:

'I had not forgotten that.'

The chief constable turned to his subordinate.

'We'd better get on. What have you to report? Anything fresh?'

'Yes, sir. I've got hold of some new information. To start with—Horbury. There's a reason why he might be scared of the police.'

'Robbery? Eh?'

'No, sir. Extorting money under threats. Modified blackmail. The case couldn't be proved so he got off, but I rather fancy he's got away with a thing or two in that line. Having a guilty conscience, he probably thought we were on to something of that kind when Tressilian mentioned a police officer last night and it made him get the wind up.'

The chief constable said:

'H'm! So much for Horbury. What else?'

The superintendent coughed.

'Er—Mrs George Lee, sir. We've got a line on her before her marriage. Was living with a Commander Jones. Passed as his daughter—but she wasn't his daughter...I think from what we've been told, that old Mr Lee summed her up pretty correctly—he was smart where women were concerned, knew a bad lot when he saw one—and was just amusing himself by taking a shot in the dark. And he got her on the raw!'

Colonel Johnson said thoughtfully:

'That gives her another possible motive—apart from the money angle. She may have thought he knew something definite and was going to give her away to her husband. That telephone story of hers is pretty fishy. She didn't telephone.'

Sugden suggested:

'Why not have them in together, sir, and get at that telephone business straight? See what we get.'

Colonel Johnson said:

'Good idea.'

He rang the bell. Tressilian answered it.

'Ask Mr and Mrs George Lee to come here.'

'Very good, sir.'

As the old man turned away, Poirot said:

'The date on that wall calendar, has it remained like it is since the murder?'

Tressilian turned back.

'Which calendar, sir?'

'The one on the wall over there.'

The three men were sitting once more in Alfred Lee's small sitting-room. The calendar in question was a large one with tear-off leaves, a bold date on each leaf.

Tressilian peered across the room, then shuffled slowly across till he was a foot or two away.

He said:

'Excuse me, sir, it has been torn off. It's the twenty-sixth today.'

'Ah, pardon. Who would have been the person to tear it off?'

'Mr Lee does, sir, every morning. Mr Alfred, he's a very methodical gentleman.'

'I see. Thank you.'

Tressilian went out. Sugden said, puzzled:

'Is there anything fishy about that calendar, Mr Poirot? Have I missed something there?'

With a shrug of his shoulders Poirot said:

'The calendar is of no importance. It was just a little experiment I was making.'

Colonel Johnson said:

'Inquest tomorrow. There'll be an adjournment, of course.'

Sugden said:

'Yes, sir, I've seen the Coroner and it's all arranged for.'

II

George Lee came into the room, accompanied by his wife.

Colonel Johnson said:

'Good morning. Sit down, will you? There are a few questions I want to ask both of you. Something I'm not quite clear about.'

'I shall be glad to give you any assistance I can,' said George, somewhat pompously.

Magdalene said faintly:

'Of course!'

The chief constable gave a slight nod to Sugden. The latter said:

'About those telephone calls on the night of the crime. You put through a call to Westeringham, I think you said, Mr Lee?'

George said coldly:

'Yes, I did. To my agent in the constituency. I can refer you to him and—'

Superintendent Sugden held up his hand to stem the flow.

'Quite so—quite so, Mr Lee. We're not disputing that point. Your call went through at 8.59 exactly.'

'Well—I—er—couldn't say as to the exact time.'

'Ah,' said Sugden. 'But we can! We always check up on these things very carefully. Very carefully indeed. The call was put through at 8.59 and it was terminated at 9.4. Your father, Mr Lee, was killed about 9.15. I must ask you once more for an account of your movements.'

'I've told you—I was telephoning!'

'No, Mr Lee, you weren't.'

'Nonsense—you must have made a mistake! Well, I may, perhaps, have just finished telephoning—I think I debated making another call—was just considering whether it was—er—worth—the expense—when I heard the noise upstairs.'

'You would hardly debate whether or not to make a telephone call for ten minutes.'

George went purple. He began to splutter.

'What do you mean? What the devil do you mean? Damned impudence! Are you doubting my word? Doubting the word of a man of my position? I—er—why should I have to account for every minute of my time?'

Superintendent Sugden said with a stolidness that Poirot admired:

'It's usual.'

George turned angrily on the chief constable.

'Colonel Johnson. Do you countenance this—this unprecedented attitude?'

The chief constable said crisply: 'In a murder case, Mr Lee, then questions must be asked—and answered.'

'I have answered them! I had finished telephoning and was—er—debating a further call.'

'You were in this room when the alarm was raised upstairs?'

'I was—yes, I was.'

Johnson turned to Magdalene.

'I think, Mrs Lee,' he said, 'that you stated that you were telephoning when the alarm broke out, and that at the time you were alone in this room?'

Magdalene was flustered. She caught her breath, looked sideways at George—at Sugden, then appealingly at Colonel Johnson. She said:

'Oh, really—I don't know—I don't remember what I said...I was so upset...'

Sugden said:

'We've got it all written down, you know.'

She turned her batteries on him—wide appealing eyes—quivering mouth. But she met in return the rigid aloofness of a man of stern respectability who didn't approve of her type.

She said uncertainly:

'I—I—of course I telephoned. I can't be quite sure just when—'

She stopped.

George said:

'What's all this? Where did you telephone from? Not in here.'

Superintendent Sugden said:

'I suggest, Mrs Lee, that you didn't telephone at all. In that case, where were you and what were you doing?'

Magdalene glanced distractedly about her and burst into tears. She sobbed:

'George, don't let them bully me! You know that if anyone frightens me and thunders questions at me, I can't remember anything at all! I—I don't know what I was saying that night—it was all so horrible—and I was so upset—and they're being so beastly to me...'

She jumped up and ran sobbing out of the room.

Springing up, George Lee blustered:

'What d'you mean? I won't have my wife bullied and frightened out of her life! She's very sensitive. It's disgraceful! I shall have a question asked in the House about the disgraceful bullying methods of the police. It's absolutely disgraceful!'

He strode out of the room and banged the door.

Superintendent Sugden threw his head back and laughed.

He said:

'We've got them going properly! Now we'll see!'

Johnson said frowning:

'Extraordinary business! Looks fishy. We must get a further statement out of her.'

Sugden said easily:

'Oh! She'll be back in a minute or two. When she's decided what to say. Eh, Mr Poirot?'

Poirot, who had been sitting in a dream, gave a start.

'Pardon!'

'I said she'll be back.'

'Probably—yes, possibly—oh, yes!'

Sugden said, staring at him:

'What's the matter, Mr Poirot? Seen a ghost?'

Poirot said slowly:

'You know—I am not sure that I have not done just exactly that.'

Colonel Johnson said impatiently:

'Well, Sugden, anything else?'

Sugden said:

'I've been trying to check up on the order in which everyone arrived on the scene of the murder. It's quite clear what must have happened. After the murder when the victim's dying cry had given the alarm, the murderer slipped out, locked the door with pliers, or something of that kind, and a moment or two later became one of the people hurrying to the scene of the crime. Unfortunately it's not easy to check exactly whom everyone has seen because people's memories aren't very accurate on a point like that. Tressilian says he saw Harry and Alfred Lee cross the hall from the dining-room and race upstairs. That lets them out, but we don't suspect them anyway. As far as I can make out, Miss Estravados got there late—one of the last. The general idea seems to be that Farr, Mrs George, and Mrs David were the first. Each of those three says one of the others was just ahead of them. That's what's so difficult, you can't distinguish between a deliberate lie and a genuine haziness of recollection. Everybody ran there—that's agreed, but in what order they ran isn't so easy to get at.'

Poirot said slowly:

'You think that important?'

Sugden said:

'It's the time element. The time, remember, was incredibly short.'

Poirot said:

'I agree with you that the time element is very important in this case.'

Sugden went on:

'What makes it more difficult is that there are two staircases. There's the main one in the hall here about equidistant from the dining-room and the drawing-room doors. Then there's one the other end of the house. Stephen Farr came up by the latter. Miss Estravados came along the upper landing from that end of the house (her room is right the other end). The others say they went up by this one.'

Poirot said:

'It is a confusion, yes.'

The door opened and Magdalene came quickly in. She was breathing fast and had a bright spot of colour in each cheek. She came up to the table and said quietly:

'My husband thinks I'm lying down. I slipped out of my room quietly. Colonel Johnson,' she appealed to him with wide, distressed eyes, 'if I tell you the truth you will keep quiet about it, won't you? I mean you don't have to make everything public?'

Colonel Johnson said:

'You mean, I take it, Mrs Lee, something that has no connection with the crime?'

'Yes, no connection at all. Just something in my—my private life.'

The chief constable said:

'You'd better make a clean breast of it, Mrs Lee, and leave us to judge.'

Magdalene said, her eyes swimming:

'Yes, I will trust you. I know I can. You look so kind. You see, it's like this. There's somebody—' She stopped.

'Yes, Mrs Lee?'

'I wanted to telephone to somebody last night—a man—a friend of mine, and I didn't want George to know about it. I know it was very wrong of me—but well, it was like that. So I went to telephone after dinner when I thought George would be safely in the dining-room. But when I got here I heard him telephoning, so I waited.'

'Where did you wait, madame?' asked Poirot.

'There's a place for coats and things behind the stairs. It's dark there. I slipped back there, where I could see George come out from this room. But he didn't come out, and then all the noise happened and Mr Lee screamed, and I ran upstairs.'

'So your husband did not leave this room until the moment of the murder?'

'No.'

The chief constable said:

'And you yourself from nine o'clock to nine-fifteen were waiting in the recess behind the stairs?'

'Yes, but I couldn't say so, you see! They'd want to know what I was doing there. It's been very, very awkward for me, you do see that, don't you?'

Johnson said dryly:

'It was certainly awkward.'

She smiled at him sweetly.

'I'm so relieved to have told you the truth. And you won't tell my husband, will you? No, I'm sure you won't! I can trust you, all of you.'

She included them all in her final pleading look, then she slipped quickly out of the room.

Colonel Johnson drew a deep breath.

'Well,' he said. 'It might be like that! It's a perfectly plausible story. On the other hand—'

'It might not,' finished Sugden. 'That's just it. We don't know.'

III

Lydia Lee stood by the far window of the drawing-room looking out. Her figure was half hidden by the heavy window curtains. A sound in the room made her turn with a start to see Hercule Poirot standing by the door.

She said:

'You startled me, M. Poirot.'

'I apologize, madame. I walk softly.'

She said:

'I thought it was Horbury.'

Hercule Poirot nodded.

'It is true, he steps softly, that one—like a cat—or a thief.'

He paused a minute, watching her.

Her face showed nothing, but she made a slight grimace of distate as she said:

'I have never cared for that man. I shall be glad to get rid of him.'

'I think you will be wise to do so, madame.'

She looked at him quickly. She said:

'What do you mean? Do you know anything against him?'

Poirot said:

'He is a man who collects secrets—and uses them to his advantage.'

She said sharply:

'Do you think he knows anything—about the murder?'

Poirot shrugged his shoulders. He said:

'He has quiet feet and long ears. He may have overheard something that he is keeping to himself.'

Lydia said clearly:

'Do you mean that he may try to blackmail one of us?'

'It is within the bounds of possibility. But that is not what I came here to say.'

'What did you come to say?'

Poirot said slowly:

'I have been talking with M. Alfred Lee. He has made me a proposition, and I wished to discuss it with you before accepting or declining it. But I was so struck by the picture you made—the charming pattern of your jumper against the deep red of the curtains, that I paused to admire.'

Lydia said sharply:

'Really, M. Poirot, must we waste time in compliments?'

'I beg your pardon, madame. So few English ladies understand la toilette. The dress you were wearing the first night I saw you, its bold but simple pattern, it had grace—distinction.'

Lydia said impatiently:

'What was it you wanted to see me about?'

Poirot became grave.

'Just this, madame. Your husband, he wishes me to take up the investigation very seriously. He demands that I stay here, in the house, and do my utmost to get to the bottom of the matter.'

Lydia said sharply:

'Well?'

Poirot said slowly:

'I should not wish to accept an invitation that was not endorsed by the lady of the house.'

She said coldly:

'Naturally I endorse my husband's invitation.'

'Yes, madame, but I need more than that. Do you really want me to come here?'

'Why not?'

'Let us be more frank. What I ask you is this: do you want the truth to come out, or not?'

'Naturally.'

Poirot sighed.

'Must you return me these conventional replies?'

Lydia said:

'I am a conventional woman.'

Then she bit her lip, hesitated, and said:

'Perhaps it is better to speak frankly. Of course I understand you! The position is not a pleasant one. My father-in-law has been brutally murdered, and unless a case can be made out against the most likely suspect—Horbury—for robbery and murder—and it seems that it cannot—then it comes to this—one of his own family killed him. To bring that person to justice will mean bringing shame and disgrace on us all...If I am to speak honestly I must say that I do not want this to happen.'

Poirot said:

'You are content for the murderer to escape unpunished?'

'There are probably several undiscovered murderers at large in the world.'

'That, I grant you.'

'Does one more matter, then?'

Poirot said:

'And what about the other members of the family? The innocent?'

She stared.

'What about them?'

'Do you realize that if it turns out as you hope, no one will ever know. The shadow will remain on all alike...'

She said uncertainly:

'I hadn't thought of that.'

Poirot said:

'No one will ever know who the guilty person is...'

He added softly:

'Unless you already know, madame?'

She cried out:

'You have no business to say that! It's not true! Oh! If only it could be a stranger—not a member of the family.'

Poirot said:

'It might be both.'

She stared at him.

'What do you mean?'

'It might be a member of the family—and, at the same time, a stranger...You do not see what I mean? Eh bien, it is an idea that has occurred to the mind of Hercule Poirot.'

He looked at her.

'Well, madame, what am I to say to Mr Lee?'

Lydia raised her hands and let them fall in a sudden helpless gesture.

She said:

'Of course—you must accept.'

IV

Pilar stood in the centre of the music-room. She stood very straight, her eyes darting from side to side like an animal who fears an attack.

She said:

'I want to get away from here!'

Stephen Farr said gently:

'You're not the only one who feels like that. But they won't let us go, my dear.'

'You mean—the police?'

'Yes.'

Pilar said very seriously:

'It is not nice to be mixed up with the police. It is a thing that should not happen to respectable people.'

Stephen said with a faint smile:

'Meaning yourself?'

Pilar said:

'No, I mean Alfred and Lydia and David and George and Hilda and—yes—Magdalene too.'

Stephen lit a cigarette. He puffed at it for a moment or two before saying:

'Why the exception?'

'What is that, please?'

Stephen said:

'Why leave out brother Harry?'

Pilar laughed, her teeth showing white and even.

'Oh, Harry is different! I think he knows very well what it is to be mixed up with the police.'

'Perhaps you are right. He certainly is a little too picturesque to blend well into the domestic picture.'

He went on:

'Do you like your English relations, Pilar?'

Pilar said doubtfully:

'They are kind—they are all very kind. But they do not laugh much, they are not gay.'

'My dear girl, there's just been a murder in the house!'

'Y-es,' said Pilar doubtfully.

'A murder,' said Stephen instructively, 'is not such an everyday occurrence as your nonchalance seems to imply. In England they take their murders seriously whatever they may do in Spain.'

Pilar said:

'You are laughing at me...'

Stephen said:

'You're wrong. I'm not in a laughing mood.'

Pilar looked at him and said:

'Because you, too, wish to get away from here?'

'Yes.'

'And the big, handsome policeman will not let you go?'

'I haven't asked him. But if I did, I've no doubt he'd say no. I've got to watch my step, Pilar, and be very very careful.'

'That is tiresome,' said Pilar, nodding her head.

'It's just a little bit more than tiresome, my dear. Then there's that lunatic foreigner prowling about. I don't suppose he's any good but he makes me feel jumpy.'

Pilar was frowning. She said:

'My grandfather was very, very rich, was he not?'

'I should imagine so.'

'Where does his money go to now? To Alfred and the others?'

'Depends on his will.'

Pilar said thoughtfully: 'He might have left me some money, but I am afraid that perhaps he did not.'

Stephen said kindly:

'You'll be all right. After all, you're one of the family. You belong here. They'll have to look after you.'

Pilar said with a sigh: 'I—belong here. It is very funny, that. And yet it is not funny at all.'

'I can see that you mightn't find it very humorous.'

Pilar sighed again. She said:

'Do you think if we put on the gramophone, we could dance?'

Stephen said dubiously:

'It wouldn't look any too good. This is a house of mourning, you callous Spanish baggage.'

Pilar said, her big eyes opening very wide:

'But I do not feel sad at all. Because I did not really know my grandfather, and though I liked to talk to him, I do not want to cry and be unhappy because he is dead. It is very silly to pretend.'

Stephen said: 'You're adorable!'

Pilar said coaxingly:

'We could put some stockings and some gloves in the gramophone, and then it would not make much noise, and no one would hear.'

'Come along then, temptress.'

She laughed happily and ran out of the room, going along towards the ballroom at the far end of the house.

Then, as she reached the side passage which led to the garden door, she stopped dead. Stephen caught up with her and stopped also.

Hercule Poirot had unhooked a portrait from the wall and was studying it by the light from the terrace. He looked up and saw them.

'Aha!' he said. 'You arrive at an opportune moment.'

Pilar said: 'What are you doing?'

She came and stood beside him.

Poirot said gravely:

'I am studying something very important, the face of Simeon Lee when he was a young man.'

'Oh, is that my grandfather?'

'Yes, mademoiselle.'

She stared at the painted face. She said slowly:

'How different—how very different...He was so old, so shrivelled up. Here he is like Harry, like Harry might have been ten years ago.'

Hercule Poirot nodded.

'Yes, mademoiselle. Harry Lee is very much the son of his father. Now here—' He led her a little way along the gallery. 'Here is madame, your grandmother—a long gentle face, very blonde hair, mild blue eyes.'

Pilar said:

'Like David.'

Stephen said:

'Just a look of Alfred too.'

Poirot said:

'The heredity, it is very interesting. Mr Lee and his wife were diametrically opposite types. On the whole, the children of the marriage took after the mother. See here, mademoiselle.'

He pointed to a picture of a girl of nineteen or so, with hair like spun gold and wide, laughing blue eyes. The colouring was that of Simeon Lee's wife, but there was a spirit, a vivacity that those mild blue eyes and placid features had never known.

'Oh!' said Pilar.

The colour came up in her face.

Her hand went to her neck. She drew out a locket on a long gold chain. She pressed the catch and it flew open. The same laughing face looked up at Poirot.

'My mother,' said Pilar.

Poirot nodded. On the opposite side of the locket was the portrait of a man. He was young and handsome, with black hair and dark blue eyes.

Poirot said: 'Your father?'

Pilar said:

'Yes, my father. He is very beautiful, is he not?'

'Yes, indeed. Few Spaniards have blue eyes, have they, señorita?'

'Sometimes, in the North. Besides, my father's mother was Irish.'

Poirot said thoughtfully:

'So you have Spanish blood, and Irish and English, and a touch of gipsy too. Do you know what I think, mademoiselle? With that inheritance, you should make a bad enemy.'

Stephen said, laughing:

'Remember what you said in the train, Pilar? That your way of dealing with your enemies would be to cut their throats. Oh!'

He stopped—suddenly realizing the import of his words.

Hercule Poirot was quick to lead the conversation away. He said:

'Ah, yes, there was something, señorita, I had to ask you. Your passport. It is needed by my friend the superintendent. There are, you know, police regulations—very stupid, very tiresome, but necessary—for a foreigner in this country. And of course, by law, you are a foreigner.'

Pilar's eyebrows rose.

'My passport? Yes, I will get it. It is in my room.'

Poirot said apologetically as he walked by her side:

'I am most sorry to trouble you. I am indeed.'

They had reached the end of the long gallery. Here was a flight of stairs. Pilar ran up and Poirot followed. Stephen came too. Pilar's bedroom was just at the head of the stairs.

She said as she reached the door: 'I will get it for you.'

She went in. Poirot and Stephen Farr remained waiting outside.

Stephen said remorsefully:

'Damn' silly of me to say a thing like that. I don't think she noticed, though, do you?'

Poirot did not answer. He held his head a little on one side as though listening.

He said:

'The English are extraordinarily fond of fresh air. Miss Estravados must have inherited that characteristic.'

Stephen said staring:

'Why?'

Poirot said softly:

'Because though it is today extremely cold—the black frost you call it (not like yesterday so mild and sunny) Miss Estravados has just flung up her lower window-sash. Amazing to love so much the fresh air.'

Suddenly there was an exclamation in Spanish from inside the room and Pilar reappeared laughingly dismayed.

'Ah!' she cried. 'But I am stupid—and clumsy. My little case it was on the window-sill, and I was sorting through it so quickly and very stupidly I knock my passport out of the window. It is down on the flower-bed below. I will get it.'

'I'll get it,' said Stephen, but Pilar had flown past him and cried back over her shoulder:

'No, it was my stupidity. You go to the drawing-room with M. Poirot and I will bring it to you there.'

Stephen Farr seemed inclined to go after her, but Poirot's hand fell gently on his arm and Poirot's voice said:

'Let us go this way.'

They went along the first-floor corridor towards the other end of the house until they got to the head of the main staircase. Here Poirot said:

'Let us not go down for a minute. If you will come with me to the room of the crime there is something I want to ask you.'

They went along the corridor which led to Simeon Lee's room. On their left they passed an alcove which contained two marble statues, stalwart nymphs clasping their draperies in an agony of Victorian propriety.

Stephen Farr glanced at them and murmured:

'Pretty frightful by daylight. I thought there were three of them when I came along the other night, but thank goodness there are only two!'

'They are not what is admired nowadays,' admitted Poirot. 'But no doubt they cost much money in their time. They look better by night, I think.'

'Yes, one sees only a white glimmering figure.'

Poirot murmured:

'All cats are grey in the dark!'

They found Superintendent Sugden in the room. He was kneeling by the safe and examining it with a magnifying glass. He looked up as they entered.

'This was opened with the key all right,' he said. 'By someone who knew the combination. No sign of anything else.'

Poirot went up to him, drew him aside, and whispered something. The superintendent nodded and left the room.

Poirot turned to Stephen Farr, who was standing staring at the armchair in which Simeon Lee always sat. His brows were drawn together and the veins showed in his forehead. Poirot looked at him for a minute or two in silence, then he said:

'You have the memories—yes?'

Stephen said slowly:

'Two days ago he sat there alive—and now...'

Then, shaking off his absorption, he said: 'Yes, M. Poirot, you brought me here to ask me something?'

'Ah, yes. You were, I think, the first person to arrive on the scene that night?'

'Was I? I don't remember. No, I think one of the ladies was here before me.'

'Which lady?'

'One of the wives—George's wife or David's—I know they were both here pretty soon.'

'You did not hear the scream, I think you said?'

'I don't think I did. I can't quite remember. Somebody did cry out but that may have been someone downstairs.'

Poirot said:

'You did not hear a noise like this?'

He threw his head back and suddenly gave vent to a piercing yell.

It was so unexpected that Stephen started backwards and nearly fell over. He said angrily:

'For the Lord's sake, do you want to scare the whole house? No, I didn't hear anything in the least like that! You'll have the whole place by the ears again! They'll think another murder has happened!'

Poirot looked crestfallen. He murmured:

'True...it was foolish...We must go at once.'

He hurried out of the room. Lydia and Alfred were at the foot of the stairs peering up—George came out of the library to join them, and Pilar came running, a passport held in her hand.

Poirot cried:

'It is nothing—nothing. Do not be alarmed. A little experiment that I make. That was all.'

Alfred looked annoyed and George indignant. Poirot left Stephen to explain and he hurriedly slipped away along the passage to the other end of the house.

At the end of the passage Superintendent Sugden came quietly out of Pilar's door and met Poirot.

'Eh bien?' asked Poirot.

The superintendent shook his head.

'Not a sound.'

His eyes met Poirot's appreciatively and he nodded.

V

Alfred Lee said: 'Then you accept, M. Poirot?'

His hand, as it went to his mouth, shook slightly. His mild brown eyes were alight with a new and feverish expression. He stammered slightly in his speech. Lydia, standing silently by, looked at him with some anxiety.

Alfred said:

'You don't know—you c-c-can't imagine—what it m-m-means to me...My father's murderer must be f-f-found.'

Poirot said:

'Since you have assured me that you have reflected long and carefully—yes, I accept. But you comprehend, Mr Lee, there can be no drawing back. I am not the dog one sets on to hunt and then recalls because you do not like the game he puts up!'

'Of course...of course...Everything is ready. Your bedroom is prepared. Stay as long as you like—'

Poirot said gravely: 'It will not be long.'

'Eh? What's that?'

'I said it will not be long. There is in this crime such a restricted circle that it cannot possibly take long to arrive at the truth. Already, I think, the end draws near.'

Alfred stared at him, 'Impossible!' he said.

'Not at all. The facts all point more or less clearly in one direction. There is just some irrelevant matter to be cleared out of the way. When this is done the truth will appear.'

Alfred said incredulously:

'You mean you know?'

Poirot smiled. 'Oh, yes,' he said. 'I know.'

Alfred said:

'My father—my father—' He turned away.

Poirot said briskly:

'There are, M. Lee, two requests that I have to make.'

Alfred said in a muffled voice:

'Anything—anything.'

'Then, in the first place, I would like the portrait of M. Lee as a young man placed in the bedroom you are good enough to allot to me.'

Alfred and Lydia stared at him.

The former said: 'My father's portrait—but why?'

Poirot said with a wave of the hand:

'It will—how shall I say—inspire me.'

Lydia said sharply:

'Do you propose, M. Poirot, to solve a crime by clairvoyance?'

'Let us say, madame, that I intend to use not only the eyes of the body, but the eyes of the mind.'

She shrugged her shoulders.

Poirot continued:

'Next, M. Lee, I should like to know of the true circumstances attending the death of your sister's husband, Juan Estravados.'

Lydia said: 'Is that necessary?'

'I want all the facts, madame.'

Alfred said:

'Juan Estravados, as the result of a quarrel about a woman, killed another man in a café.'

'How did he kill him?'

Alfred looked appealingly at Lydia. She said evenly:

'He stabbed him. Juan Estravados was not condemned to death, as there had been provocation. He was sentenced to a term of imprisonment and died in prison.'

'Does his daughter know about her father?'

'I think not.'

Alfred said:

'No, Jennifer never told her.'

'Thank you.'

Lydia said:

'You don't think that Pilar—Oh, it's absurd!'

Poirot said:

'Now, M. Lee, will you give me some facts about your brother, M. Harry Lee?'

'What do you want to know?'

'I understand that he was considered somewhat of a disgrace to the family. Why?'

Lydia said:

'It is so long ago...'

Alfred said, the colour coming up in his face:

'If you want to know, M. Poirot, he stole a large sum of money by forging my father's name to a cheque. Naturally my father didn't prosecute. Harry's always been crooked. He's been in trouble all over the world. Always cabling for money to get out of a scrape. He's been in and out of gaol here, there and everywhere.'

Lydia said:

'You don't really know all this, Alfred.'

Alfred said angrily, his hands shaking:

'Harry's no good—no good whatever! He never has been!'

Poirot said:

'There is, I see, no love lost between you?'

Alfred said:

'He victimized my father—victimized him shamefully!'

Lydia sighed—a quick, impatient sigh. Poirot heard it and gave her a sharp glance.

She said:

'If only those diamonds could be found. I'm sure the solution lies there.'

Poirot said:

'They have been found, madame.'

'What?'

Poirot said gently:

'They were found in your little garden of the Dead Sea...'

Lydia cried:

'In my garden? How—how extraordinary!'

Poirot said softly:

'Is it not, madame?'