Miss Howard produced the letter written to her by Mrs. Inglethorp onthe evening of the 17th. Poirot and I had, of course already seen it.It added nothing to our knowledge of the tragedy. The following is afacsimile:
STYLES COURT ESSEX hand written note: July 17th
My dear Evelyn
Can we not bury the hachet? I have found it hard to forgive the things you said against my dear husband but I am an old woman and very fond of you
Yours affectionately,
Emily Inglethorpe
It was handed to the jury who scrutinized it attentively.
"I fear it does not help us much," said the Coroner, with a sigh. "Thereis no mention of any of the events of that afternoon."
"Plain as a pikestaff to me," said Miss Howard shortly. "It showsclearly enough that my poor old friend had just found out she'd beenmade a fool of!"
"It says nothing of the kind in the letter," the Coroner pointed out.
"No, because Emily never could bear to put herself in the wrong. But Iknow her. She wanted me back. But she wasn't going to own that I'dbeen right. She went round about. Most people do. Don't believe in itmyself."
Mr. Wells smiled faintly. So, I noticed, did several of the jury. MissHoward was obviously quite a public character.
"Anyway, all this tomfoolery is a great waste of time," continued thelady, glancing up and down the jury disparagingly. "Talk--talk--talk!When all the time we know perfectly well----"
The Coroner interrupted her in an agony of apprehension:
"Thank you, Miss Howard, that is all."
I fancy he breathed a sigh of relief when she complied.
Then came the sensation of the day. The Coroner called Albert Mace,chemist's assistant.
It was our agitated young man of the pale face. In answer to theCoroner's questions, he explained that he was a qualified pharmacist,but had only recently come to this particular shop, as the assistantformerly there had just been called up for the army.
These preliminaries completed, the Coroner proceeded to business.
"Mr. Mace, have you lately sold strychnine to any unauthorized person?"
"Yes, sir."
"When was this?"
"Last Monday night."
"Monday? Not Tuesday?"
"No, sir, Monday, the 16th."
"Will you tell us to whom you sold it?"
You could have heard a pin drop.
"Yes, sir. It was to Mr. Inglethorp."
Every eye turned simultaneously to where Alfred Inglethorp was sitting,impassive and wooden. He started slightly, as the damning words fellfrom the young man's lips. I half thought he was going to rise fromhis chair, but he remained seated, although a remarkably well actedexpression of astonishment rose on his face.
"You are sure of what you say?" asked the Coroner sternly.
"Quite sure, sir."
"Are you in the habit of selling strychnine indiscriminately over thecounter?"
The wretched young man wilted visibly under the Coroner's frown.
"Oh, no, sir--of course not. But, seeing it was Mr. Inglethorp of theHall, I thought there w
as no harm in it. He said it was to poison adog."
Inwardly I sympathized. It was only human nature to endeavour to please"The Hall"--especially when it might result in custom being transferredfrom Coot's to the local establishment.
"Is it not customary for anyone purchasing poison to sign a book?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Inglethorp did so."
"Have you got the book here?"
"Yes, sir."
It was produced; and, with a few words of stern censure, the Coronerdismissed the wretched Mr. Mace.
Then, amidst a breathless silence, Alfred Inglethorp was called. Did herealize, I wondered, how closely the halter was being drawn around hisneck?
The Coroner went straight to the point.
"On Monday evening last, did you purchase strychnine for the purpose ofpoisoning a dog?"
Inglethorp replied with perfect calmness:
"No, I did not. There is no dog at Styles, except an outdoor sheepdog,which is in perfect health."
"You deny absolutely having purchased strychnine from Albert Mace onMonday last?"
"I do."
"Do you also deny _this_?"
The Coroner handed him the register in which his signature wasinscribed.
"Certainly I do. The hand-writing is quite different from mine. I willshow you."
He took an old envelope out of his pocket, and wrote his name on it,handing it to the jury. It was certainly utterly dissimilar.
"Then what is your explanation of Mr. Mace's statement?"
Alfred Inglethorp replied imperturbably:
"Mr. Mace must have been mistaken."
The Coroner hesitated for a moment, and then said:
"Mr. Inglethorp, as a mere matter of form, would you mind telling uswhere you were on the evening of Monday, July 16th?"
"Really--I can't remember."
"That is absurd, Mr. Inglethorp," said the Coroner sharply. "Thinkagain."
Inglethorp shook his head.
"I cannot tell you. I have an idea that I was out walking."
"In what direction?"
"I really can't remember."
The Coroner's face grew graver.
"Were you in company with anyone?"
"No."
"Did you meet anyone on your walk?"
"No."
"That is a pity," said the Coroner dryly. "I am to take it then thatyou decline to say where you were at the time that Mr. Mace positivelyrecognized you as entering the shop to purchase strychnine?"
"If you like to take it that way, yes."
"Be careful, Mr. Inglethorp."
Poirot was fidgeting nervously.
"_Sacre!_" he murmured. "Does this imbecile of a man _want_ to bearrested?"
Inglethorp was indeed creating a bad impression. His futile denialswould not have convinced a child. The Coroner, however, passed brisklyto the next point, and Poirot drew a deep breath of relief.
"You had a discussion with your wife on Tuesday afternoon?"
"Pardon me," interrupted Alfred Inglethorp, "you have been misinformed.I had no quarrel with my dear wife. The whole story is absolutelyuntrue. I was absent from the house the entire afternoon."
"Have you anyone who can testify to that?"
"You have my word," said Inglethorp haughtily.
The Coroner did not trouble to reply.
"There are two witnesses who will swear to having heard yourdisagreement with Mrs. Inglethorp."
"Those witnesses were mistaken."
I was puzzled. The man spoke with such quiet assurance that I wasstaggered. I looked at Poirot. There was an expression of exultationon his face which I could not understand. Was he at last convinced ofAlfred Inglethorp's guilt?
"Mr. Inglethorp," said the Coroner, "you have heard your wife's dyingwords repeated here. Can you explain them in any way?"
"Certainly I can."
"You can?"
"It seems to me very simple. The room was dimly lighted. Dr. Bauersteinis much of my height and build, and, like me, wears a beard. In the dimlight, and suffering as she was, my poor wife mistook him for me."
"Ah!" murmured Poirot to himself. "But it is an idea, that!"
"You think it is true?" I whispered.
"I do not say that. But it is truly an ingenious supposition."
"You read my wife's last words as an accusation"--Inglethorp wascontinuing--"they were, on the contrary, an appeal to me."
The Coroner reflected a moment, then he said:
"I believe, Mr. Inglethorp, that you yourself poured out the coffee, andtook it to your wife that evening?"
"I poured it out, yes. But I did not take it to her. I meant to do so,but I was told that a friend was at the hall door, so I laid down thecoffee on the hall table. When I came through the hall again a fewminutes later, it was gone."
This statement might, or might not, be true, but it did not seem to meto improve matters much for Inglethorp. In any case, he had had ampletime to introduce the poison.
At that point, Poirot nudged me gently, indicating two men whowere sitting together near the door. One was a little, sharp, dark,ferret-faced man, the other was tall and fair.
I questioned Poirot mutely. He put his lips to my ear.
"Do you know who that little man is?"
I shook my head.
"That is Detective Inspector James Japp of Scotland Yard--Jimmy Japp.The other man is from Scotland Yard too. Things are moving quickly, myfriend."
I stared at the two men intently. There was certainly nothing of thepoliceman about them. I should never have suspected them of beingofficial personages.
I was still staring, when I was startled and recalled by the verdictbeing given:
"Wilful Murder against some person or persons unknown."