"Certainly. What is it, Dorcas?"
"Well, it's just this, sir. You'll be seeing the Belgian gentlemanto-day perhaps?" I nodded
. "Well, sir, you know how he asked me soparticular if the mistress, or anyone else, had a green dress?"
"Yes, yes. You have found one?" My interest was aroused.
"No, not that, sir. But since then I've remembered what the younggentlemen"--John and Lawrence were still the "young gentlemen" toDorcas--"call the 'dressing-up box.' It's up in the front attic, sir. Agreat chest, full of old clothes and fancy dresses, and what not. And itcame to me sudden like that there might be a green dress amongst them.So, if you'd tell the Belgian gentleman----"
"I will tell him, Dorcas," I promised.
"Thank you very much, sir. A very nice gentleman he is, sir. And quitea different class from them two detectives from London, what goes pryingabout, and asking questions. I don't hold with foreigners as a rule, butfrom what the newspapers say I make out as how these brave Belges isn'tthe ordinary run of foreigners, and certainly he's a most polite spokengentleman."
Dear old Dorcas! As she stood there, with her honest face upturnedto mine, I thought what a fine specimen she was of the old-fashionedservant that is so fast dying out.
I thought I might as well go down to the village at once, and look upPoirot; but I met him half-way, coming up to the house, and at once gavehim Dorcas's message.
"Ah, the brave Dorcas! We will look at the chest, although--but nomatter--we will examine it all the same."
We entered the house by one of the windows. There was no one in thehall, and we went straight up to the attic.
Sure enough, there was the chest, a fine old piece, all studded withbrass nails, and full to overflowing with every imaginable type ofgarment.
Poirot bundled everything out on the floor with scant ceremony. Therewere one or two green fabrics of varying shades; but Poirot shook hishead over them all. He seemed somewhat apathetic in the search, asthough he expected no great results from it. Suddenly he gave anexclamation.
"What is it?"
"Look!"
The chest was nearly empty, and there, reposing right at the bottom, wasa magnificent black beard.
"_Ohó!_" said Poirot. "_Ohó!_" He turned it over in his hands, examiningit closely. "New," he remarked. "Yes, quite new."
After a moment's hesitation, he replaced it in the chest, heaped allthe other things on top of it as before, and made his way brisklydownstairs. He went straight to the pantry, where we found Dorcas busilypolishing her silver.
Poirot wished her good morning with Gallic politeness, and went on:
"We have been looking through that chest, Dorcas. I am much obliged toyou for mentioning it. There is, indeed, a fine collection there. Arethey often used, may I ask?"
"Well, sir, not very often nowadays, though from time to time we do havewhat the young gentlemen call 'a dress-up night.' And very funny it issometimes, sir. Mr. Lawrence, he's wonderful. Most comic! I shall neverforget the night he came down as the Char of Persia, I think he calledit--a sort of Eastern King it was. He had the big paper knife in hishand, and 'Mind, Dorcas,' he says, 'you'll have to be very respectful.This is my specially sharpened scimitar, and it's off with your head ifI'm at all displeased with you!' Miss Cynthia, she was what they call anApache, or some such name--a Frenchified sort of cut-throat, I take itto be. A real sight she looked. You'd never have believed a pretty younglady like that could have made herself into such a ruffian. Nobody wouldhave known her."
"These evenings must have been great fun," said Poirot genially. "Isuppose Mr. Lawrence wore that fine black beard in the chest upstairs,when he was Shah of Persia?"
"He did have a beard, sir," replied Dorcas, smiling. "And well I knowit, for he borrowed two skeins of my black wool to make it with! And I'msure it looked wonderfully natural at a distance. I didn't know asthere was a beard up there at all. It must have been got quite lately, Ithink. There was a red wig, I know, but nothing else in the way of hair.Burnt corks they use mostly--though 'tis messy getting it off again.Miss Cynthia was a nigger once, and, oh, the trouble she had."
"So Dorcas knows nothing about that black beard," said Poirotthoughtfully, as we walked out into the hall again.
"Do you think it is _the_ one?" I whispered eagerly.
Poirot nodded.
"I do. You notice it had been trimmed?"
"No."
"Yes. It was cut exactly the shape of Mr. Inglethorp's, and I found oneor two snipped hairs. Hastings, this affair is very deep."
"Who put it in the chest, I wonder?"
"Someone with a good deal of intelligence," remarked Poirot dryly. "Yourealize that he chose the one place in the house to hide it where itspresence would not be remarked? Yes, he is intelligent. But we must bemore intelligent. We must be so intelligent that he does not suspect usof being intelligent at all."
I acquiesced.
"There, _mon ami_, you will be of great assistance to me."
I was pleased with the compliment. There had been times when I hardlythought that Poirot appreciated me at my true worth.
"Yes," he continued, staring at me thoughtfully, "you will beinvaluable."
This was naturally gratifying, but Poirot's next words were not sowelcome.
"I must have an ally in the house," he observed reflectively.
"You have me," I protested.
"True, but you are not sufficient."
I was hurt, and showed it. Poirot hurried to explain himself.
"You do not quite take my meaning. You are known to be working with me.I want somebody who is not associated with us in any way."
"Oh, I see. How about John?"
"No, I think not."
"The dear fellow isn't perhaps very bright," I said thoughtfully.
"Here comes Miss Howard," said Poirot suddenly. "She is the very person.But I am in her black books, since I cleared Mr. Inglethorp. Still, wecan but try."
With a nod that was barely civil, Miss Howard assented to Poirot'srequest for a few minutes' conversation.
We went into the little morning-room, and Poirot closed the door.
"Well, Monsieur Poirot," said Miss Howard impatiently, "what is it? Outwith it. I'm busy."
"Do you remember, mademoiselle, that I once asked you to help me?"
"Yes, I do." The lady nodded. "And I told you I'd help you withpleasure--to hang Alfred Inglethorp."
"Ah!" Poirot studied her seriously. "Miss Howard, I will ask you onequestion. I beg of you to reply to it truthfully."
"Never tell lies," replied Miss Howard.
"It is this. Do you still believe that Mrs. Inglethorp was poisoned byher husband?"
"What do you mean?" she asked sharply. "You needn't think your prettyexplanations influence me in the slightest. I'll admit that it wasn't hewho bought strychnine at the chemist's shop. What of that? I dare say hesoaked fly paper, as I told you at the beginning."
"That is arsenic--not strychnine," said Poirot mildly.
"What does that matter? Arsenic would put poor Emily out of the way justas well as strychnine. If I'm convinced he did it, it doesn't matter ajot to me _how_ he did it."
"Exactly. _If_ you are convinced he did it," said Poirot quietly. "Iwill put my question in another form. Did you ever in your heart ofhearts believe that Mrs. Inglethorp was poisoned by her husband?"
"Good heavens!" cried Miss Howard. "Haven't I always told you the manis a villain? Haven't I always told you he would murder her in her bed?Haven't I always hated him like poison?"
"Exactly," said Poirot. "That bears out my little idea entirely."
"What little idea?"
"Miss Howard, do you remember a conversation that took place on theday of my friend's arrival here? He repeated it to me, and there isa sentence of yours that has impressed me very much. Do you rememberaffirming that if a crime had been committed, and anyone you loved hadbeen murdered, you felt certain that you would know by instinct who thecriminal was, even if you were quite unable to prove it?"
"Yes, I remember saying that. I believe it too. I suppose you think itnonsense?"
"Not at all."
"And yet you will pay no attention to my instinct against AlfredInglethorp."
"No," said Poirot curtly. "Because your instinct is not against Mr.Inglethorp."
"What?"
"No. You wish to believe he committed the crime. You believe him capableof committing it. But your instinct tells you he did not commit it. Ittells you more--shall I go on?"
She was staring at him, fascinated, and made a slight affirmativemovement of the hand.
"Shall I tell you why you have been so vehement against Mr. Inglethorp?It is because you have been trying to believe what you wish to believe.It is because you are trying to drown and stifle your instinct, whichtells you another name----"
"No, no, no!" cried Miss Howard wildly, flinging up her hands. "Don'tsay it! Oh, don't say it! It isn't true! It can't be true. I don't knowwhat put such a wild--such a dreadful--idea into my head!"
"I am right, am I not?" asked Poirot.
"Yes, yes; you must be a wizard to have guessed. But it can't beso--it's too monstrous, too impossible. It must be Alfred Inglethorp."
Poirot shook his head gravely.
"Don't ask me about it," continued Miss Howard, "because I shan't tellyou. I won't admit it, even to myself. I must be mad to think of such athing."
Poirot nodded, as if satisfied.
"I will ask you nothing. It is enough for me that it is as I thought.And I--I, too, have an instinct. We are working together towards acommon end."
"Don't ask me to help you, because I won't. I wouldn't lift a fingerto--to----" She faltered.
"You will help me in spite of yourself. I ask you nothing--but you willbe my ally. You will not be able to help yourself. You will do the onlything that I want of you."
"And that is?"
"You will watch!"
Evelyn Howard bowed her head.
"Yes, I can't help doing that. I am always watching--always hoping Ishall be proved wrong."
"If we are wrong, well and good," said Poirot. "No one will be morepleased than I shall. But, if we are right? If we are right, MissHoward, on whose side are you then?"
"I don't know, I don't know----"
"Come now."
"It could be hushed up."
"There must be no hushing up."
"But Emily herself----" She broke off.
"Miss Howard," said Poirot gravely, "this is unworthy of you."
Suddenly she took her face from her hands.
"Yes," she said quietly, "that was not Evelyn Howard who spoke!" Sheflung her head up proudly. "_This_ is Evelyn Howard! And she is on theside of Justice! Let the cost be what it may." And with these words, shewalked firmly out of the room.
"There," said Poirot, looking after her, "goes a very valuable ally.That woman, Hastings, has got brains as well as a heart."
I did not reply.
"Instinct is a marvellous thing," mused Poirot. "It can neither beexplained nor ignored."
"You and Miss Howard seem to know what you are talking about," Iobserved coldly. "Perhaps you don't realize that I am still in thedark."
"Really? Is that so, _mon ami?_"
"Yes. Enlighten me, will you?"
Poirot studied me attentively for a moment or two. Then, to my intensesurprise, he shook his head decidedly.
"No, my friend."
"Oh, look here, why not?"
"Two is enough for a secret."
"Well, I think it is very unfair to keep back facts from me."
"I am not keeping back facts. Every fact that I know is in yourpossession. You can draw your own deductions from them. This time it isa question of ideas."
"Still, it would be interesting to know."
Poirot looked at me very earnestly, and again shook his head.
"You see," he said sadly, "_you_ have no instincts."
"It was intelligence you were requiring just now," I pointed out.
"The two often go together," said Poirot enigmatically.
The remark seemed so utterly irrelevant that I did not even take thetrouble to answer it. But I decided that if I made any interestingand important discoveries--as no doubt I should--I would keep them tomyself, and surprise Poirot with the ultimate result.
There are times when it is one's duty to assert oneself.