Mr. Cust said to himself:
“Hercule Poirot. I wonder if he knows….”
He walked on again.
It wouldn’t do to stand staring at that poster….
He thought:
“I can’t go on much longer….”
Foot in front of foot…what an odd thing walking was….
Foot in front of foot—ridiculous.
Highly ridiculous….
But man was a ridiculous animal anyway….
And he, Alexander Bonaparte Cust, was particularly ridiculous.
He had always been….
People had always la
ughed at him….
He couldn’t blame them….
Where was he going? He didn’t know. He’d come to the end. He no longer looked anywhere but at his feet.
Foot in front of foot.
He looked up. Lights in front of him. And letters….
Police Station.
“That’s funny,” said Mr. Cust. He gave a little giggle.
Then he stepped inside. Suddenly, as he did so, he swayed and fell forward.
Thirty-one
HERCULE POIROT ASKS QUESTIONS
It was a clear November day. Dr. Thompson and Chief Inspector Japp had come round to acquaint Poirot with the result of the police court proceedings in the case of Rex v. Alexander Bonaparte Cust.
Poirot himself had had a slight bronchial chill which had prevented his attending. Fortunately he had not insisted on having my company.
“Committed for trial,” said Japp. “So that’s that.”
“Isn’t it unusual?” I asked, “for a defence to be offered at this stage? I thought prisoners always reserved their defence.”
“It’s the usual course,” said Japp. “I suppose young Lucas thought he might rush it through. He’s a trier, I will say. Insanity’s the only defence possible.”
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
“With insanity there can be no acquittal. Imprisonment during His Majesty’s pleasure is hardly preferable to death.”