"Well, sir, I happened to be going along the hall outside yesterday----"
"What time was that?"
"I couldn't say exactly, sir, but it wasn't tea-time by a long way.Perhaps four o'clock--or it may have been a bit later. Well, sir, as Isaid, I happened to be passing along, when I heard voices very loud andangry in here. I didn't exactly mean to listen, but--well, there it is.I stopped. The door was shut, but the mistress was speaking very sharpand clear, and I heard what she said quite plainly. 'You have liedto me, and deceived me,' she said. I didn't hear what Mr. Inglethorpreplied. He spoke a good bit lower than she did--but she answered:'How dare you? I have kept you and clothed you and fed you! You oweeverything to me! And this is how you repay me! By bringing disgraceupon our name!' Again I didn't hear what he said, but she went on:'Nothing that you can say will make any difference. I see my dutyclearly. My mind is made up. You need not think that any fear ofpublicity, or scandal between husband and wife will deter me.' Then Ithought I heard them coming out, so I went off quickly."
"You are sure it was Mr. Inglethorp's voice you heard?"
"Oh, yes, sir, whose else's could it be?"
"Well, what happened next?"
"Later, I came back to the hall; but it was all quiet. At five o'clock,Mrs. Inglethorp rang the bell and told me to bring her a cup oftea--nothing to eat--to the boudoir. She was looking dreadful--so whiteand upset. 'Dorcas,' she says, 'I've had a great shock.' 'I'm sorry forthat, m'm,' I says. 'You'll feel better after a nice hot cup of tea,m'm.' She had something in her hand. I don't know if it was a letter, orjust a piece of paper, but it had writing on it, and she kept staringat it, almost as if she couldn't believe what was written there. Shewhispered to herself, as though she had forgotten I was there: 'Thesefew words--and everything's changed.' And then she says to me: 'Nevertrust a man, Dorcas, they're not worth it!' I hurried off, and got hera good strong cup of tea, and she thanked me, and said she'd feel betterwhen she'd drunk it. 'I don't know what to do,' she says. 'Scandalbetween husband and wife is a dreadful thing, Dorcas. I'd rather hush itup if I could.' Mrs. Cavendish came in just then, so she didn't say anymore."
"She still had the letter, or whatever it was, in her hand?"
"Yes, sir."
"What would she be likely to do with it afterwards?"
"Well, I don't know, sir, I expect she would lock it up in that purplecase of hers."
"Is that where she usually kept important papers?"
"Yes, sir. She brought it down with her every morning, and took it upevery night."
"When did she lose the key of it?"
"She missed it yesterday at lunch-time, sir, and told me to lookcarefully for it. She was very much put out about it."
"But she had a duplicate key?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
Dorcas was looking very curiously at him and, to tell the truth, so wasI. What was all this about a lost key? Poirot smiled.
"Never mind, Dorcas, it is my business to know things. Is this the keythat was lost?" He drew from his pocket the key that he had found in thelock of the despatch-case upstairs.
Dorcas's eyes looked as though they would pop out of her head.
"That's it, sir, right enough. But where did you find it? I lookedeverywhere for it."
"Ah, but you see it was not in the same place yesterday as it wasto-day. Now, to pass to another subject, had your mistress a dark greendress in her wardrobe?"
Dorcas was rather startled by the unexpected question.
"No, sir."
"Are you quite sure?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
"Has anyone else in the house got a green dress?"
Dorcas reflected.
"Miss Cynthia has a green evening dress."
"Light or dark green?"
"A light green, sir; a sort of chiffon, they call it."
"Ah, that is not what I want. And nobody else has anything green?"
"No, sir--not that I know of."
Poirot's face did not betray a trace of whether he was disappointed orotherwise. He merely remarked:
"Good, we will leave that and pass on. Have you any reason to believethat your mistress was likely to take a sleeping powder last night?"
"Not _last_ night, sir, I know she didn't."
"Why do you know so positively?"
"Because the box was empty. She took the last one two days ago, and shedidn't have any more made up."
"You are quite sure of that?"
; "Positive, sir."
"Then that is cleared up! By the way, your mistress didn't ask you tosign any paper yesterday?"
"To sign a paper? No, sir."
"When Mr. Hastings and Mr. Lawrence came in yesterday evening, theyfound your mistress busy writing letters. I suppose you can give me noidea to whom these letters were addressed?"
"I'm afraid I couldn't, sir. I was out in the evening. Perhaps Anniecould tell you, though she's a careless girl. Never cleared thecoffee-cups away last night. That's what happens when I'm not here tolook after things."
Poirot lifted his hand.
"Since they have been left, Dorcas, leave them a little longer, I prayyou. I should like to examine them."
"Very well, sir."
"What time did you go out last evening?"
"About six o'clock, sir."
"Thank you, Dorcas, that is all I have to ask you." He rose and strolledto the window. "I have been admiring these flower beds. How manygardeners are employed here, by the way?"
"Only three now, sir. Five, we had, before the war, when it was kept asa gentleman's place should be. I wish you could have seen it then,sir. A fair sight it was. But now there's only old Manning, and youngWilliam, and a new-fashioned woman gardener in breeches and such-like.Ah, these are dreadful times!"
"The good times will come again, Dorcas. At least, we hope so. Now, willyou send Annie to me here?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"How did you know that Mrs. Inglethorp took sleeping powders?" I asked,in lively curiosity, as Dorcas left the room. "And about the lost keyand the duplicate?"
"One thing at a time. As to the sleeping powders, I knew by this."He suddenly produced a small cardboard box, such as chemists use forpowders.
"Where did you find it?"
"In the wash-stand drawer in Mrs. Inglethorp's bedroom. It was NumberSix of my catalogue."
"But I suppose, as the last powder was taken two days ago, it is not ofmuch importance?"
"Probably not, but do you notice anything that strikes you as peculiarabout this box?"
I examined it closely.
"No, I can't say that I do."
"Look at the label."
I read the label carefully: "'One powder to be taken at bedtime, ifrequired. Mrs. Inglethorp.' No, I see nothing unusual."
"Not the fact that there is no chemist's name?"
"Ah!" I exclaimed. "To be sure, that is odd!"
"Have you ever known a chemist to send out a box like that, without hisprinted name?"
"No, I can't say that I have."
I was becoming quite excited, but Poirot damped my ardour by remarking:
"Yet the explanation is quite simple. So do not intrigue yourself, myfriend."
An audible creaking proclaimed the approach of Annie, so I had no timeto reply.
Annie was a fine, strapping girl, and was evidently labouring underintense excitement, mingled with a certain ghoulish enjoyment of thetragedy.
Poirot came to the point at once, with a business-like briskness.
"I sent for you, Annie, because I thought you might be able to tell mesomething about the letters Mrs. Inglethorp wrote last night. How manywere there? And can you tell me any of the names and addresses?"
Annie considered.
"There were four letters, sir. One was to Miss Howard, and one wasto Mr. Wells, the lawyer, and the other two I don't think I remember,sir--oh, yes, one was to Ross's, the caterers in Tadminster. The otherone, I don't remember."
"Think," urged Poirot.
Annie racked her brains in vain.
"I'm sorry, sir, but it's clean gone. I don't think I can have noticedit."
"It does not matter," said Poirot, not betraying any sign ofdisappointment. "Now I want to ask you about something else. There is asaucepan in Mrs. Inglethorp's room with some cocoa in it. Did she havethat every night?"
"Yes, sir, it was put in her room every evening, and she warmed it up inthe night--whenever she fancied it."
"What was it? Plain cocoa?"
"Yes, sir, made with milk, with a teaspoonful of sugar, and twoteaspoonfuls of rum in it."
"Who took it to her room?"
"I did, sir."
"Always?"
"Yes, sir."
"At what time?"
"When I went to draw the curtains, as a rule, sir."
"Did you bring it straight up from the kitchen then?"
"No, sir, you see there's not much room on the gas stove, so Cook usedto make it early, before putting the vegetables on for supper. Then Iused to bring it up, and put it on the table by the swing door, and takeit into her room later."
"The swing door is in the left wing, is it not?"
"Yes, sir."
"And the table, is it on this side of the door, or on thefarther--servants' side?"
"It's this side, sir."
"What time did you bring it up last night?"
"About quarter-past seven, I should say, sir."
"And when did you take it into Mrs. Inglethorp's room?"
"When I went to shut up, sir. About eight o'clock. Mrs. Inglethorp cameup to bed before I'd finished."
"Then, between 7.15 and 8 o'clock, the cocoa was standing on the tablein the left wing?"
"Yes, sir." Annie had been growing redder and redder in the face, andnow she blurted out unexpectedly:
"And if there _was_ salt in it, sir, it wasn't me. I never took the saltnear it."
"What makes you think there was salt in it?" asked Poirot.
"Seeing it on the tray, sir."
"You saw some salt on the tray?"
"Yes. Coarse kitchen salt, it looked. I never noticed it when I took thetray up, but when I came to take it into the mistress's room I saw it atonce, and I suppose I ought to have taken it down again, and asked Cookto make some fresh. But I was in a hurry, because Dorcas was out, and Ithought maybe the cocoa itself was all right, and the salt had only goneon the tray. So I dusted it off with my apron, and took it in."
I had the utmost difficulty in controlling my excitement. Unknown toherself, Annie had provided us with an important piece of evidence. Howshe would have gaped if she had realized that her "coarse kitchen salt"was strychnine, one of the most deadly poisons known to mankind. Imarvelled at Poirot's calm. His self-control was astonishing. I awaitedhis next question with impatience, but it disappointed me.
"When you went into Mrs. Inglethorp's room, was the door leading intoMiss Cynthia's room bolted?"
"Oh! Yes, sir; it always was. It had never been opened."
"And the door into Mr. Inglethorp's room? Did you notice if that wasbolted too?"
Annie hesitated.
"I couldn't rightly say, sir; it was shut but I couldn't say whether itwas bolted or not."
"When you finally left the room, did Mrs. Inglethorp bolt the door afteryou?"
"No, sir, not then, but I expect she did later. She usually did lock itat night. The door into the passage, that is."
"Did you notice any candle grease on the floor when you did the roomyesterday?"
"Candle grease? Oh, no, sir. Mrs. Inglethorp didn't have a candle, onlya reading-lamp."
"Then, if there had been a large patch of candle grease on the floor,you think you would have been sure to have seen it?"
"Yes, sir, and I would have taken it out with a piece of blotting-paperand a hot iron."
Then Poirot repeated the question he had put to Dorcas:
"Did your mistress ever have a green dress?"
"No, sir."
"Nor a mantle, nor a cape, nor a--how do you call it?--a sports coat?"
"Not green, sir."
"Nor anyone else in the house?"
Annie reflected.
"No, sir."
"You are sure of that?"
"Quite sure."
"_Bien!_ That is all I want to know. Thank you very much."
With a nervous giggle, Annie took herself creakingly out of the room. Mypent-up excitement burst forth.
"P
oirot," I cried, "I congratulate you! This is a great discovery."
"What is a great discovery?"
"Why, that it was the cocoa and not the coffee that was poisoned. Thatexplains everything! Of course it did not take effect until the earlymorning, since the cocoa was only drunk in the middle of the night."
"So you think that the cocoa--mark well what I say, Hastings, the_cocoa_--contained strychnine?"
"Of course! That salt on the tray, what else could it have been?"
"It might have been salt," replied Poirot placidly.
I shrugged my shoulders. If he was going to take the matter that way,it was no good arguing with him. The idea crossed my mind, not for thefirst time, that poor old Poirot was growing old. Privately I thought itlucky that he had associated with him someone of a more receptive typeof mind.
Poirot was surveying me with quietly twinkling eyes.
"You are not pleased with me, _mon ami?_"
"My dear Poirot," I said coldly, "it is not for me to dictate to you.You have a right to your own opinion, just as I have to mine."
"A most admirable sentiment," remarked Poirot, rising briskly to hisfeet. "Now I have finished with this room. By the way, whose is thesmaller desk in the corner?"
"Mr. Inglethorp's."
"Ah!" He tried the roll top tentatively. "Locked. But perhaps one ofMrs. Inglethorp's keys would open it." He tried several, twisting andturning them with a practiced hand, and finally uttering an ejaculationof satisfaction. "_Voilà!_ It is not the key, but it will open it at apinch." He slid back the roll top, and ran a rapid eye over the neatlyfiled papers. To my surprise, he did not examine them, merely remarkingapprovingly as he relocked the desk: "Decidedly, he is a man of method,this Mr. Inglethorp!"
A "man of method" was, in Poirot's estimation, the highest praise thatcould be bestowed on any individual.
I felt that my friend was not what he had been as he rambled ondisconnectedly:
"There were no stamps in his desk, but there might have been, eh,_mon ami?_ There might have been? Yes"--his eyes wandered round theroom--"this boudoir has nothing more to tell us. It did not yield much.Only this."
He pulled a crumpled envelope out of his pocket, and tossed it overto me. It was rather a curious document. A plain, dirty looking oldenvelope with a few words scrawled across it, apparently at random. Thefollowing is a facsimile of it.