Black Coffee (Hercule Poirot 7)

‘But I killed him, I tell you.’ Lucia’s voice was almost at screaming pitch.

‘Promise number two,’ Poirot continued imperturbably, ‘is that I will save your husband!’

‘Oh!’ Lucia gasped, gazing at him in bewilderment.

The butler, Tredwell, entered the room. Addressing Poirot, he announced, ‘Inspector Japp, from Scotland Yard.’

Chapter 15

Fifteen minutes later, Inspector Japp, accompanied by Johnson, a young constable, had finished his initial inspection of the library. Japp, a bluff, hearty, middle-aged man with a thick-set figure and a ruddy complexion, was reminiscing with Poirot and Hastings, who had returned from his exile in the garden.

‘Yes,’ Japp told his constable, ‘Mr Poirot and I go back a long way. You’ve heard me speak often of him. He was still a member of the Belgian police force when we first worked together. It was the Abercrombie forgery case, wasn’t it, Poirot? We ran him down in Brussels. Ah, those were great days. And do you remember “Baron” Altara? There was a pretty rogue for you! He eluded the clutches of half the police in Europe. But we nailed him in Antwerp – thanks to Mr Poirot here.’

Japp turned from Johnson to Poirot. ‘And then we met again in this country, didn’t we, Poirot?’ he exclaimed. ‘You’d retired by then, of course. You solved that mysterious affair at Styles, remember? The last time we collaborated on a case was about two years ago, wasn’t it? That affair of the Italian nobleman in London. Well it’s really good to see you again, Poirot. You could have knocked me down with a feather when I came in a few minutes ago and saw your funny old mug.’

‘My mug?’ asked Poirot, looking puzzled. English slang never failed to mystify him.

‘Your face, I mean, old chap,’ Japp explained, with a grin. ‘Well, shall we work together on this?’

Poirot smiled. ‘My good Japp, you know my little weaknesses!’

‘Secretive old beggar, aren’t you?’ remarked Japp, smacking Poirot on the shoulder. ‘I say, that Mrs Amory you were talking to when I came in, she’s a good looker. Richard Amory’s wife, I suppose? I’ll bet you were enjoying yourself, you old dog!’

The inspector gave a rather coarse laugh, and seated himself on a chair by the table. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘this is just the sort of case that suits you down to the ground. It pleases your tortuous mind. Now, I loathe a poisoning case. Nothing to go on. You have to find out what they ate and drank, and who handled it, and who so much as breathed on it! I admit Dr Graham seems pretty clear on the case. He says the dope must have been in the coffee. According to him, such a large dose would have had an almost instantaneous effect. Of course, we shall know for certain when we get the analyst’s report, but we’ve got enough to go on.’

Japp rose to his feet. ‘Well, I’ve finished with this room,’ he declared. ‘I’d better have a few words with Mr Richard Amory, I suppose, and then I’ll see this Dr Carelli. It looks as though he’s our man. But keep an open mind, that’s what I always say, keep an open mind.’ He moved to the door. ‘Coming, Poirot?’

‘But certainly, I will accompany you,’ said Poirot, joining him.

‘Captain Hastings too, I’ve no doubt,’ Japp laughed. ‘Sticks as close to you as your shadow, doesn’t he, Poirot?’

Poirot threw a meaningful glance at his friend. ‘Perhaps Hastings would prefer to remain here,’ he remarked.

Taking his cue in a somewhat obvious manner, Hastings replied, ‘Yes, yes, I think I’ll stay here.’

‘Well, as you please.’ Japp sounded surprised. He and Poirot left, followed by the young constable, and a moment later Barbara Amory entered from the garden through the french windows, wearing a pink blouse and light-coloured slacks. ‘Ah! There you are, my pet. I say, what’s this that’s just blown in upon us?’ she asked Hastings, as she moved across to the settee and sat down. ‘Is it the police?’

‘Yes,’ Hastings told her. He joined her on the settee. ‘It’s Inspector Japp of Scotland Yard. He’s gone to see your cousin now, to ask him a few questions.’

‘Will he want to ask me questions, do you think?’

‘I don’t imagine so. But even if he does,’ Hastings assured her, ‘there’s nothing to be alarmed about.’

‘Oh, I’m not alarmed,’ Barbara declared. ‘In fact, I think it would be absolutely wizard! But it would be so tempting to embroider a bit, just to make a sensation. I adore sensation, don’t you?’

Hastings looked puzzled. ‘I – I really don’t know. No, I don’t think I adore sensation.’

Barbara Amory regarded him quizzically. ‘You know, you intrigue me,’ she declared. ‘Where have you been all your life?’

‘Well, I’ve spent several years in South America.’

‘I knew it!’ Barbara exclaimed. She gestured, with her hand over her eyes. ‘The wide open spaces. That’s why you’re so deliciously old-fashioned.’

Hastings now looked offended. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said stiffly.

‘Oh, but I adore it,’ Barbara hastened to explain. ‘I think you’re a pet, an absolute pet.’

‘What exactly do you mean by old-fashioned?’

‘Well,’ Barbara continued, ‘I’m sure you believe in all sorts of stuffy old things, like decency, and not telling lies except for a very good reason, and putting a good face on things.’

‘Quite,’ agreed Hastings in some surprise. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Me? Well, for example, do you expect me to keep up the fiction that Uncle Claud’s death is a regrettable incident?’

‘Isn’t it?’ Hastings sounded shocked.

‘My dear!’ exclaimed Barbara. She rose, and perched herself on the edge of the coffee table. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s the most marvellous thing that ever happened. You don’t know what an old skinflint he was. You don’t know how he ground us all down!’ She stopped, overcome by the strength of her feelings.

Embarrassed, Hastings began, ‘I – I – wish you wouldn’t –’ but was interrupted by Barbara. ‘You don’t like honesty?’ she asked. ‘That’s just what I thought you’d be like. You’d prefer me to be wearing black instead of this, and to be talking in a hushed voice about “Poor Uncle Claud! So good to us all.” ’

‘Really!’ Hastings exclaimed.

‘Oh, you needn’t pretend,’ Barbara went on, ‘I knew that’s what you’d turn out to be like, if I got to know you properly. But what I say is that life isn’t long enough for all that lying and pretence. Uncle Claud wasn’t good to us at all. I’m certain we’re all glad he’s dead, really, in our heart of hearts. Yes, even Aunt Caroline. Poor dear, she’s stood him longer than any of us.’

Barbara suddenly calmed down. When she spoke again, it was in a milder tone. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking. Scientifically speaking, Aunt Caroline might have poisoned Uncle Claud. That heart attack last night was really very queer. I don’t believe it was a heart attack at all. Just suppose that suppressing her feelings all these years had led to Aunt Caroline developing some powerful complex –’

‘I suppose it’s theoretically possible,’ Hastings murmured guardedly.

‘I wonder who pinched the formula, though,’ Barbara continued. ‘Everyone says it was the Italian, but personally I suspect Tredwell.’

‘Your butler? Good heavens! Why?’

‘Because he never went near the study!’

Hastings looked perplexed. ‘But then –’

‘I’m very orthodox in some ways,’ Barbara remarked. ‘I’ve been brought up to suspect the least likely person. That’s who it is in all the best murder mysteries. And Tredwell is certainly the least likely person.’

‘Except you, perhaps,’ Hastings suggested with a laugh.

‘Oh, me!’ Barbara smiled uncertainly as she rose and moved away from him. ‘How curious –’ she murmured to herself.

‘What’s curious?’ Hastings asked, rising to his feet.

‘Something I’ve just thought of. Let’s go out in the garden. I hate it in here.?

?? She moved towards the french windows.

‘I’m afraid I have to stay here,’ Hastings told her.

‘Why?’

‘I mustn’t leave this room.’