Lord Edgware Dies人性记录30

Chapter 30

 The Story

He looked round at us.

‘Come, my friends,’ he said gently. ‘Let me tell you the real story of what happened that night.

‘Carlotta Adams leaves her flat at seven o’clock. From there she takes a taxi and goes to the Piccadilly Palace.’

‘What?’ I exclaimed.

‘To the Piccadilly Palace. Earlier in the day she has taken a room there as Mrs Van Dusen. She wears a pair of strong glasses which, as we all know, alters the appearance very much. As I say, she books a room, saying that she is going by the night boat train to Liverpool and that her luggage has gone on. At eight-thirty Lady Edgware arrives and asks for her. She is shown up to her room. There they change clothes. Dressed in a fair wig, a white taffeta dress and ermine wrap, Carlotta Adams and not Jane Wilkinson leaves the hotel and drives to Chiswick. Yes, yes, it is perfectly possible. I have been to the house in the evening. The dinner table is lit only with candles, the lamps are dim, no one there knows Jane Wilkinson very well. There is the golden hair, the well-known husky voice and manner. Oh! it was quite easy. And if it had not been successful – if someone had spotted the fake – well, that was all arranged for, too. Lady Edgware, wearing a dark wig, Carlotta’s clothes and the pince-nez, pays her bill, has her suitcase put on a taxi and drives to Euston. She removes the dark wig in the lavatory, she puts her suitcase in the cloak-room. Before going to Regent Gate she rings up Chiswick and asks to speak to Lady Edgware. This has been arranged between them. If all has gone well and Carlotta has not been spotted, she is to answer simply – “That’s right.” I need hardly say Miss Adams was ignorant of the real reason for the telephone call. Having heard the words, Lady Edgware goes ahead. She goes to Regent Gate, asks for Lord Edgware, proclaims her individuality, and goes into the library. And commits the first murder. Of course she did not know that Miss Carroll was watching her from above. As far as she is aware it will be the butler’s word (and he has never seen her, remember – and also she wears a hat which shields her from his gaze) against the word of twelve well-known and distinguished people.

‘She leaves the house, returns to Euston, changes from fair to dark again and picks up her suitcase. She has now to put in time till Carlotta Adams returns from Chiswick. They have agreed as to the approximate time. She goes to the Corner House, occasionally glancing at her watch, for the time passes slowly. Then she prepares for the second murder. She puts the small gold box she has ordered from Paris in Carlotta Adams’ bag which, of course, she is carrying. Perhaps it is then she finds the letter. Perhaps it was earlier. Anyway, as soon as she sees the address, she scents danger. She opens it – her suspicions are justified.

‘Perhaps her first impulse is to destroy the letter altogether. But she soon sees a better way. By removing one page of the letter it reads like an accusation of Ronald Marsh – a man who had a powerful motive for the crime. Even if Ronald has an alibi, it will still read as an accusation of a man so long as she tears off the s of “she”. So that is what she does. Then replaces it in the envelope and the envelope back in the bag.

‘Then, the time having come, she walks in the direction of the Savoy Hotel. As soon as she sees the car pass, with (presumably) herself inside, she quickens her pace, enters at the same time and goes straight up the stairs. She is inconspicuously dressed in black. It is unlikely that anyone will notice her.

‘Upstairs she goes to her room. Carlotta Adams has just reached it. The maid has been told to go to bed – a perfectly usual proceeding. They again change clothes and then, I fancy, Lady Edgware suggests a little drink – to celebrate. In that drink is the veronal. She congratulates her victim, says she will send her the cheque tomorrow. Carlotta Adams goes home. She is very sleepy – tries to ring up a friend – possibly M. Martin or Captain Marsh, for both have Victoria numbers – but gives it up. She is too tried. The veronal is beginning to work. She goes to bed – and she never wakes again. The second crime has been carried through successfully.

‘Now for the third crime. It is at a luncheon party. Sir Montagu Corner makes a reference to a conversation he had with Lady Edgware on the night of the murder. That is easy. But Nemesis comes upon her later. There is a mention of the “judgement of Paris” and she takes Paris to be the only Paris she knows – the Paris of fashion and frills!

‘But opposite her is sitting a young man who was at the dinner at Chiswick – a young man who heard the Lady Edgware of that night discussing Homer and Greek civilization generally. Carlotta Adams was a cultured well-read girl. He cannot understand. He stares. And suddenly it comes to him. This is not the same woman. He is terribly upset. He is not sure of himself. He must have advice. He thinks of me. He speaks to Hastings.

‘But the lady overheard him. She is quick enough and shrewd enough to realize that in some way or other she has given herself away. She heard Hastings say that I will not be in till five. At twenty to five she goes to Ross’s maisonette. He opens the door, is very surprised to see her, but it does not occur to him to be afraid. A strong able-bodied young man is not afraid of a woman. He goes with her into the dining-room. She pours out some story to him. Perhaps she goes on her knees and flings her arms around his neck. And then, swift and sure, she strikes – as before. Perhaps he gives a choked cry – no more. He, too, is silenced.’

There was a silence. Then Japp spoke hoarsely.

‘You mean – she did it all the time?’

Poirot bowed his head.

‘But why, if he was willing to give her a divorce?’

‘Because the Duke of Merton is a pillar of the Anglo-Catholics. Because he would not dream of marrying a woman whose husband was alive. He is a young man of fanatical principles. As a widow, she was pretty certain to be able to marry him. Doubtless she had tentatively suggested divorce, but he had not risen to the bait.’

‘Then why send you to Lord Edgware?’

‘Ah! parbleu! ’ Poirot, from having been very correct and English, suddenly relapsed into his natural self. ‘To pull the cotton-wool over my eyes! To make me a witness to the fact that there was not motive for the murder! Yes, she dared to make me, Hercule Poirot, her cat’s-paw! Ma foi, she succeeded, too! Oh, that strange brain, childlike and cunning. She can act! How well she acted surprise at being told of the letter her husband had written her which she swore she had never received. Did she feel the slightest pang of remorse for any of her three crimes? I can swear she did not.’

‘I told you what she was like,’ cried Bryan Martin. ‘I told you. I knew she was going to kill him. I felt it. And I was afraid that somehow she’d get away with it. She’s clever – devilish clever in a kind of half-wit way. And I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her to hang for it.’

His face was scarlet. His voice came thickly.

‘Now, now,’ said Jenny Driver.

She spoke exactly as I have heard nursemaids speak to a small child in the park.

‘And the gold box with the initial D, and Paris November inside?’ said Japp.

‘She ordered that by letter and sent Ellis, her maid, to fetch it. Naturally Ellis just called for a parcel which she paid for. She had no idea what was inside. Also, Lady Edgware borrowed a pair of Ellis’s pince-nez to help in the Van Dusen impersonation. She forgot about them and left them in Carlotta Adams’ handbag – her one mistake.

‘Oh! it came to me – it all came to me as I stood in the middle of the road. It was not polite what the bus driver said to me, but it was worth it. Ellis! Ellis’s pince-nez. Ellis calling for the box in Paris. Ellis and therefore Jane Wilkinson. Very possibly she borrowed something else from Ellis besides des pince-nez.’

‘What?’

‘A corn knife . . .’

I shivered.

There was a momentary silence.

Then Japp said with a strange reliance in the answer.

‘M. Poirot. Is this true?’

‘It is true, mon ami.’

Then Bryan Martin spoke, and his words were, I thought, very typical of him.

‘But look here,’ he said peevishly. ‘What about me? Why bring me here today? Why nearly frighten me to death?’

Poirot looked at him coldly.

‘To punish you, Monsieur, for being impertinent! How dare you try and make the games with Hercule Poirot?’

And then Jenny Driver laughed. She laughed and laughed.

‘Serve you right, Bryan,’ she said at last.

She turned to Poirot.

‘I’m glad as I can be that it wasn’t Ronnie Marsh,’ she said. ‘I’ve always liked him. And I’m glad, glad, glad that Carlotta’s death won’t go unpunished! As for Bryan here, well I’ll tell you something, M. Poirot. I’m going to marry him. And if he thinks he can get divorced and married every two or three years in the approved Hollywood fashion, well, he never made a bigger mistake in his life. He’s going to marry and stick to me.’

Poirot looked at her – looked at her determined chin – and at her flaming hair.

‘It is very possible, Mademoiselle,’ he said, ‘that that may be so. I said that you had sufficient nerve for anything. Even to marry a film “star”.’