In the interval before the inquest, Poirot was unfailing in his activity. Twice he was closeted with Mr. Wells. He also took long walks into the country. I rather resented his not taking me into his confidence, the more so as I could not in the least guess what he was driving at.

It occurred to me that he might have been making inquiries at Raikes's farm; so, finding him out when I called at Leastways Cottage on Wednesday evening, I walked over there by the fields, hoping to meet him. But there was no sign of him, and I hesitated to go right up to the farm itself. As I walked away, I met an aged rustic, who leered at me cunningly.

"You'm from the Hall, bain't you?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm looking for a friend of mine whom I thought might have walked this way."

"A little chap? As waves his hands when he talks? One of them Belgies from the village?"

"Yes," I said eagerly. "He has been here, then?"

"Oh, ay, he's been here, right enough. More'n once too. Friend of yours, is he? Ah, you gentlemen from the Hall--you'n a pretty lot!" And he leered more jocosely than ever.

"Why, do the gentlemen from the Hall come here often?" I asked, as carelessly as I could.

He winked at me knowingly.

"_One_ does, mister. Naming no names, mind. And a very liberal gentleman too! Oh, thank you, sir, I'm sure."

I walked on sharply. Evelyn Howard had been right then, and I experienced a sharp twinge of disgust, as I thought of Alfred Inglethorp's liberality with another woman's money. Had that piquant gipsy face been at the bottom of the crime, or was it the baser mainspring of money? Probably a judicious mixture of both.

On one point, Poirot seemed to have a curious obsession. He once or twice observed to me that he thought Dorcas must have made an error in fixing the time of the quarrel. He suggested to her repeatedly that it was 4.30, and not 4 o'clock when she had heard the voices.

But Dorcas was unshaken. Quite an hour, or even more, had elapsed between the time when she had heard the voices and 5 o'clock, when she had taken tea to her mistress.

The inquest was held on Friday at the Stylites Arms in the village. Poirot and I sat together, not being required to give evidence.

The preliminaries were gone through. The jury viewed the body, and John Cavendish gave evidence of identification.

Further questioned, he described his awakening in the early hours of the morning, and the circumstances of his mother's death.

The medical evidence was next taken. There was a breathless hush, and every eye was fixed on the famous London specialist, who was known to be one of the greatest authorities of the day on the subject of toxicology.

In a few brief words, he summed up the result of the post-mortem. Shorn of its medical phraseology and technicalities, it amounted to the fact that Mrs. Inglethorp had met her death as the result of strychnine poisoning. Judging from the quantity recovered, she must have taken not less than three-quarters of a grain of strychnine, but probably one grain or slightly over.

"Is it possible that she could have swallowed the poison by accident?" asked the Coroner.

"I should consider it very unlikely. Strychnine is not used for domestic purposes, as some poisons are, and there are restrictions placed on its sale."

"Does anything in your examination lead you to determine how the poison was administered?"

"No."

"You arrived at Styles before Dr. Wilkins, I believe?"

"That is so. The motor met me just outside the lodge gates, and I hurried there as fast as I could."

"Will you relate to us exactly what happened next?"

"I entered Mrs. Inglethorp's room. She was at that moment in a typical tetanic convulsion. She turned towards me, and gasped out: 'Alfred--Alfred----' "

"Could the strychnine have been administered in Mrs. Inglethorp's after-dinner coffee which was taken to her by her husband?"

"Possibly, but strychnine is a fairly rapid drug in its action. The symptoms appear from one to two hours after it has been swallowed. It is retarded under certain conditions, none of which, however, appear to have been present in this case. I presume Mrs. Inglethorp took the coffee after dinner about eight o'clock, whereas the symptoms did not manifest themselves until the early hours of the morning, which, on the face of it, points to the drug having been taken much later in the evening."

"Mrs. Inglethorp was in the habit of drinking a cup of coco in the middle of the night. Could the strychnine have been administered in that?"

"No, I myself took a sample of the coco remaining in the saucepan and had it analysed. There was no strychnine present."

I heard Poirot chuckle softly beside me.

"How did you know?" I whispered.

"Listen."

"I should say"--the doctor was continuing--"that I would have been considerably surprised at any other result."

"Why?"

"Simply because strychnine has an unusually bitter taste. It can be detected in a solution of 1 in 70,000, and can only be disguised by some strongly flavoured substance. Coco would be quite powerless to mask it."

One of the jury wanted to know if the same objection applied to coffee.

"No. Coffee has a bitter taste of its own which would probably cover the taste of strychnine."

"Then you consider it more likely that the drug was administered in the coffee, but that for some unknown reason its action was delayed."

"Yes, but, the cup being completely smashed, there is no possibility of analyzing its contents."

This concluded Dr. Bauerstein's evidence. Dr. Wilkins corroborated it on all points. Sounded as to the possibility of suicide, he repudiated it utterly. The deceased, he said, suffered from a weak heart, but otherwise enjoyed perfect health, and was of a cheerful and well-balanced disposition. She would be one of the last people to take her own life.

Lawrence Cavendish was next called. His evidence was quite unimportant, being a mere repetition of that of his brother. Just as he was about to step down, he paused, and said rather hesitatingly:

"I should like to make a suggestion if I may?"

He glanced deprecatingly at the Coroner, who replied briskly:

"Certainly, Mr. Cavendish, we are here to arrive at the truth of this matter, and welcome anything that may lead to further elucidation."

"It is just an idea of mine," explained Lawrence. "Of course I may be quite wrong, but it still seems to me that my mother's death might be accounted for by natural means."

"How do you make that out, Mr. Cavendish?"

"My mother, at the time of her death, and for some time before it, was taking a tonic containing strychnine."

"Ah!" said the Coroner.

The jury looked up, interested.

"I believe," continued Lawrence, "that there have been cases where the cumulative effect of a drug, administered for some time, has ended by causing death. Also, is it not possible that she may have taken an overdose of her medicine by accident?"

"This is the first we have heard of the deceased taking strychnine at the time of her death. We are much obliged to you, Mr. Cavendish."

Dr. Wilkins was recalled and ridiculed the idea.

"What Mr. Cavendish suggests is quite impossible. Any doctor would tell you the same. Strychnine is, in a certain sense, a cumulative poison, but it would be quite impossible for it to result in sudden death in this way. There would have to be a long period of chronic symptoms which would at once have attracted my attention. The whole thing is absurd."

"And the second suggestion? That Mrs. Inglethorp may have inadvertently taken an overdose?"

"Three, or even four doses, would not have resulted in death. Mrs. Inglethorp always had an extra large amount of medicine made up at a time, as she dealt with Coot's, the Cash Chemists in Tadminster. She would have had to take very nearly the whole bottle to account for the amount of strychnine found at the post-mortem."

"Then you consider that we may dismiss the tonic as not being in any way instrumental in causing her death?"

"Certainly. The supposition is ridiculous."

The same juryman who had interrupted before here suggested that the chemist who made up the medicine might have committed an error.

"That, of course, is always possible," replied the doctor.

But Dorcas, who was the next witness called, dispelled even that possibility. The medicine had not been newly made up. On the contrary, Mrs. Inglethorp had taken the last dose on the day of her death.

So the question of the tonic was finally abandoned, and the Coroner proceeded with his task. Having elicited from Dorcas how she had been awakened by the violent ringing of her mistress's bell, and had subsequently roused the household, he passed to the subject of the quarrel on the preceding afternoon.

Dorcas's evidence on this point was substantially what Poirot and I had already heard, so I will not repeat it here.

The next witness was Mary Cavendish. She stood very upright, and spoke in a low, clear, and perfectly composed voice. In answer to the Coroner's question, she told how, her alarm clock having aroused her at 4.30 as usual, she was dressing, when she was startled by the sound of something heavy falling.

"That would have been the table by the bed?" commented the Coroner.

"I opened my door," continued Mary, "and listened. In a few minutes a bell rang violently. Dorcas came running down and woke my husband, and we all went to my mother-in-law's room, but it was locked----"

The Coroner interrupted her.

"I really do not think we need trouble you further on that point. We know all that can be known of the subsequent happenings. But I should be obliged if you would tell us all you overheard of the quarrel the day before."

"I?"

There was a faint insolence in her voice. She raised her hand and adjusted the ruffle of lace at her neck, turning her head a little as she did so. And quite spontaneously the thought flashed across my mind: "She is gaining time!"

"Yes. I understand," continued the Coroner deliberately, "that you were sitting reading on the bench just outside the long window of the boudoir. That is so, is it not?"

This was news to me and glancing sideways at Poirot, I fancied that it was news to him as well.

There was the faintest pause, the mere hesitation of a moment, before she answered:

"Yes, that is so."

"And the boudoir window was open, was it not?"

Surely her face grew a little paler as she answered:

"Yes."

"Then you cannot have failed to hear the voices inside, especially as they were raised in anger. In fact, they would be more audible where you were than in the hall."

"Possibly."

"Will you repeat to us what you overheard of the quarrel?"

"I really do not remember hearing anything."

"Do you mean to say you did not hear voices?"

"Oh, yes, I heard the voices, but I did not hear what they said." A faint spot of colour came into her cheek. "I am not in the habit of listening to private conversations."

The Coroner persisted.

"And you remember nothing at all? _Nothing_, Mrs. Cavendish? Not one stray word or phrase to make you realize that it _was_ a private conversation?"

She paused, and seemed to reflect, still outwardly as calm as ever.

"Yes; I remember. Mrs. Inglethorp said something--I do not remember exactly what--about causing scandal between husband and wife."

"Ah!" the Coroner leant back satisfied. "That corresponds with what Dorcas heard. But excuse me, Mrs. Cavendish, although you realized it was a private conversation, you did not move away? You remained where you were?"

I caught the momentary gleam of her tawny eyes as she raised them. I felt certain that at that moment she would willingly have torn the little lawyer, with his insinuations, into pieces, but she replied quietly enough:

"No. I was very comfortable where I was. I fixed my mind on my book."

"And that is all you can tell us?"

"That is all."

The examination was over, though I doubted if the Coroner was entirely satisfied with it. I think he suspected that Mary Cavendish could tell more if she chose.

Amy Hill, shop assistant, was next called, and deposed to having sold a will form on the afternoon of the 17th to William Earl, under-gardener at Styles.

William Earl and Manning succeeded her, and testified to witnessing a document. Manning fixed the time at about 4.30, William was of the opinion that it was rather earlier.

Cynthia Murdoch came next. She had, however, little to tell. She had known nothing of the tragedy, until awakened by Mrs. Cavendish.

"You did not hear the table fall?"

"No. I was fast asleep."

The Coroner smiled.

"A good conscience makes a sound sleeper," he observed. "Thank you, Miss Murdoch, that is all."

"Miss Howard."

Miss Howard produced the letter written to her by Mrs. Inglethorp on the evening of the 17th. Poirot and I had, of course already seen it. It added nothing to our knowledge of the tragedy. The following is a facsimile:

STYLES COURT ESSEX hand written note: July 17th My dear Evelyn

Can we not bury the hachet? I have found it hard to forgive the things you said

against my dear husband but I am an old woman & very fond of you

Yours affectionately,

Emily Inglethorpe

It was handed to the jury who scrutinized it attentively.

"I fear it does not help us much," said the Coroner, with a sigh. "There is no mention of any of the events of that afternoon."

"Plain as a pikestaff to me," said Miss Howard shortly. "It shows clearly enough that my poor old friend had just found out she'd been made a fool of!"

"It says nothing of the kind in the letter," the Coroner pointed out.

"No, because Emily never could bear to put herself in the wrong. But I know her. She wanted me back. But she wasn't going to own that I'd been right. She went round about. Most people do. Don't believe in it myself."

Mr. Wells smiled faintly. So, I noticed, did several of the jury. Miss Howard was obviously quite a public character.

"Anyway, all this tomfoolery is a great waste of time," continued the lady, glancing up and down the jury disparagingly. "Talk--talk--talk! When all the time we know perfectly well----"

The Coroner interrupted her in an agony of apprehension:

"Thank you, Miss Howard, that is all."

I fancy he breathed a sigh of relief when she complied.

Then came the sensation of the day. The Coroner called Albert Mace, chemist's assistant.

It was our agitated young man of the pale face. In answer to the Coroner's questions, he explained that he was a qualified pharmacist, but had only recently come to this particular shop, as the assistant formerly there had just been called up for the army.

These preliminaries completed, the Coroner proceeded to business.

"Mr. Mace, have you lately sold strychnine to any unauthorized person?"

"Yes, sir."

"When was this?"

"Last Monday night."

"Monday? Not Tuesday?"

"No, sir, Monday, the 16th."

"Will you tell us to whom you sold it?"

You could have heard a pin drop.

"Yes, sir. It was to Mr. Inglethorp."

Every eye turned simultaneously to where Alfred Inglethorp was sitting, impassive and wooden. He started slightly, as the damning words fell from the young man's lips. I half thought he was going to rise from his chair, but he remained seated, although a remarkably well acted expression of astonishment rose on his face.

"You are sure of what you say?" asked the Coroner sternly.

"Quite sure, sir."

"Are you in the habit of selling strychnine indiscriminately over the counter?"

The wretched young man wilted visibly under the Coroner's frown.

"Oh, no, sir--of course not. But, seeing it was Mr. Inglethorp of the Hall, I thought there was no harm in it. He said it was to poison a dog."

Inwardly I sympathized. It was only human nature to endeavour to please "The Hall"--especially when it might result in custom being transferred from Coot's to the local establishment.

"Is it not customary for anyone purchasing poison to sign a book?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Inglethorp did so."

"Have you got the book here?"

"Yes, sir."

It was produced; and, with a few words of stern censure, the Coroner dismissed the wretched Mr. Mace.

Then, amidst a breathless silence, Alfred Inglethorp was called. Did he realize, I wondered, how closely the halter was being drawn around his neck?

The Coroner went straight to the point.

"On Monday evening last, did you purchase strychnine for the purpose of poisoning a dog?"

Inglethorp replied with perfect calmness:

"No, I did not. There is no dog at Styles, except an outdoor sheepdog, which is in perfect health."

"You deny absolutely having purchased strychnine from Albert Mace on Monday last?"

"I do."

"Do you also deny _this_?"

The Coroner handed him the register in which his signature was inscribed.

"Certainly I do. The hand-writing is quite different from mine. I will show you."

He took an old envelope out of his pocket, and wrote his name on it, handing it to the jury. It was certainly utterly dissimilar.

"Then what is your explanation of Mr. Mace's statement?"

Alfred Inglethorp replied imperturbably:

"Mr. Mace must have been mistaken."

The Coroner hesitated for a moment, and then said:

"Mr. Inglethorp, as a mere matter of form, would you mind telling us where you were on the evening of Monday, July 16th?"

"Really--I can't remember."

"That is absurd, Mr. Inglethorp," said the Coroner sharply. "Think again."

Inglethorp shook his head.

"I cannot tell you. I have an idea that I was out walking."

"In what direction?"

"I really can't remember."

The Coroner's face grew graver.

"Were you in company with anyone?"

"No."

"Did you meet anyone on your walk?"

"No."

"That is a pity," said the Coroner dryly. "I am to take it then that you decline to say where you were at the time that Mr. Mace positively recognized you as entering the shop to purchase strychnine?"

"If you like to take it that way, yes."

"Be careful, Mr. Inglethorp."

Poirot was fidgeting nervously.

"Sacre!" he murmured. "Does this imbecile of a man _want_ to be arrested?"

Inglethorp was indeed creating a bad impression. His futile denials would not have convinced a child. The Coroner, however, passed briskly to the next point, and Poirot drew a deep breath of relief.

"You had a discussion with your wife on Tuesday afternoon?"

"Pardon me," interrupted Alfred Inglethorp, "you have been misinformed. I had no quarrel with my dear wife. The whole story is absolutely untrue. I was absent from the house the entire afternoon."

"Have you anyone who can testify to that?"

"You have my word," said Inglethorp haughtily.

The Coroner did not trouble to reply.

"There are two witnesses who will swear to having heard your disagreement with Mrs. Inglethorp."

"Those witnesses were mistaken."

I was puzzled. The man spoke with such quiet assurance that I was staggered. I looked at Poirot. There was an expression of exultation on his face which I could not understand. Was he at last convinced of Alfred Inglethorp's guilt?

"Mr. Inglethorp," said the Coroner, "you have heard your wife's dying words repeated here. Can you explain them in any way?"

"Certainly I can."

"You can?"

"It seems to me very simple. The room was dimly lighted. Dr. Bauerstein is much of my height and build, and, like me, wears a beard. In the dim light, and suffering as she was, my poor wife mistook him for me."

"Ah!" murmured Poirot to himself. "But it is an idea, that!"

"You think it is true?" I whispered.

"I do not say that. But it is truly an ingenious supposition."

"You read my wife's last words as an accusation"--Inglethorp was continuing--"they were, on the contrary, an appeal to me."

The Coroner reflected a moment, then he said:

"I believe, Mr. Inglethorp, that you yourself poured out the coffee, and took it to your wife that evening?"

"I poured it out, yes. But I did not take it to her. I meant to do so, but I was told that a friend was at the hall door, so I laid down the coffee on the hall table. When I came through the hall again a few minutes later, it was gone."

This statement might, or might not, be true, but it did not seem to me to improve matters much for Inglethorp. In any case, he had had ample time to introduce the poison.

At that point, Poirot nudged me gently, indicating two men who were sitting together near the door. One was a little, sharp, dark, ferret-faced man, the other was tall and fair.

I questioned Poirot mutely. He put his lips to my ear.

"Do you know who that little man is?"

I shook my head.

"That is Detective Inspector James Japp of Scotland Yard--Jimmy Japp. The other man is from Scotland Yard too. Things are moving quickly, my friend."

I stared at the two men intently. There was certainly nothing of the policeman about them. I should never have suspected them of being official personages.

I was still staring, when I was startled and recalled by the verdict being given:

"Wilful Murder against some person or persons unknown."

在审讯前的这段时间，波洛的活动很频繁。他两次和韦尔斯先生闭门密谈：还到野外作了几次长时间的散步。我对他没有把我当作他的知心人本已相当不满，再加上我丝毫也猜不透他正在搞点什么名堂，这就更使我愤慨了。

我想他也许正在雷克斯农庄搞调查；星期三傍晚我去李斯特韦思别墅看他，他不在家，于是我就穿过那边的田野走，希望能碰上他。然而，连他的影子也没有，我踌躇了一下后，就径直朝那个农庄走去。当我正在走着时，碰见了一个上了年纪的庄稼人，他狡黠地朝我斜倪了一眼。

“您是大庄园的，是不？”他问。

“是的。我在找个朋友，我想他也许在这条路上散步。”

“一个小个子？说起话来老挥着手的？村子里的一个比利时佬？”

“对了，”我急忙说。“那么，他来过这儿了？”

“嘿，来过这儿，一点不错，还不止一次哩，他是您的朋友？嗳，您们这些大庄园里的先生——来得真不少啊！”他比开始更加戏谑似地斜睨着。

“怎么，大庄园里的先生常来这儿吗？”我尽量漫不经心地问道。

他狡黠地朝我眨眨眼睛。

“有一位常来，先生。请原谅，名字叫不出。也是一位非常大方的先生！”啊，先生，对不起，真的。”

我继续急速地走着。这么说伊夫琳·霍华德没有说错，当我想到阿弗雷特·英格里桑拿另一个女人的钱来挥豁时，我感到一阵令人厌恶的剧烈刺痛。犯罪的起因是那张动人的吉普赛女人似的脸，还是更为卑鄙的是金钱的原因？也许是有见识地两者兼有吧。

有一点上，波洛似乎使人难以理解地着了迷。他曾三番两次地对我说，他认为多卡斯一定把吵架的时间弄错了。他曾再三向她提出，她听到吵架声的时候应该是四点半，而不是四点。

但是多卡斯一口咬定，她听到吵架的时间和五点钟她送茶给女主人时，两者之间足足有一个钟点，甚至还更长一点。

审讯于星期五在村子里的村民公堂里举行。波洛和我坐在一起，我们没有被要求作证。

已经通过了预审。陪审团查验了尸体，由约翰·卡文迪什作了认明作证。

在进一步的审讯中，他叙述了那天凌晨怎么被叫醒，以及他母亲临终时的情况。

接下去听取了医务人员的证词。这时全场鸦雀无声，大家的目光都盯在那位著名的伦敦专家身上，他是当时毒物学这门学科方面最知名的权威之一。

他简要地用几句话就概述了致死的原因。去掉那些医学木语和技术细节，他的话就是说明这么一个事实：英格里桑太太的死亡是由于士的宁中毒的结果。从其服量鉴定判断，她的士的宁服量不少于四分之三喱①，但也有可能为一喱或稍多一点。

“她是否有误服的可能呢？”验尸官问道。

“我认为这非常不可能。士的宁并不象有的毒药那样，可供作家用。它的出售是受到限制的。”

“在你的检查过程中，是不是有什么使你判定毒药是怎样服下的？”

“没有。”

“我想，你是在威尔金斯医生之前到达斯泰尔斯的吧？”

“是这样。汽车在庄园大门外遇见我，于是我就尽快地赶到了那儿。”

“你能确切地给我们讲一讲那以后的情况吗？”

“我走进英格里桑太太的房间。当时她正处于典型的强直性痉挛中。她对着我，气喘喘地说：‘阿弗雷德——阿弗雷德——’”

“士的宁是不是有可能下在她丈夫端给她的那杯饭后咖啡里？”

“有可能，但是士的宁是一种毒效极快的药物。服后一、两小时，症状即会出现。当然，在一定情况下它会有所延缓，然而在本案中并不存在其中的任何一种特殊情况。我敢断言，英格里桑太太是在晚饭后大约八点钟喝的咖啡，而症状是出现在第二天凌晨，从表面上来判断，这表明毒药应该是在第一天晚上很晚才服下的。”

“英格里桑太太有半夜里喝一杯可可的习惯。士的宁有可能下在这里面吗？”

“不可能。我亲自对平底锅里的残留可可作过采样分析，里面没含士的宁。”

我听到波洛在我旁边轻轻地笑了一声。

“你了解到什么了？”我低声问道。

“听。”

“我得说，”——医生继续说——“我对任何另外一个结果都会感到相当地惊诧。”

“为什么？”

“简而言之，因为士的宁有一种特别的苦味。其一比七万的溶液也能觉出，它只能用某种有味道的物质掩盖起来。要做到这一点，可可是完全无能为力的。”

有个陪审团成员想弄清楚是否咖啡也有同样的缺点。

“不，咖啡本身有一种苦味，这有可能可以用来掩盖士的宁的味道。”

“这么说，你认为毒药下在咖啡里的可能比较大，但是由于某种不明的原因，它的作用延缓了。”

“是的，可是，杯子已打得粉碎，不可能对其内容物进行采样分析。”

鲍斯坦医生的证词到此结束。对他的证词威尔金斯医生在各方面部作了证实。在讲到自杀的可能性时，他作了完全的否定。他说，死者虽然患有心力衰弱，但完全享有健康人的乐趣，而且她性格开朗，神志正常。她是个最不至于会自杀的那种人。

接下去传讯劳伦斯·卡文迪什。他的证词毫无价值，纯粹是他哥哥的证词的翻版。就在他将要走下来时，他踌躇了一下，相当含糊地说：

“要是可以的话，我想提个看法行吗？”

他不以为然地朝验尸官瞥了一眼，对方迅速回答说：

“当然可以，卡文迪什先生，我们到这儿来是为了弄清这件事情的真相，欢迎提出能导致进一步阐明问题的任何意见。”

“这只是我的一点想法，”劳伦斯解释说。“当然，有可能是非常错误的，可是我仍然觉得似乎我母亲的死可能是一种必然的结果。”

“你怎么来证明这一点呢，卡文迪什先生？”

“我母亲在临死时，以及在这之前一段时间，一直服用一种含士的宁的补药。”

“啊！”验尸官说道。

验尸陪审团的成员都感兴趣地朝他看着。

“我相信，”劳伦斯继续说，“原因是由于一段时间来她服用的药中毒药成份的积累，从而终于引起了死亡。而且，她会不会有可能误服了过量的补药呢？”

“这是我们第一次听到死者在死前一直服用士的宁的事。我们非常感谢你，卡文迪什先生。”

威尔金斯医生再次受到了传讯，他把劳伦斯的想法嘲笑了一番。

“劳伦斯先生的说法根本不可能，任何一个医生都会象我这样说的。土的宁在某种意义上说，是一种累积性的毒品，可是它决不可能因此而导致突然死亡。它一定会有一个长时期的慢性中毒症状，而那立刻就会引起我的注意。我认为这整个说法都是荒谬可笑的。”

“那么第二个意见呢？英格里桑太太会不会出于疏忽服用过量的补药呢？”

“三倍，甚至于四倍的剂量，也不可能导致死亡。由于英格里桑太太和塔明斯特的库特药店的那班药剂师们有交情，他总是一次能配到剂量格外多的补药，可是，从尸体解剖中发现士的宁的含量看，她得一次服下几乎整整一大瓶。”

“那未，你认为补药无论如何不会引起她的死亡，我们可以予以排除吗？”

“当然可以。这种推测本身是荒谬的。”

原先打断过他的话的那个陪审团成员提出，配药的药剂师是否有可能发生差错。

“当然，那总是有可能的，”医生回答说。

可是，接下去传来作证的多卡斯，连这一可能性也给排除掉了。最近，英格里桑太太并没有配过补药，而是恰恰相反，她在去世那天服的是最后一剂药。

这样，补药的问题最后被放弃了。于是验尸官继续进行自己的审讯。他从多卡斯处了解到她怎样被她的女主人剧烈的铃声惊醒，随后又唤醒全家人，他又转而问了那天下午吵架的情况。

多卡斯在这个问题上的证词，内容很多，波洛和我已经听过，因而我就不在这儿赘述。

接下去一个证人是玛丽·卡文迪什，她站得笔挺，说话的声音轻幽、清晰，非常镇静。在回答验尸官的问题时，她说，她的闹钟象往常一样在四点三十分时把她唤醒，当她正在穿衣服时，突然被一声什么重物落地的声音吓了一大跳。

“那可能是床边的桌子吧？”验尸官解释说。

“我打开自己的房门，”玛丽继续说，“听了听。过了一会，铃声剧烈地响了起来。多卡斯跑来叫醒我的丈夫，于是我们就赶往婆婆的房间，可是房门是闩住的——”

验尸宫打断了她的话。

“说实在，我想在这个问题上我们就不必再麻烦你了。那以后发生的情况我们都已了解。但是，要是你能告诉我们，在这之前一大你所偶然听到的吵架情况，我们将非常感激。”

“我？”

她的语气中带有一点傲慢。她抬起一只手，理了理领子上花边的皱槽。这时，她微微偏着头。我的脑子里本能地掠过一个想法：她在故意拖时间！

“是的。”验尸官不慌不忙地继续说，“我知道，当时你正坐在闺房落地长窗外面的长凳上看书。是这样么？”

这对我来说是个新闻，我朝波洛瞟了一眼，心想，这对他同样也是新闻。

停了一会儿，只是犹豫了片刻，她就回答说：

“是的，是这样。”

“闺房的窗子是开着的，是么？”

说真的，她的脸变得有点越来越苍白，她回答说：

“是的。”

“那你不可能没有听到里面的声音吧，特别是在发起火来声音提高的时候？事实上，你坐的地方比在过道里听得更清楚。”

“有可能。”

“你能给我们说一下你碰巧听到的吵架情况吗？”

“我真的想不起听到过什么了。”

“你的意思是说你没有听到声音吗？”

“哦，不，我听到声音了，”可是我没有听到他们说些什么。”她的面颊上出现了一小片颜色。“我不习惯偷听人家的私下谈话。”

验尸官仍然坚持着。

“这么说你完全想不起了？一点都想不起，卡文迪什太太？使你意识到这是私下谈话的一个零星的词、零星的短语都没有？”

她踌躇了一会，似乎在考虑，外表却仍象原先一样镇静。

“对了，我想起来了。英格里桑太太说了点什么——确切的话我已记不起了——有关夫妻之间引起反目的事。”

“啊！”验尸官满意地向后一靠，”这同多卡斯听到的完全符合。可是，请原谅，卡文迪什太太，虽然你意识到这是在作私下谈话，可你并没有离开？你仍留在原地吧？”

当她抬起那双黄褐色的眼睛时，我看到了它们瞬息间的闪光。我确信，此时此刻她真乐于把这个冷嘲热讽的矮小律师撕成碎片，可是她仍非常镇静地回答说：

“不，我在那儿非常舒但，我把注意力完全集中在我的书上了。”

“这就是你能告诉我们的全部内容吗？”

“就这些了。”

审问到此结束，虽然我不相信验尸官对此完全满意。我想，他一定认为要是玛丽·卡文迪什愿意的话，她是能说出更多情况的。

接下去传讯店员艾米·希尔，她宣誓作证，十七日下午曾卖过一份遗嘱格式纸给斯泰尔斯的下级花匠威廉·埃尔。

继她传讯的是威廉·埃尔和曼宁，他们证实曾在一份证件上连署作证。曼宁断定时间是在四点半左右，威廉则认为还要早一点。

下面轮到了辛西娅·穆多契。然而，她讲得很少。在她被卡文迪什太太叫醒之前，有关这一悲剧，她一点也不知道。

“你没有听到桌子翻倒吗？”

“没有，我睡得很沉。”

验尸官笑了起来。

“心正睡得沉，”他说。“谢谢，穆多契小姐，就这些了。”

“霍华德小姐。”

霍华德小姐出示了英格里桑太太十七日傍晚给她写的一封信。当然，波洛和我都已看过这封信。它对于了解这一惨案毫无补益。下面就是这封信的内容：埃塞克斯斯泰尔斯庄园亲爱的伊夫琳：

我们不能永远忘掉那件十分难堪的事么？我觉得，要我原谅你说的那些攻击我亲爱的丈夫的话，是困难的。不过，我是个上了年纪的人了，我非常爱你。你的亲爱的埃米莉·英格里桑7月17日

信被交给了陪审团，他们都仔细地作了传阅。

“我怕这对我们并无多大帮助，”验尸官叹了一口气，说。“一点都没有提到那天下午的事情。”

“在我看来事情一清二楚，”霍华德小姐唐突地说。“它非常清楚地说明，我那可怜的老朋友好容易才发现她成了个大傻瓜！”

“信里并没有这样说，”验尸官指出。

“不，因为要埃米莉承认自己错啦，她受不了。可是我了解她。她要我回来。可她又不打算承认我是对的。她象多数人那样在兜圈子。我才不相信这一套。”

韦尔斯先生微微一笑。我发现有几个陪审团成员也是这样。霍华德小姐显然是个性情非常外露的人。

“不管怎样，现在这一套全是蠢事，都是在大大浪费时间，”小姐轻视地朝陪审团上下瞥了一眼，继续说。“讲啊——讲啊——讲啊！我们一直就清清楚楚地知道——”

验尸官极其忧虑地打断了她的话。

“谢谢，霍华德小姐，就到这里吧。”

我相信在她照办时，验尸官一定大大松了一口气。

于是，这一天的高潮到了。验尸官传药店伙计阿伯特·梅司。

这就是我们那个面色苍白，焦虑不安的年轻人。在回答验尸官的问题时，他解释说，他是个合格的药剂师，是新近来这家药店的，因为最近这家店原来的药剂师应征入伍了。

这些开场白一结束，验尸官就转入了正题。

“梅司先生，你最近把土的宁卖给未经批准的人了吗？”

“是的，先生。”

“在什么时候？”

“这个星期一晚上。”

“星期一？不是星期二？”

“不，先生，是星期一，十六号。”

“你能告诉我们卖给了什么人吗？”

这时，静得连根针落下也能听见。

“好的，先生。卖给了英格里桑先生。”

所有的目光都一齐转向阿弗雷德·英格里桑。他木然地坐着，毫无表情。当这些会导致定罪的话从这年轻人的口中说出时，他略微吃了一惊。我本来有点以为他会从椅子上站起来的，可是他仍然坐着，虽然在他的脸上现出了一种奇怪的完全象是装出的惊讶表情。

“你说的话确实么？”验尸官严肃地问道。

“完全确实，先生。”

“你惯常都这样不分青红皂白地在柜台上把士的宁卖出去的么？”

在验尸官的表示不满之下，这个可怜的年轻人显得十分颓丧。

“哦，不，先生——当然不是这样，可是，我看到是大庄园的英格里桑先生，心里想，这不会有什么问题。他说是用来毒一只狗的。”

我暗自表示同情。这只不过是人们的一种品性。竭力想巴结“大庄园”——特别是在这有可能使顾客从库特药店转到当地企业的时候。

“买毒药的人通常不是都要在一本本子上签名的么？”

“是的，先生，英格里桑先生签了。”

“你有没有把本子带来。”

“带来了，先生。”

本子交出来了，验尸官严厉地申斥了几句，然后把可怜的梅司先生打发开了。

接着，在全场鸦雀无声中，阿弗雷德·英格里桑受到传讯。我猜想，他一定意识到套着的绞索抽得离开他的脖子已经有多近了吧？

验尸官的话开门见山。

“本星期一的傍晚，你为了要毒死一只狗去买过士的宁吗？”

英格里桑非常镇静地回答说：

“没有，我没有买过，除了一只室外的护羊狗之外，

斯泰尔斯庄园里没有狗，而那只狗现在仍安然无恙。”

“你绝对否认本星期一从阿伯特·梅司那里买过土的宁吗？”

“我绝对否认。”

“这个你也否认吗？”

验尸官把那本上面有他的签名的登记簿递给了他。

“我完全否认。这笔迹和我的有很大不同。我来签给你们着。”

他从口袋里掏出一只旧信封，在上面写了自己的名字，把它交给了陪审团。确实完全不同。

“那末对于梅司先生的陈述，你有什么解释呢？”

阿弗雷德·英格里桑沉着地回答说：

“梅司先生一定是搞错了。”

验尸官犹豫了一下，然后说：

“英格里桑先生，作为纯粹是形式问题，你可否告诉我们，星期一，即七月十六号傍晚你在哪里？”

“说真的——我记不得。”

“这很可笑，英格里桑先生，”验尸官尖锐地说。

“再考虑一下吧。”

英格里桑摇摇头。

“我没法告诉你们。我想我是在外面散步。”

“往哪个方向。”

“我真的记不得了。”

验尸官的脸色变阴沉了。

“有人作伴吗？”

“没有。”

“散步时碰到过什么人吗？”

“没有。”

“真遗憾，”验尸官冷冰冰地说。“如果你拒绝说出梅司先生肯定认为你到他药店里买土的宁的时间你在哪儿，那我就要相信这一点了。”

“要是你那么愿意相信它，那就请便吧，”

“注意，英格里桑先生。”

波洛显得紧张地坐立不安。

“该死！”他低声抱怨说。“这个笨蛋是想被捕吗？”

英格里桑确实在造成一个不好的印象。他这种无益的否认就连孩子也不会相信。然而，验尸官却迅速地转到了另一个问题，至此，波洛深深地松了一口气。

“本星期二下午，你和你的妻子有过一场争论么？”

“对不起，”阿弗雷德·英格里桑打断了对方的话，“你听到的情况不正确。我并没有和我亲爱的妻子吵过架。这整个故事完全是虚构的。”那天整个下午我都不在家。”

“有人能给你证明这一点吗？”

“你可以相信我的活，”英格里桑傲慢地说。

验尸官立即回答了。

“有两个证人宣誓证明听到过你和英洛里桑太太争执。”

“那些证人弄错了。”

我被搞糊涂了。此人说话居然如此从容自信，实在使我惊愕。我着看波洛。在他的脸上有一种我所不能理解的得意的神情。”他终于承认阿弗雷德·英格里桑有罪了么？

“英格里桑先生，”验尸官说：“你已经听到在这儿重复过的你妻子临死时说的话了，对此你能作任何解释么？”

“我当然能解释。”

“你能解释？”

“这在我看来似乎很简单。那间房间光线很暗。鲍斯坦医生的身材、体态都和我差不多，而且也象我一样，留着胡子。在昏暗的光线下，在她痛苦交加中，我的可怜的妻子错把他当成我了。”

“嗨！”波洛自言自语地嘟嚷着。“这倒是个怪念头！”

“你认为这说法对？”我低声问。

“我没这么说。不过这确是个有独创性的想象。”

“你们把我妻子临终时的话看作是对我的控诉，”——英洛里桑继续说——“恰恰相反，这是在对我求助。”

验尸官沉思了一下，然后说：

“英格里桑先生，我想，那天傍晚那杯咖啡是你亲自斟了端给你妻子的吧？”

“是我斟的，是的，但是我并没有端给她。我正打算端去，有人告诉我，有个朋友到大门口了，于是我就把咖啡放在过道的桌子上，当过了一会，我再次经过过道时。咖啡已经不在了。”

这一陈述也许是真的，也许不是真的，但看来并没有使我对英格里桑的看法有多大改善。不管怎样，他都是有充分的时间来放毒药的。

就在这时，波洛用时轻轻推了推我，指指一块儿坐在门边的两个人。一个个子矮小，瘦削，黑头发，脸孔象雪貂，另一个是高个子，白脸金发。

我默然地对波洛露出疑问的目光。他贴着我的耳朵低声说：

“你知道那小个子是谁？”

我摇摇头。

“他是伦敦警察厅的侦探巡官詹姆士·贾普——吉米·贾普②，另一个也是伦敦警察厅的，事情进展得很快啊，我的朋友。”

我目不转睛地朝那两人看着，他们完全看不出是警察的模样，我毫不怀疑他们一定是官方的人物。

我还在看着，突然被陪审团宣布的裁决吓了一跳，而唤醒过来：

“此谋杀案为某人或某些人所为，尚未查明。”

注释：

①英美最小的重量单位，1喱等于64.8毫克。

②吉米为詹姆士的昵称。