As we came out of the Stylites Arms, Poirot drew me aside by a gentle pressure of the arm. I understood his object. He was waiting for the Scotland Yard men.

In a few moments, they emerged, and Poirot at once stepped forward, and accosted the shorter of the two.

"I fear you do not remember me, Inspector Japp."

"Why, if it isn't Mr. Poirot!" cried the Inspector. He turned to the other man. "You've heard me speak of Mr. Poirot? It was in 1904 he and I worked together--the Abercrombie forgery case--you remember, he was run down in Brussels. Ah, those were great days, moosier. Then, 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."

As these friendly reminiscences were being indulged in, I drew nearer, and was introduced to Detective-Inspector Japp, who, in his turn, introduced us both to his companion, Superintendent Summerhaye.

"I need hardly ask what you are doing here, gentlemen," remarked Poirot.

Japp closed one eye knowingly.

"No, indeed. Pretty clear case I should say."

But Poirot answered gravely:

"There I differ from you."

"Oh, come!" said Summerhaye, opening his lips for the first time. "Surely the whole thing is clear as daylight. The man's caught red-handed. How he could be such a fool beats me!"

But Japp was looking attentively at Poirot.

"Hold your fire, Summerhaye," he remarked jocularly. "Me and Moosier here have met before--and there's no man's judgment I'd sooner take than his. If I'm not greatly mistaken, he's got something up his sleeve. Isn't that so, moosier?"

Poirot smiled.

"I have drawn certain conclusions--yes."

Summerhaye was still looking rather sceptical, but Japp continued his scrutiny of Poirot.

"It's this way," he said, "so far, we've only seen the case from the outside. That's where the Yard's at a disadvantage in a case of this kind, where the murder's only out, so to speak, after the inquest. A lot depends on being on the spot first thing, and that's where Mr. Poirot's had the start of us. We shouldn't have been here as soon as this even, if it hadn't been for the fact that there was a smart doctor on the spot, who gave us the tip through the Coroner. But you've been on the spot from the first, and you may have picked up some little hints. From the evidence at the inquest, Mr. Inglethorp murdered his wife as sure as I stand here, and if anyone but you hinted the contrary I'd laugh in his face. I must say I was surprised the jury didn't bring it in Wilful Murder against him right off. I think they would have, if it hadn't been for the Coroner--he seemed to be holding them back."

"Perhaps, though, you have a warrant for his arrest in your pocket now," suggested Poirot.

A kind of wooden shutter of officialdom came down from Japp's expressive countenance.

"Perhaps I have, and perhaps I haven't," he remarked dryly.

Poirot looked at him thoughtfully.

"I am very anxious, Messieurs, that he should not be arrested."

"I dare say," observed Summerhaye sarcastically.

Japp was regarding Poirot with comical perplexity.

"Can't you go a little further, Mr. Poirot? A wink's as good as a nod--from you. You've been on the spot--and the Yard doesn't want to make any mistakes, you know."

Poirot nodded gravely.

"That is exactly what I thought. Well, I will tell you this. Use your warrant: Arrest Mr. Inglethorp. But it will bring you no kudos--the case against him will be dismissed at once! Comme ca!" And he snapped his fingers expressively.

Japp's face grew grave, though Summerhaye gave an incredulous snort.

As for me, I was literally dumb with astonishment. I could only conclude that Poirot was mad.

Japp had taken out a handkerchief, and was gently dabbing his brow.

"I daren't do it, Mr. Poirot. I'd take your word, but there's others over me who'll be asking what the devil I mean by it. Can't you give me a little more to go on?"

Poirot reflected a moment.

"It can be done," he said at last. "I admit I do not wish it. It forces my hand. I would have preferred to work in the dark just for the present, but what you say is very just--the word of a Belgian policeman, whose day is past, is not enough! And Alfred Inglethorp must not be arrested. That I have sworn, as my friend Hastings here knows. See, then, my good Japp, you go at once to Styles?"

"Well, in about half an hour. We're seeing the Coroner and the doctor first."

"Good. Call for me in passing--the last house in the village. I will go with you. At Styles, Mr. Inglethorp will give you, or if he refuses--as is probable--I will give you such proofs that shall satisfy you that the case against him could not possibly be sustained. Is that a bargain?"

"That's a bargain," said Japp heartily. "And, on behalf of the Yard, I'm much obliged to you, though I'm bound to confess I can't at present see the faintest possible loop-hole in the evidence, but you always were a marvel! So long, then, moosier."

The two detectives strode away, Summerhaye with an incredulous grin on his face.

"Well, my friend," cried Poirot, before I could get in a word, "what do you think? Mon Dieu! I had some warm moments in that court; I did not figure to myself that the man would be so pig-headed as to refuse to say anything at all. Decidedly, it was the policy of an imbecile."

"H'm! There are other explanations besides that of imbecility," I remarked. "For, if the case against him is true, how could he defend himself except by silence?"

"Why, in a thousand ingenious ways," cried Poirot. "See; say that it is I who have committed this murder, I can think of seven most plausible stories! Far more convincing than Mr. Inglethorp's stony denials!"

I could not help laughing.

"My dear Poirot, I am sure you are capable of thinking of seventy! But, seriously, in spite of what I heard you say to the detectives, you surely cannot still believe in the possibility of Alfred Inglethorp's innocence?"

"Why not now as much as before? Nothing has changed."

"But the evidence is so conclusive."

"Yes, too conclusive."

We turned in at the gate of Leastways Cottage, and proceeded up the now familiar stairs.

"Yes, yes, too conclusive," continued Poirot, almost to himself. "Real evidence is usually vague and unsatisfactory. It has to be examined--sifted. But here the whole thing is cut and dried. No, my friend, this evidence has been very cleverly manufactured--so cleverly that it has defeated its own ends."

"How do you make that out?"

"Because, so long as the evidence against him was vague and intangible, it was very hard to disprove. But, in his anxiety, the criminal has drawn the net so closely that one cut will set Inglethorp free."

I was silent. And in a minute or two, Poirot continued:

"Let us look at the matter like this. Here is a man, let us say, who sets out to poison his wife. He has lived by his wits as the saying goes. Presumably, therefore, he has some wits. He is not altogether a fool. Well, how does he set about it? He goes boldly to the village chemist's and purchases strychnine under his own name, with a trumped up story about a dog which is bound to be proved absurd. He does not employ the poison that night. No, he waits until he has had a violent quarrel with her, of which the whole household is cognisant, and which naturally directs their suspicions upon him. He prepares no defence--no shadow of an alibi, yet he knows the chemist's assistant must necessarily come forward with the facts. Bah! do not ask me to believe that any man could be so idiotic! Only a lunatic, who wished to commit suicide by causing himself to be hanged, would act so!"

"Still--I do not see--" I began.

"Neither do I see. I tell you, mon ami, it puzzles me. Me --Hercule Poirot!"

"But if you believe him innocent, how do you explain his buying the strychnine?"

"Very simply. He did _not_ buy it."

"But Mace recognized him!"

"I beg your pardon, he saw a man with a black beard like Mr. Inglethorp's, and wearing glasses like Mr. Inglethorp, and dressed in Mr. Inglethorp's rather noticeable clothes. He could not recognize a man whom he had probably only seen in the distance, since, you remember, he himself had only been in the village a fortnight, and Mrs. Inglethorp dealt principally with Coot's in Tadminster."

"Then you think----"

"Mon ami, do you remember the two points I laid stress upon? Leave the first one for the moment, what was the second?"

"The important fact that Alfred Inglethorp wears peculiar clothes, has a black beard, and uses glasses," I quoted.

"Exactly. Now suppose anyone wished to pass himself off as John or Lawrence Cavendish. Would it be easy?"

"No," I said thoughtfully. "Of course an actor----"

But Poirot cut me short ruthlessly.

"And why would it not be easy? I will tell you, my friend: Because they are both clean-shaven men. To make up successfully as one of these two in broad daylight, it would need an actor of genius, and a certain initial facial resemblance. But in the case of Alfred Inglethorp, all that is changed. His clothes, his beard, the glasses which hide his eyes--those are the salient points about his personal appearance. Now, what is the first instinct of the criminal? To divert suspicion from himself, is it not so? And how can he best do that? By throwing it on some one else. In this instance, there was a man ready to his hand. Everybody was predisposed to believe in Mr. Inglethorp's guilt. It was a foregone conclusion that he would be suspected; but, to make it a sure thing there must be tangible proof--such as the actual buying of the poison, and that, with a man of the peculiar appearance of Mr. Inglethorp, was not difficult. Remember, this young Mace had never actually spoken to Mr. Inglethorp. How should he doubt that the man in his clothes, with his beard and his glasses, was not Alfred Inglethorp?"

"It may be so," I said, fascinated by Poirot's eloquence. "But, if that was the case, why does he not say where he was at six o'clock on Monday evening?"

"Ah, why indeed?" said Poirot, calming down. "If he were arrested, he probably would speak, but I do not want it to come to that. I must make him see the gravity of his position. There is, of course, something discreditable behind his silence. If he did not murder his wife, he is, nevertheless, a scoundrel, and has something of his own to conceal, quite apart from the murder."

"What can it be?" I mused, won over to Poirot's views for the moment, although still retaining a faint conviction that the obvious deduction was the correct one.

"Can you not guess?" asked Poirot, smiling.

"No, can you?"

"Oh, yes, I had a little idea sometime ago--and it has turned out to be correct."

"You never told me," I said reproachfully.

Poirot spread out his hands apologetically.

"Pardon me, mon ami, you were not precisely sympathique." He turned to me earnestly. "Tell me--you see now that he must not be arrested?"

"Perhaps," I said doubtfully, for I was really quite indifferent to the fate of Alfred Inglethorp, and thought that a good fright would do him no harm.

Poirot, who was watching me intently, gave a sigh.

"Come, my friend," he said, changing the subject, "apart from Mr. Inglethorp, how did the evidence at the inquest strike you?"

"Oh, pretty much what I expected."

"Did nothing strike you as peculiar about it?"

My thoughts flew to Mary Cavendish, and I hedged:

"In what way?"

"Well, Mr. Lawrence Cavendish's evidence for instance?"

I was relieved.

"Oh, Lawrence! No, I don't think so. He's always a nervous chap."

"His suggestion that his mother might have been poisoned accidentally by means of the tonic she was taking, that did not strike you as strange--hein?"

"No, I can't say it did. The doctors ridiculed it of course. But it was quite a natural suggestion for a layman to make."

"But Monsieur Lawrence is not a layman. You told me yourself that he had started by studying medicine, and that he had taken his degree."

"Yes, that's true. I never thought of that." I was rather startled. "It _is_ odd."

Poirot nodded.

"From the first, his behaviour has been peculiar. Of all the household, he alone would be likely to recognize the symptoms of strychnine poisoning, and yet we find him the only member of the family to uphold strenuously the theory of death from natural causes. If it had been Monsieur John, I could have understood it. He has no technical knowledge, and is by nature unimaginative. But Monsieur Lawrence--no! And now, to-day, he puts forward a suggestion that he himself must have known was ridiculous. There is food for thought in this, mon ami!"

"It's very confusing," I agreed.

"Then there is Mrs. Cavendish," continued Poirot. "That's another who is not telling all she knows! What do you make of her attitude?"

"I don't know what to make of it. It seems inconceivable that she should be shielding Alfred Inglethorp. Yet that is what it looks like."

Poirot nodded reflectively.

"Yes, it is queer. One thing is certain, she overheard a good deal more of that 'private conversation' than she was willing to admit."

"And yet she is the last person one would accuse of stooping to eavesdrop!"

"Exactly. One thing her evidence _has_ shown me. I made a mistake. Dorcas was quite right. The quarrel did take place earlier in the afternoon, about four o'clock, as she said."

I looked at him curiously. I had never understood his insistence on that point.

"Yes, a good deal that was peculiar came out to-day," continued Poirot. "Dr. Bauerstein, now, what was _he_ doing up and dressed at that hour in the morning? It is astonishing to me that no one commented on the fact."

"He has insomnia, I believe," I said doubtfully.

"Which is a very good, or a very bad explanation," remarked Poirot. "It covers everything, and explains nothing. I shall keep my eye on our clever Dr. Bauerstein."

"Any more faults to find with the evidence?" I inquired satirically.

"Mon ami," replied Poirot gravely, "when you find that people are not telling you the truth--look out! Now, unless I am much mistaken, at the inquest to-day only one--at most, two persons were speaking the truth without reservation or subterfuge."

"Oh, come now, Poirot! I won't cite Lawrence, or Mrs. Cavendish. But there's John--and Miss Howard, surely they were speaking the truth?"

"Both of them, my friend? One, I grant you, but both----!"

His words gave me an unpleasant shock. Miss Howard's evidence, unimportant as it was, had been given in such a downright straightforward manner that it had never occurred to me to doubt her sincerity. Still, I had a great respect for Poirot's sagacity--except on the occasions when he was what I described to myself as "foolishly pig-headed."

"Do you really think so?" I asked. "Miss Howard had always seemed to me so essentially honest--almost uncomfortably so."

Poirot gave me a curious look, which I could not quite fathom. He seemed to speak, and then checked himself.

"Miss Murdoch too," I continued, "there's nothing untruthful about _her_."

"No. But it was strange that she never heard a sound, sleeping next door; whereas Mrs. Cavendish, in the other wing of the building, distinctly heard the table fall."

"Well, she's young. And she sleeps soundly."

"Ah, yes, indeed! She must be a famous sleeper, that one!"

I did not quite like the tone of his voice, but at that moment a smart knock reached our ears, and looking out of the window we perceived the two detectives waiting for us below.

Poirot seized his hat, gave a ferocious twist to his moustache, and, carefully brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve, motioned me to precede him down the stairs; there we joined the detectives and set out for Styles.

I think the appearance of the two Scotland Yard men was rather a shock--especially to John, though of course after the verdict, he had realized that it was only a matter of time. Still, the presence of the detectives brought the truth home to him more than anything else could have done.

Poirot had conferred with Japp in a low tone on the way up, and it was the latter functionary who requested that the household, with the exception of the servants, should be assembled together in the drawing-room. I realized the significance of this. It was up to Poirot to make his boast good.

Personally, I was not sanguine. Poirot might have excellent reasons for his belief in Inglethorp's innocence, but a man of the type of Summerhaye would require tangible proofs, and these I doubted if Poirot could supply.

Before very long we had all trooped into the drawing-room, the door of which Japp closed. Poirot politely set chairs for every one. The Scotland Yard men were the cynosure of all eyes. I think that for the first time we realized that the thing was not a bad dream, but a tangible reality. We had read of such things--now we ourselves were actors in the drama. To-morrow the daily papers, all over England, would blazon out the news in staring headlines:

"MYSTERIOUS TRAGEDY IN ESSEX"

"WEALTHY LADY POISONED"

There would be pictures of Styles, snap-shots of "The family leaving the Inquest"--the village photographer had not been idle! All the things that one had read a hundred times--things that happen to other people, not to oneself. And now, in this house, a murder had been committed. In front of us were "the detectives in charge of the case." The well-known glib phraseology passed rapidly through my mind in the interval before Poirot opened the proceedings.

I think every one was a little surprised that it should be he and not one of the official detectives who took the initiative.

"Mesdames and messieurs," said Poirot, bowing as though he were a celebrity about to deliver a lecture, "I have asked you to come here all together, for a certain object. That object, it concerns Mr. Alfred Inglethorp."

Inglethorp was sitting a little by himself--I think, unconsciously, every one had drawn his chair slightly away from him--and he gave a faint start as Poirot pronounced his name.

"Mr. Inglethorp," said Poirot, addressing him directly, "a very dark shadow is resting on this house--the shadow of murder."

Inglethorp shook his head sadly.

"My poor wife," he murmured. "Poor Emily! It is terrible."

"I do not think, monsieur," said Poirot pointedly, "that you quite realize how terrible it may be--for you." And as Inglethorp did not appear to understand, he added: "Mr. Inglethorp, you are standing in very grave danger."

The two detectives fidgeted. I saw the official caution "Anything you say will be used in evidence against you," actually hovering on Summerhaye's lips. Poirot went on.

"Do you understand now, monsieur?"

"No; What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Poirot deliberately, "that you are suspected of poisoning your wife."

A little gasp ran round the circle at this plain speaking.

"Good heavens!" cried Inglethorp, starting up. "What a monstrous idea! _I_--poison my dearest Emily!"

"I do not think"--Poirot watched him narrowly--"that you quite realize the unfavourable nature of your evidence at the inquest. Mr. Inglethorp, knowing what I have now told you, do you still refuse to say where you were at six o'clock on Monday afternoon?"

With a groan, Alfred Inglethorp sank down again and buried his face in his hands. Poirot approached and stood over him.

"Speak!" he cried menacingly.

With an effort, Inglethorp raised his face from his hands. Then, slowly and deliberately, he shook his head.

"You will not speak?"

"No. I do not believe that anyone could be so monstrous as to accuse me of what you say."

Poirot nodded thoughtfully, like a man whose mind is made up.

"Soit!" he said. "Then I must speak for you."

Alfred Inglethorp sprang up again.

"You? How can you speak? You do not know----" he broke off abruptly.

Poirot turned to face us. "Mesdames and messieurs! I speak! Listen! I, Hercule Poirot, affirm that the man who entered the chemist's shop, and purchased strychnine at six o'clock on Monday last was not Mr. Inglethorp, for at six o'clock on that day Mr. Inglethorp was escorting Mrs. Raikes back to her home from a neighbouring farm. I can produce no less than five witnesses to swear to having seen them together, either at six or just after and, as you may know, the Abbey Farm, Mrs. Raikes's home, is at least two and a half miles distant from the village. There is absolutely no question as to the alibi!"

当我们走出村民公堂时，波洛悄悄抓住我的手臂，把我拉到一旁。我知道他的目的。他是在等伦敦警察厅的人。

过了一会，他们出现了，波洛立刻走上前去，和两人中较矮的一个打招呼。

“我怕你已经不记得我了吧，贾普巡官。”

“嗨，原来是波洛先生！”巡官喊了起来。他转身朝向另一个人。“你听我说起过波洛先生吧？一九零四年，我们曾在一起工作过——阿伯克龙比伪造案——你总还记得，他被追捕到布鲁塞尔①。嗨，那些日子多美，先生。另外，你还记得阿尔塔拉‘男爵’吗？你那个漂亮的流氓！他巧妙地逃脱了欧洲半数警察的抓捕。可是我们在安特卫普②把他给逮住了——多亏这位波洛先生。”

在沉迷于对这些往事的友好缅怀中，我走上前去，并且鼓介绍给贾普巡官，他也向我们俩介绍了他的同事萨默海警长。

“看来我是没有必要问你到这儿来做什么了，先生，”波洛说。

①比利时首都。

②比利时城市。

贾普狡黠地闭上一只眼睛。

“确实没有必要了。我得说情况已经一清二楚。”

但是波洛却严肃地回答说：

“我可和你的看法不一样。”

“嗨，得啦，”萨默海说，他第一次开口。“这整个事情完全象大白天一样一清二楚，这家伙是当场查获，还想装蒜来欺骗我！”

可是贾普却注意地朝波洛看着。

“别激动，萨默海，”他打趣地说。“我以前和这位先生打过交道——我没有一件案子能判得比他快。如果我没大大弄错的话，他一定暗地里有了一套打算了。是这样吧，先生？”

波洛笑了。

“我作了一些推断——是的。”

萨默海仍然显出怀疑的样子，可是贾普却继续细看着波洛。

“情况是这样，”他说，“到目前为止，我们只看到这个案子的表面现象。这是警察厅在此类案子中处于不利的地方，而且还在于这一谋杀案的败露，可以说只是在验尸之后。事情往往取决于先到现场掌握第一手资料，这也就是波洛先生胜我们一筹之处，要不是当场有个机灵的医生通过验尸官给了我们提示，我们本来是不会马上就上这儿来的。可你是一开始就去了现场，你也许已经获得了一些细小的线索，从审讯的情况看，英格里桑先生谋杀妻子，就象我站立在这儿一样千真万确。除了你，不管什么暗示对此有相反意见的话，我都会当面嘲笑他，我必须说，我感到意外的是陪审团没有立即宣布对他的蓄意谋杀进行起诉的裁决。我认为，这是他们的主张，如果验尸官没有此意——那他看来是被他们给阻止住了。”

“也许，你的口袋里现在就有一张抓他的逮捕证吧，”波洛说。

一道官僚作风的木板窗扉垂落在贾普那富有表情的脸上。

“我也许有，也许没有，”他干巴巴地说。

波洛若有所思地朝他看着。

“我极力希望他不要被捕，先生。”

“我看有可能，”萨默海挖苦地说。

贾普困惑可笑地注视着波洛。

“你能说得详细一点吗，波洛先生？你的每一句话，都是举足轻重的。你是去过现场的——你知道，警察厅不想犯错误。

波洛严肃地点点头。

“我确实是这样想的。好吧，我来告诉你们。用你们的逮捕证，把英格里桑先生逮捕。可是这不会给你们带来好名声——对他的起诉立刻就会驳回！就是这样！”他意味深长地把手指捻得劈啪作响。

贾普的脸色变得阴沉了，而萨默海则发出表示怀疑的哼鼻声。

至于我呢，我简直只好目瞪口呆地一声不吭。我只能断定，波洛大概是疯了。

贾普掏出一块手帕，轻轻地擦着自己的前额。

“我可不敢做这样的事，波洛先生。我相信你的话，可是我上面那些人会问，我这究竟算什么意思呢？你能再给我多说一点吗？”

波洛考虑了一会。

“只能这样，”他终于说。“我承认，我不希望说。这是在逼我。在目前，我倒是宁愿在一无所知的清况下工作，不过怀说的话完全正确——一个黄金时代已经过去的比利时警察的话是不够的啊！但是阿弗雷德·英格里桑无论如何不能逮捕。这我已经发过誓，我这位朋友哈斯丁知道，哎，我亲爱的贾普，你立即去斯泰尔斯吗？”

“嗯，半个来小时以后吧，我们得先去看看那位验尸官和医生。”

“好吧。经过时顺便叫我一声——就是村子过去最后的那幢房子。我和你们一起去。到斯泰尔斯，英格里桑先生会给你们作证，或者要是他拒绝——这有可能——我会拿出使你们完全满意的证据，证明对他的起诉有可能不会批准。就这么敲定了吧？”

“好，就这么敲定，”贾普诚心诚意他说。“我要代表警察厅，向你深表谢意，虽然我得坦白承认，目前我还没能看出证词中可能有的最小的漏洞，可是你是个一直令人惊叹的奇才！那么，再见了！先生。”

两个侦探大步地走了，萨默海咧着嘴，脸上露出怀疑的嘲笑。

“喂，朋友，”还没等我开口，波洛就大声说，“你以为怎么样？我的老天！我在法庭上实在是急坏了；我原来没有想到这人会如此顽固，以至于什么都拒绝说出，显然，这是个十分愚蠢的策略。”

“哼！除了愚蠢的策略，还有一些别的解释哩，”我说。“因为，要是真的对他提出起诉的话，除了用沉默外，他能用什么为自己辩护呢？”

“什么？有上千种方法呢，”波洛叫了起来。“瞧你，要是说犯了谋杀罪的是我，我就能编出七个象煞最有理由的故事来！这要比英格里桑先生的矢口否认使人信服得多哩！”

我忍不住笑了起来。

“我亲爱的波洛，我确信你能编出七十个故事来！可是，认真地说，不管我听你和那两个侦探说些什么，现在你谅必不能再认为阿弗雷德·英格里桑也许是清白无辜的了吧？”

“为什么现在不和以前一样呢？我的看法毫无改变。”

“可是证据是如此确凿。”

“是呀，太确凿了。”

我们拐进李斯特韦思别墅的大门，开始登上现在已经熟悉的楼梯。

“是呀，是呀，太确凿了”，”波洛几乎象自言自语地继续说。“真正的证据往往是模糊不清，不能令人满意得。它得受到审查——详细地审查。可是这儿的整个事情早已准备好的。不，朋友，这些证据是巧妙地虚构的——巧妙得把自己的目的意图都给摧毁了。”

“你这是怎么说？”

“因为，只要对他起诉的证据是模糊不清的，那就很难反驳。可是，罪犯担心的是，他已经把网拉得这么紧，有一个破口就会让英格里桑溜掉。”

我默不作声。他停了一会，又继续说：

“就让我们象这样来看一看这问题吧。这儿有个人，我们假定说他打算毒死自己的妻子。而他，正如俗话所说，是个靠施展小聪明过日子的人。因此，他可能有些小聪明，并不完全是个傻瓜。于是，这事情他怎么个着手呢？他大胆地以自己的名义去村子的药店买了士的宁，还编造了一个保证会证明是荒谬可笑的一只狗的故事。他没有在当天晚上施放毒药。不，他一直等到和她发生一场全家人都知晓的激烈争吵之后，这样全家人自然也就一致地怀疑到他。他也不打算为自己辩护——连点辩解的影子都没有。而且他知道药房伙计必然会出来告发的，哼！我才不信，哪有这样的傻瓜！只有精神诸乱，希望自己能上绞架自杀的人才会这么干！”

“可我还是——不明白——”我刚开口。

“我也不明白。我告诉你，朋友，这把我也给搞糊涂了。把我——赫卡尔·波洛！”

“可是，要是你相信他是无辜的，那怎么解释他买士的宁的事呢？”

“很简单。他没有买。”

“可是梅司认出是他呀！”

“对不起，他看到的是一个象英格里桑先生那样有一大把黑胡子的人，是一个象英格里桑先生那样戴眼镜的人，是一个穿着英格里桑先生那种相当引人注目的衣着的人。他不可能认出一个也许只是从老远见过的人，因为，你总还记得，他本人是在两星期前才到这个村子来的，而且，英格里桑太太主要是在塔明斯特的库特药店购药的。”

“那么你认为——”

“我的朋友，你忘了我强调过的两点了吗？第一点暂时不说，第二点是什么？”

“第二点重要的事实是，英格里桑先生穿一身很独特的衣服，有一大把黑胡子，而且还戴眼镜。”

“一点不错。现在假如有个人想要冒充约翰或者是劳伦斯，这容易吗？”

“不容易，”我想了想说。“当然，一个演员——”

“为什么不容易呢？我来告诉你吧，我的朋友，因为他们俩都是脸刮得光光的人。要想在光天化日之下化装成这两人中的一个，都得有演员的天才，而且脸型要基本上相似。可是阿弗雷特·英格里桑情况就完全不同了。他的衣着，他的胡子，蔽住他眼睛的眼镜——那些都是他的个人外表的特点。那末，这个犯罪分子的首要本能是什么呢？为了要从自己身上转移开怀疑，不是这样么？他怎么干最好呢？把这扔到另一个人身上。在这种情况下，手头就得有个人。要使每个人都倾向于相信英格里桑先生是有罪的。他被怀疑这是预料中的必然结果。但是，为了使这叫人相信，还得有确凿的证据——例如真的去买了毒药，而且化装成象英格里桑先生这样一个外表独特的人，并不困难。别忘记，这位年轻的梅司实际上以前从未和英格里桑先生交谈过。他怎么会怀疑这个穿着他的衣服，有着他的胡子和眼镜的人不是阿弗雷德·英格里桑呢？”

“也许是这样，”我说。被波洛的雄辩给迷住了。

“可是，要是情况是这样。为什么他不肯说出星期一傍晚六点钟他在哪儿呢？”

“哼，为什么？”波洛说，他平静了下来。“要是他被捕了，他多半就会说了。可是，我不希望事情发展到那一步，我必须让他看到他的处境的严重性。当然，在他的沉默的背后，一定有什么见不得人的东西。即使他没有谋杀他的妻子，他还是一个坏蛋，完全撇开谋杀不说，也有他自己的什么东西隐瞒着。”

“有可能是什么呢？”我思索着说，一时间折服于波洛的看法，虽然我还是不太相信这种显然是推论的意见是正确的。

“你猜不出？”波洛笑了起来，问道。

“猜不出。你呢？”

“嗯，是的，我不久前有了一个小小的想法——现在它已经证明是正确的了。”

“你从来没有对我说过，”我责备说。

波洛抱歉地摊开两手。

“请原谅，我的朋友，你一定不会赞同的。”他诚挚地对我说。”告诉我——你现在认为他应该逮捕吗？”

“大概是这样，”我含糊其词地回答，因为说实在，我对阿弗雷德·英格里桑的命运完全不感兴趣，而且我认为，好好吓唬他一下对他并无害处。

波洛目不转睛地注视着我，叹了一口气。

“得啦，朋友，”他改变了话题，“撇开英格里桑先生不说，对审讯的证词你有什么看法？”

“哦，几乎不出我之所料。”

“你没有觉得有什么特别的地方吗？”

我的思绪飞向了玛丽·卡文迪什，因而只是躲闪地说：

“在哪一方面？”

“就说，譬如劳伦斯·卡文迪什先生的证词吧？”

我放心了。

“哦，劳伦斯！不，我不这样想，他一直有点神经质。”

“他的看法是，他母亲可能是服用补药造成的偶然中毒。这你不觉得奇怪——啊？”

“不，我不能说这算奇怪。当然，医生们嘲笑这种看法。可是对一个外行来说，这种看法是很正常的。”

“可是劳伦斯先生不是外行呀。是你自己告诉我的，说他起初是学医的，已经取得学位。”

“对了，这倒是真的。我从来没有想到这一点，”我为此大吃一惊。“这确实奇怪。”

波洛点点头。

“首先，他的态度很特别。全家人当中，只有他能够认出士的宁的中毒症状，而且我们还发现他是这家人家唯一坚持自然死亡看法的人，要是这是约翰先生，我就能理解了，因为他没有这方面的专门知识，自然是想不到的。但是，劳伦斯先生——不一样！而今天，他提出的看法，他自己应该知道，是十分荒谬可笑的。其中大有值得思考的材料，朋友。”

“这确实很混乱，”我同意说。

“还有卡文迪什太太，”波洛继续说。“她是另一个没有说出她所了解的全部情况的人！你怎么解释她的态度？”

“我不知道怎么解释。似乎不可思议的是她想要包庇阿弗雷德·英格里桑。然而看起来象是这样。”

波洛沉思着点点头。

“是呀，这很奇怪，有一件事是确凿无疑的，她无意中听到的‘私下谈话’要比她愿意承认的多得多。”

“而且，她是最不可能俯身偷听的人”。

“确实如此。她的证词向我表明了一点。我错了。多卡斯完全对。那天下午的争吵确实发生得比较早，象她说的那样，在四点钟左右。”

我好奇地朝他打量着。我原来一直不知道他坚持这一点。

“是啊，今天出现了一大堆奇怪的事情，”波洛继续说。“象那位鲍斯坦医生，那天早上在那种时候，他怎么会穿戴停当，那么衣冠整齐的呢？使我惊讶的是没有一个人评论这一事实。”

“他有失眠症，我相信，”我含糊其词地说。

“一个非常善意的解释，或者是一个十分恶意的解释，”波洛指出。“都会掩盖事实真相，而且什么也解释不了。我可得对我们的机灵的鲍斯坦医生保持警惕。”

“证词中还挑出了什么毛病？”我挖苦地问道。

“我的朋友，”波洛严肃地回答，“当你发现人们没有告诉你真相的时候——就得当心！嗯，除非是我弄错了，在今天的审讯中，只有一个人，至多是两个人说了真话，没有保留或者是遁词。”

“哦，得啦，波洛！劳伦斯或者卡文迪什太太，我不去说了，可是约翰——还有霍华德小姐，他们俩说的谅必总是真话吧？”

他们两个吗，朋友？一个，我同意，可是两个——！”

他的话使我不愉快地震惊了一下。霍华德小姐的证词，尽管并不重要，但如此爽气坦率，对她的真诚，我从未产生过怀疑。不过，对于波洛的睿智我总是非常尊重的——除了在我自己把他看成是一个“傻瓜蛋”的场合之外。

“你真的这样想吗？”我问道。“霍华德小姐一直来对我似乎都是很诚实的——诚实得几乎使我有点不自在了。”

波洛那么奇怪地朝我瞥了一眼，我完全揣摩不出它的含义。他仿佛想说什么，可接着就忍往了。

“穆务契小姐也一样，”我继续说，“她也没有什么说谎的地方。”

“可是奇怪的是，她睡在隔壁，一点也没听到响声；住在房子另一侧的卡文迪什太太，却清楚地听到桌子翻倒。”

“咳，她年纪轻，睡得沉。”

“哼，不错，真是！如一定是个出名的瞌睡虫了，一个瞌睡虫！”

我很不喜欢他这种说话的腔调，可是就在这时候，我们听到了一阵响亮的敲门声，伸头到窗外一看，发现两位侦探已经在下面等我们了。

波洛抓起帽子，使劲地捻了捻自己的两撇翘胡子，又从袖子上拂去想象中的一点灰尘，然后才示意叫我走在前面，下了楼梯；我们和两位侦探一起，动身前往斯泰尔斯庄园。

我觉得这两位伦敦警察厅的人物的到来多少是一个震惊——特别是对约翰来说，当然，在陪审团裁决之后，他意识到这仅仅是时间问题。而且这两人的到场，比起别的来，会使他更多地看到事实真相。

路上，波洛和贾普低声作了商议，后者要求这一家人，除佣人外，都得集中到客厅里。我理解这个意思。波洛有责任实现自己夸下的海口。

就我个人而言，我是缺乏自信的。波洛也许有充分的理由相信英格里桑的无罪，可是象萨默海这样的人需要的是确凿的证据，而这样的证据波洛是否能提出，我仍表示怀疑。

一待我们成群地都走进客厅，贾普就把门给关上了。波洛殷勤地请大家就座。伦敦警察厅的两位人物是大家注意的目标。我认为，我们是第一次意识到这一事件并不是一场恶梦，而是活生生的现实。我们曾经读过不少这样的消息——现在，我们自己也成了这出戏中的演员了。明天，全英国的日报都会以下列显著的大字标题发表这一消息：

“埃塞克斯发生重大惨案有钱太太可怜中毒身亡”

还会刊出斯泰尔斯庄园的照片，“正在受到审讯的一家人”的快照——村子里的摄影师是不会闲着的！所有此类消息，每个人都曾读到过许多次——但都不是自己，而是发生在别人身上。而现在，在这幢房子里，发生了一件谋杀案。在我们面前的是“负责此案的侦探”。在波洛开始讲话之前的间歇里，各种熟悉、流利的措词从我的脑子里匆匆掠过。

我相信，所有人都有点感到意外，第一个说话的是他，而不是一位官方侦探。

“女士们，先生们，”波洛象一位马上要发表演说的名人似地鞠了个躬，然后说，“我请你们诸位一起到这儿来，是为了一件事情，就是有关阿弗雷德·英格里桑先生的问题。”

英格里桑差不多是独自一人坐在一边——我思忖，每个人都不自觉地把自己的椅子拖得离他稍远一点——当波洛提到他的名字时，他略微吃了一惊。

“英格里桑先生，”波洛径直对着他说，“这幢房子笼罩着一个十分黑暗的阴影——谋杀的阴影。”

英格里桑悲伤地摇摇头。

“我可怜的太太，”他喃喃地说。“可怜的埃米莉！这太可怕了。”

“我认为，先生，”波洛尖锐地说，“你还没有完全意识到这可能有多可怕——对你来说。”由于英格里桑看来还没理解，他又补充说：“英格里桑先生，你正处于非常严重的危险之中。”

两位侦探都显得坐立不安。我看到，那句公认的诫言“你说的每句话都会用在对你起诉的证词中”，如今一直逗留在萨默海的嘴唇上。波洛继续说：

“现在该懂了吧，先生？”

“不懂。你的意思是什么？”

“我的意思是，”波洛不慌不忙地说，“你被怀疑毒死了自己的妻子。”

由于这句坦率的话。使得周围的人几乎喘不过气来。

“天哪！”英格里桑喊道，蓦地站了起来。“多荒谬的念头！我——毒死我最亲爱的埃米莉！”

“我认为，”——波洛朝他仔细注视着——“你还没有完全意识到审讯时你的证词的不利之处，英格里桑先生，知道了我已经告诉你的话以后，你还拒绝说出星期一下午六点钟时你在哪儿吗？”

阿弗雷德·英格里桑呻吟了一声，重又坐了下来，同时把脸埋在自己的双手之中。波洛走向前去，站在他的身旁。

“说！”他大声威胁说。

英格里桑费力地从双手中抬起脸。接着缓慢地，不慌不忙的摇了摇头。

“你不愿说？”

“我不信人人部会这样荒谬，象你说的那样来控告我。”

波洛若有所思地点着头，象个决心已经下定的人一样。

“好罢！”他说。“那得我来给你说了。”

阿弗雷德·英格里桑又蓦地跳了起来。

“你？你怎么说？你又不知道——”他突然停住了。

波洛转身朝向我们。“女士们，先先们！我来说！请听着！我，赫卡尔·波洛，肯定地说，本星期一下午六点，到药店购买土的宁的人，决不是英格里桑先生，因为那天下午六点钟时，英格里桑先生正从邻近的一个农庄陪雷克斯太太回家。我可以提出不少于五个证人，都在六点钟或六点钟以后亲眼看到他们俩在一起，而且，正如你们所知道的，阿比农庄，即雷克斯太太的家，离村子至少有两英里半路。英格里桑先生不在犯罪现场，这是绝对不成问题的。”