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"And that is?" `
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"That in no possible way could Mrs. Inglethorp's death benefit `
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Miss Howard. Now there is no murder without a motive." `
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I reflected. `
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"Could not Mrs. Inglethorp have made a will in her favour?" `
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Poirot shook his head. `
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"But you yourself suggested that possibility to Mr. Wells?" `
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Poirot smiled. `
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"That was for a reason. I did not want to mention the name of `
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the person who was actually in my mind. Miss Howard occupied `
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very much the same position, so I used her name instead." `
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"Still, Mrs. Inglethorp might have done so. Why, that will, made `
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on the afternoon of her death may----" `
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But Poirot's shake of the head was so energetic that I stopped. `
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"No, my friend. I have certain little ideas of my own about that `
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will. But I can tell you this much--it was not in Miss Howard's `
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favour." `
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I accepted his assurance, though I did not really see how he `
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could be so positive about the matter. `
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"Well," I said, with a sigh, "we will acquit Miss Howard, then. `
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It is partly your fault that I ever came to suspect her. It was `
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what you said about her evidence at the inquest that set me off." `
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Poirot looked puzzled. `
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"What did I say about her evidence at the inquest?" `
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"Don't you remember? When I cited her and John Cavendish as being `
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above suspicion?" `
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"Oh--ah--yes." He seemed a little confused, but recovered `
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himself. "By the way, Hastings, there is something I want you to `
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do for me." `
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"Certainly. What is it?" `
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"Next time you happen to be alone with Lawrence Cavendish, I want `
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you to say this to him. 'I have a message for you, from Poirot. `
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He says: "Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace!" `
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' Nothing more. Nothing less." `
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" 'Find the extra coffee-cup, and you can rest in peace.' Is that `
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right?" I asked, much mystified. `
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"Excellent." `
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"But what does it mean?" `
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"Ah, that I will leave you to find out. You have access to the `
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facts. Just say that to him, and see what he says." `
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"Very well--but it's all extremely mysterious." `
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We were running into Tadminster now, and Poirot directed the car `
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to the "Analytical Chemist." `
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Poirot hopped down briskly, and went inside. In a few minutes he `
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was back again. `
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"There," he said. "That is all my business." `
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"What were you doing there?" I asked, in lively curiosity. `
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"I left something to be analysed." `
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"Yes, but what?" `
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"The sample of coco I took from the saucepan in the bedroom." `
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"But that has already been tested!" I cried, stupefied. "Dr. `
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Bauerstein had it tested, and you yourself laughed at the `
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possibility of there being strychnine in it." `
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"I know Dr. Bauerstein had it tested," replied Poirot quietly. `
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"Well, then?" `
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"Well, I have a fancy for having it analysed again, that is all." `
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And not another word on the subject could I drag out of him. `
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This proceeding of Poirot's, in respect of the coco, puzzled me `
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intensely. I could see neither rhyme nor reason in it. However, `
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my confidence in him, which at one time had rather waned, was `
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fully restored since his belief in Alfred Inglethorp's innocence `
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had been so triumphantly vindicated. `
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The funeral of Mrs. Inglethorp took place the following day, and `
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on Monday, as I came down to a late breakfast, John drew me `
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aside, and informed me that Mr. Inglethorp was leaving that `
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morning, to take up his quarters at the Stylites Arms until he `
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should have completed his plans. `
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"And really it's a great relief to think he's going, Hastings," `
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continued my honest friend. "It was bad enough before, when we `
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thought he'd done it, but I'm hanged if it isn't worse now, when `
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we all feel guilty for having been so down on the fellow. The `
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fact is, we've treated him abominably. Of course, things did `
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look black against him. I don't see how anyone could blame us `
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for jumping to the conclusions we did. Still, there it is, we `
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were in the wrong, and now there's a beastly feeling that one `
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ought to make amends; which is difficult, when one doesn't like `
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the fellow a bit better than one did before. The whole thing's `
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damned awkward! And I'm thankful he's had the tact to take `
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himself off. It's a good thing Styles wasn't the mater's to `
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leave to him. Couldn't bear to think of the fellow fording it `
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here. He's welcome to her money." `
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"You'll be able to keep up the place all right?" I asked. `
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"Oh, yes. There are the death duties, of course, but half my `
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father's money goes with the place, and Lawrence will stay with `
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us for the present, so there is his share as well. We shall be `
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pinched at first, of course, because, as I once told you, I am in `
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a bit of a hole financially myself. Still, the Johnnies will `
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wait now." `
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In the general relief at Inglethorp's approaching departure, we `
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had the most genial breakfast we had experienced since the `
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tragedy. Cynthia, whose young spirits were naturally buoyant, `
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was looking quite her pretty self again, and we all, with the `
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exception of Lawrence, who seemed unalterably gloomy and nervous, `
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were quietly cheerful, at the opening of a new and hopeful `
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future. `
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The papers, of course, had been full of the tragedy. Glaring `
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headlines, sandwiched biographies of every member of the `
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household, subtle innuendoes, the usual familiar tag about the `
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police having a clue. Nothing was spared us. It was a slack `
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time. The war was momentarily inactive, and the newspapers `
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seized with avidity on this crime in fashionable life: "The `
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Mysterious Affair at Styles" was the topic of the moment. `
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Naturally it was very annoying for the Cavendishes. The house `
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was constantly besieged by reporters, who were consistently `
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denied admission, but who continued to haunt the village and the `
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grounds, where they lay in wait with cameras, for any unwary `
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members of the household. We all lived in a blast of publicity. `
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The Scotland Yard men came and went, examining, questioning, `
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lynx-eyed and reserved of tongue. Towards what end they were `
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working, we did not know. Had they any clue, or would the whole `
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thing remain in the category of undiscovered crimes? `
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After breakfast, Dorcas came up to me rather mysteriously, and `
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asked if she might have a few words with me. `
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"Certainly. What is it, Dorcas?" `
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"Well, it's just this, sir. You'll be seeing the Belgian `
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gentleman to-day perhaps?" I nodded. "Well, sir, you know how he `
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asked me so particular if the mistress, or anyone else, had a `
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green dress?" `
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"Yes, yes. You have found one?" My interest was aroused. `
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"No, not that, sir. But since then I've remembered what the `
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young gentlemen"--John and Lawrence were still the "young `
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gentlemen" to Dorcas--"call the 'dressing-up box.' It's up in the `
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front attic, sir. A great chest, full of old clothes and fancy `
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dresses, and what not. And it came to me sudden like that there `
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might be a green dress amongst them. So, if you'd tell the `
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Belgian gentleman----" `
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"I will tell him, Dorcas," I promised. `
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"Thank you very much, sir. A very nice gentleman he is, sir. `
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And quite a different class from them two detectives from London, `
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what goes prying about, and asking questions. I don't hold with `
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foreigners as a rule, but from what the newspapers say I make out `
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as how these brave Belges isn't the ordinary run of foreigners, `
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and certainly he's a most polite spoken gentleman." `
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Dear old Dorcas! As she stood there, with her honest face `
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upturned to mine, I thought what a fine specimen she was of the `
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old-fashioned servant that is so fast dying out. `
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I thought I might as well go down to the village at once, and `
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look up Poirot; but I met him half-way, coming up to the house, `
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and at once gave him Dorcas's message. `
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"Ah, the brave Dorcas! We will look at the chest, although--but `
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no matter--we will examine it all the same." `
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We entered the house by one of the windows. There was no one in `
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the hall, and we went straight up to the attic. `
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Sure enough, there was the chest, a fine old piece, all studded `
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with brass nails, and full to overflowing with every imaginable `
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type of garment. `
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