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The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories

Page 12

by Agatha Christie


  of light--the black woman whose ancestors came

  from Africa, singing in her deep voice:

  i've forgotten you

  I never think of you

  Oh, what a lie

  I shall think of you, think of you,

  think of you

  Till I die ....

  The applause broke out frenziedly. The lights

  went up. Barton Russell came back and slipped

  into his seat.

  YELLOW IRIS

  1 19

  "She's great, that girl--" cried Tony.

  But his words were cut short by a low cry from

  Lola.

  "Look--look .... "

  And then they all saw. Pauline Weatherby

  dropped forward onto the table.

  Lola cried:

  "She's dead--just like Iris--tike Iris in New

  York."

  Poirot sprang from his seat, signing to the

  others to keep back. He bent over the huddled

  form, very gently lifted a limp hand and felt for a

  pulse.

  His face was white and stern. The others

  watched him. They were paralyzed, held in a

  trance.

  Slowly, Poirot nodded his head.

  "Yes, she is dead--la pauvre petite. And I sit-ting

  by her! Ah! but this time the murderer shall'

  not escape."

  Barton Russell, his face gray, muttered:

  "Just like Iris .... She saw something--Pauline

  saw something that night--Only she wasn't sure

  --she told me she wasn't sure .... We must get the

  police .... Oh, God, little Pauline."

  Poirot said:

  "Where is her glass?" He raised it to his nose.

  "Yes, I can smell the cyanide. A smell of bitter

  almonds . . . the same method, the same poi-son

  .... "

  He picked up her handbag.

  "Let us look in her handbag."

  Barton Russell cried out:

  "You don't believe this is suicide, too? Not on

  your life."

  120

  Agatha Christie

  "Wait," Poirot commanded. "No, there is

  nothing here. The lights went up, you see, too

  quickly, the murderer had not time. Therefore,

  the poison is still on him."

  "Or her," said Carter.

  He was looking at Lola Valdez.

  She spat out:

  "What do you mean--what do you say? That I

  killed her--eet is not true--not true--why should

  I do such a thing!"

  "You had rather a fancy for Barton Russell

  yourself in New York. That's the gossip I heard.

  Argentine beauties are notoriously jealous."

  "That ees a pack of lies. And I do not come

  from the Argentine. I come from Peru. Ah--I spit

  upon you. I--" She relapsed into Spanish.

  "I demand silence," cried Poirot. "It is for me

  to speak."

  Barton Russell said heavily:

  ' 'Everyone must be searched."

  Poirot said calmly,

  "Non, non, it is not necessary."

  "What d'you mean, not necessary?"

  "I, Hercule Poirot, know. I see with the eyes of

  the mind. And I will speak! M. Carter, will you

  show us the packet in your breast pocket?"

  "There's nothing in my pocket. What the

  hell--"

  "Tony, my good friend, if you will be so oblig-ing.''

  Carter cried out:

  "Damn you--"

  Tony flipped the packet neatly out before

  Carter could defend himself.

  YELLOW IRIS

  121

  "There you are, M. Poirot, just as you said!"

  "It's a damned lie," cried Carter.

  Poirot picked up the packet, read the label.

  "Cyanide of potassium. The case is complete."

  Barton Russell's voice came thickly.

  "Carter! I always thought so. Iris was in love

  with you. She wanted to go away with you. You

  didn't want a scandal for the sake of your precious

  career so you poisoned her. You'll hang for this,

  you dirty dog."

  "Silence!" Poirot's voice rang out, firm and

  authoritative. "This is not finished yet. I, Hercule

  Poirot, have something to say. My friend here,

  Tony Chapell, he says to me when I arrive, that I

  have come in search of crime. That, it is partly

  true. There was crime in my mind--but it was to

  prevent a crime that I came. And I have prevented

  it. The murderer, he planned wellmbut Hercule

  Poirot he was one move ahead. He had to think

  fast, and to whisper quickly in Mademoiselle's ear

  when the lights went down. She is very quick and

  clever, Mademoiselle Pauline, .she played her part

  well. Mademoiselle, will you be so kind as to show

  us that you are not dead after all?"

  Pauline sat up. She gave an unsteady laugh.

  "Resurrection of Pauline," she said.

  "Pauline-- darling."

  "Tony!"

  "My sweet."

  "Angel."

  Barton Russell gasped.

  "I--I don't understand .... "

  "I will help you to understand, Mr. Barton

  Russell. Your plan has miscarried."

  122

  Agatha Christie

  "My plan?"

  "Yes, your plan. Who was the only man who

  had an alibi during the darkness. The man who

  left the table--you, Mr. Barton Russell. But you

  returned to it under cover of the darkness, circling

  round it, with a champagne bottle, filling up

  glasses, putting cyanide in Pauline's glass and

  dropping the half empty packet in Carter's pocket

  as you bent over him to remove a glass. Oh, yes, it

  is easy to play the part of a waiter in darkness

  when the attention of everyone is elsewhere. That

  was the real reason for your party tonight. The

  safest place to commit a murder is in the middle of

  a crowd."

  "What the--why the hell should I want to kill

  Pauline?"

  "It might be, perhaps, a question of money.

  Your wife left you guardian to her sister. You

  mentioned that fact tonight. Pauline is twenty. At

  twenty-one or on her marriage you would have to

  render an account of your stewardship. I suggest

  that you could not do that. You have specu-lated

  with it. I do not know, Mr. Barton Russell,

  whether you killed your wife in the same way, or

  whether her suicide suggested the idea of this

  crime to you, but I do know that tonight you have

  been guilty of attempted murder. It rests with Miss

  Pauline whether you are prosecuted for that."

  "No," said Pauline. "He can get out of my

  sight and out of this country: I don't want a

  scandal."

  "You had better go quickly, Mr. Barton

  Russell, and I advise you to be careful in future."

  Barton Russell got up, his face working.

  YELLOW IRIS

  123

  "To hell with you, you interfering little Belgian

  jackanapes."

  He strode out angrily.

  Pauline sighed.

  "M. Poirot, you've been wonderful .... "

  "You, Mademoiselle, you have been the mar-velous

  one. To pour away the champagne, to act

  the dead body so prettily."

  "Ugh," she shivered, "you
give me the creeps."

  He said gently:

  "It was you who telephoned me, was it not?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. I was worried and--frightened

  without knowing quite why I was frightened Bar-ton

  told me he was having this party to com-memorate

  Iris' death. I realized he had some

  scheme on--but he wouldn't tell me what it was.

  He looked so--so queer and so excited that I felt

  something terrible might happen--only of course I

  never dreamed that he meant to--to get rid of

  me."

  "And so, Mademoiselle?"

  "I'd heard people talking about you. I thought

  if I could only get you here perhaps it would stop

  anything happening. I thought that being

  foreigner--if I rang up and pretended to be in

  danger and--and made it sound mysterious--"

  "You thought the melodrama, it would attract

  me? That is what puzzled me. The message itself

  --definitely it was what you call 'bogus'--it did

  not ring true. But the fear in the voice--that was.

  real. Then I came--and you denied very cate-gorically

  having sent me a message."

  124

  Agatha Christie

  "I had to. Besides, I didn't want you to know it

  was me."

  "Ah, but I was fairly sure of that! Not at first.

  But I soon realized that the only two people Who

  could know about the yellow irises on the table

  were you or Mr. Barton Russell."

  Pauline nodded.

  "I heard him ordering them to be put on the

  table," she explained. "That, and his ordering a

  table for six when I knew only five were coming,

  made me suspectw''

  She stopped, biting her lip.

  "What did you suspect, Mademoiselle?"

  She said slowly:

  "I was afraid--of something haPpening-..to

  Mr. Carter."

  Stephen Carter cleared his throat. Unhurrielly

  but quite decisively he rose from the table.

  "Er--h'm--I have to--er--thank you, IMr'

  Poirot. I owe you a great deal. You'll excuse

  I'm sure, if I leave you. Tonight's happenings

  have beenwrather upsetting."

  Looking after his retreating figure, Pauline Said

  violently:

  "I hate him. I've always thought it was

  because

  of him that Iris killed herself. Or perhaps

  --Barton killed her. Oh, it's all so hateful ,,

  Poirot

  said gently:

  "Forget,

  Mademoiselle.. · forget Let the

  past go

  Think only of

  the present "

  Pauline murmured, "Yes--you're

  right

  ',

  Poirot turned to Lola

  Valdez.

  "Sefiora, as the evening advances

  I become more brave. If you would

  dance with me

  "Oh, yes, indeed. You are--you

  are ze cat's

  YELLOq

  whilers, M. Poirot. I ioseest on dancing witla

  yo ,,

  ,,'

  ora."

  ¥ou are too kind, Sei left. They leant towar6s

  )ny and Pauline were

  eac,!ther across the table'

  : , barling Pauline." .,c a nasty spiteful spit

  " )h, Tony, I've been s.v Can you ever forgiW

  r little cat to you all d

  rile'?,, ·

  ,,

  . : j)e

  again. Let's dance."

  &ngel! Thssuru,:no at each other and

  · they danced off, smi

  nuntaing softly:

  T .........Love

  for making

  here s nothing lli(.o

  yOU .miser. a.b?Love for making

  There's notlfing tike

  you blue

  Depressed

  Possessed

  Sentimental

  Temperamen. tal . Love

  ho re r;i tt hy ':ug ok ft

  Love for driving

  There's nothing like

  you crazy Love for making

  There's nothing like

  you mad

  Abusive

  Allusive

  Suicidal

  Homicidal

  owe

  There's nothing like Love ....

  There's nothing like

  Miss Marple

  Tells a Story

  I don't think I've ever told you, rny dears--you,

  Raymond, and you, Joan, about rather curious

  little business that happened some years ago now.

  I don't want to seem vain in any Way-of course I

  know that in comparison with yoa young people.

  I'm not clever at all--Raymond w rites those very

  modern books all about rather un. pleasant young

  men and women--and Joan paint those very remarkable

  pictures of square peOPle with curious

  bulges on themmvery clever of yoh, my dear, but

  as Raymond always says (only qhite kindly, because

  he is the kindest of nephews) I am hopelessly

  Victorian. I admire Mr. Alma-Tdema and Mr.

  Frederic Leighton and I suppose to you they seem

  hopelessly vieux jeu. Now let me ee, what was I

  saying? Oh, yes--that I didn't Want to appear

  vain--but I couldn't help being just a teeny weeny

  129

  130

  Agatha Christie

  bit pleased with myself, because, just by applying

  a little common sense, I believe I really did solve a

  problem that had baffled cleverer heads than

  mine. Though really I should have thought the

  whole thing was obvious from the beginning ....

  Well, I'll tell you my little story, and if you

  think I'm inclined to be conceited about it, you

  must remember that I did at least help a fellow

  creature who was in very grave distress.

  The first I knew of this business was one eve-ning

  about nine o'clock when Gwen--(you

  member Gwen? My little maid with red hair) well

  --Gwen came in and told me that Mr. Petherick

  and a gentleman had called to see me. Gwen had

  showed them into the drawing-room--quite

  rightly. I was sitting in the dining-room because in

  early spring I think it is so wasteful to have two

  fires going.

  I directed Gwen to bring in the cherry brandy

  and some glasses and I hurried into the drawing-room.

  I don't know whether you remember Mr.

  Petherick? He died two years ago, but he had been

  a friend of mine for many years as well as attend-ing

  to all my legal business. A very shrewd man

  and a really clever solicitor. His son does my busi-ness

  for me now--a very nice lad and very up to

  date--but somehow I don't feel quite the confi-dence

  I had in Mr. Petherick.

  I explained to Mr. Petherick about the fires and

  he said at once that he and his friend would come

  into the dining-room--and then he introduced his

  friend--a Mr. Rhodes. He was a youngish man--not

  much over forty-and I saw at once that there

  was something very wrong. His manner was most

  peculiar. One might have called it rude if one

  MISS MAPLE TELLS A STORY

  13 l

  hadn't realized thai the poor fellow was suffering

  from strain.
<
br />   When we were sttled in the dining-room and

  Gwen had brought the cherry brandy, Mr. Pethe-rick

  explained the reson for his visit.

  "Miss Marple," Be said, "you must forgive an

  old friend for takin a liberty. What I have come

  here for is a consultation."

  I couldn't understand at all what he meant, and

  he went on:

  "In a case of illess one likes two points of

  view--that of the specialist and that of the family

  physician. It is the fashion to regard the former as

  of more value, but I am not sure that I agree. The

  specialist has experience only in his own subject--the

  family doctor has, perhaps, less knowledge--but

  a wider experience."

 

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