We were still recovering from the surprise of the doctor’s announcement, when a telegram was brought to me. It had been sent up from the hotel to the Villa4. I tore it open. It was from Poirot, and announced his return by the train arriving at Merlinville at 12:28.
I looked at my watch and saw that I had just time to get comfortably to the station and meet him there. I felt that it was of the utmost importance that he should know at once of the new and startling developments in the case.
Evidently, I reflected, Poirot had had no difficulty in finding what he wanted in Paris. The quickness of his return proved that. Very few hours had sufficed. I wondered how he would take the exciting news I had to impart.
The train was some minutes late, and I strolled aimlessly up and down the platform, until it occurred to me that I might pass the time by asking a few questions as to who had left Merlinville by the last train on the evening of the tragedy.
I approached the chief porter, an intelligent looking man, and had little difficulty in persuading him to enter upon the subject. It was a disgrace to the Police, he hotly affirmed, that such brigands5 of assassins should be allowed to go about unpunished. I hinted that there was some possibility they might have left by the midnight train, but he negatived the idea decidedly. He would have noticed two foreigners—he was sure of it. Only about twenty people had left by the train, and he could not have failed to observe them.
I do not know what put the idea into my head—possibly it was the deep anxiety underlying6 Marthe Daubreuil’s tones—but I asked suddenly:
“Young M. Renauld—he did not leave by that train, did he?”
“Ah, no, monsieur. To arrive and start off again within half an hour, it would not be amusing, that!”
I stared at the man, the significance of his words almost escaping me. Then I saw. …
“You mean,” I said, my heart beating a little, “that M. Jack7 Renauld arrived at Merlinville that evening?”
“But yes, monsieur. By the last train arriving the other way, the 11:40.”
My brain whirled. That, then, was the reason of Marthe’s poignant8 anxiety. Jack Renauld had been in Merlinville on the night of the crime! But why had he not said so? Why, on the contrary, had he led us to believe that he had remained in Cherbourg? Remembering his frank boyish countenance9, I could hardly bring myself to believe that he had any connection with the crime. Yet why this silence on his part about so vital a matter? One thing was certain, Marthe had known all along. Hence her anxiety, and her eager questioning of Poirot to know whether any one were suspected.
My cogitations were interrupted by the arrival of the train, and in another moment I was greeting Poirot. The little man was radiant. He beamed and vociferated and, forgetting my English reluctance10, embraced me warmly on the platform.
“Indeed? I’m delighted to hear it. Have you heard the latest here?”
“How would you that I should hear anything? There have been some developments, eh? The brave Giraud, he has made an arrest? Or even arrests perhaps? Ah, but I will make him look foolish, that one! But where are you taking me, my friend? Do we not go to the hotel? It is necessary that I attend to my moustaches—they are deplorably limp from the heat of travelling. Also, without doubt, there is dust on my coat. And my tie, that I must rearrange.”
I cut short his remonstrances12.
“My dear Poirot—never mind all that. We must go to the Villa at once. There has been another murder!”
I have frequently been disappointed when fancying that I was giving news of importance to my friend. Either he has known it already or he has dismissed it as irrelevant13 to the main issue—and in the latter case events have usually proved him justified14. But this time I could not complain of missing my effect. Never have I seen a man so flabbergasted. His jaw15 dropped. All the jauntiness16 went out of his bearing. He stared at me open-mouthed.
“What is that you say? Another murder? Ah, then, I am all wrong. I have failed. Giraud may mock himself at me—he will have reason!”
“You did not expect it, then?”
“I? Not the least in the world. It demolishes17 my theory—it ruins everything—it—ah, no!” He stopped dead, thumping18 himself on the chest. “It is impossible. I cannot be wrong! The facts, taken methodically and in their proper order admit of only one explanation. I must be right! I am right!”
“But then—”
He interrupted me.
“Wait, my friend. I must be right, therefore this new murder is impossible unless—unless—oh, wait, I implore19 you. Say no word—”
He was silent for a moment or two, then, resuming his normal manner, he said in a quiet assured voice: “The victim is a man of middle-age. His body was found in the locked shed near the scene of the crime and had been dead at least forty-eight hours. And it is most probable that he was stabbed in a similar manner to M. Renauld, though not necessarily in the back.”
It was my turn to gape20—and gape I did. In all my knowledge of Poirot he had never done anything so amazing as this. And, almost inevitably21, a doubt crossed my mind.
“Poirot,” I cried, “you’re pulling my leg. You’ve heard all about it already.”
He turned his earnest gaze upon me reproachfully.
“Would I do such a thing? I assure you that I have heard nothing whatsoever22. Did you not observe the shock your news was to me?”
“But how on earth could you know all that?”
“I was right then? But I knew it. The little grey cells, my friend, the little grey cells! They told me. Thus, and in no other way, could there have been a second death. Now tell me all. If we go round to the left here, we can take a short cut across the golf links which will bring us to the back of the Villa Geneviève much more quickly.”
As we walked, taking the way he had indicated, I recounted all I knew. Poirot listened attentively23.
“The dagger was in the wound, you say? That is curious. You are sure it was the same one?”
“Absolutely certain. That’s what make it so impossible.”
“Surely that is in the highest degree unlikely? It would be a most extraordinary coincidence.”
“You speak as usual, without reflection, Hastings. In some cases two identical weapons would be highly improbable. But not here. This particular weapon was a war souvenir which was made to Jack Renauld’s orders. It is really highly unlikely, when you come to think of it, that he should have had only one made. Very probably he would have another for his own use.”
“But nobody has mentioned such a thing,” I objected.
A hint of the lecturer crept into Poirot’s tone. “My friend, in working upon a case, one does not take into account only the things that are ‘mentioned.’ There is no reason to mention many things which may be important. Equally, there is often an excellent reason for not mentioning them. You can take your choice of the two motives26.”
I was silent, impressed in spite of myself. Another few minutes brought us to the famous shed. We found all our friends there and, after an interchange of polite amenities27, Poirot began his task.
Having watched Giraud at work, I was keenly interested. Poirot bestowed28 but a cursory29 glance on the surroundings. The only thing he examined was the ragged30 coat and trousers by the door. A disdainful smile rose to Giraud’s lips, and, as though noting it, Poirot flung the bundle down again.
“Exactly,” said Giraud.
Poirot knelt down by the body. His fingers were rapid but methodical. He examined the texture32 of the clothes, and satisfied himself that there were no marks on them. The boots he subjected to special care, also the dirty and broken finger-nails. Whilst examining the latter he threw a quick question at Giraud.
“You saw these?”
“Yes, I saw them,” replied the other. His face remained inscrutable.
“Dr. Durand!”
“Yes?” The doctor came forward.
“I didn’t notice it, I must admit.”
“But you observe it now?”
“Oh, certainly.”
Poirot again shot a question at Giraud.
“You noticed it without doubt?”
The other did not reply. Poirot proceeded. The dagger had been withdrawn35 from the wound. It reposed36 in a glass jar by the side of the body. Poirot examined it, then he studied the wound closely. When he looked up, his eyes were excited, and shone with the green light I knew so well.
“It is a strange wound, this! It has not bled. There is no stain on the clothes. The blade of the dagger is slightly discoloured, that is all. What do you think, M. le docteur?”
“I can only say that it is most abnormal.”
“It is not abnormal at all. It is most simple. The man was stabbed after he was dead.” And, stilling the clamour of voices that arose with a wave of his hand, Poirot turned to Giraud and added, “M. Giraud agrees with me, do you not, monsieur?”
Whatever Giraud’s real belief, he accepted the position without moving a muscle. Calmly and almost scornfully he replied:
“Certainly I agree.”
“But what an idea!” cried M. Hautet. “To stab a man after he is dead! Barbaric! Unheard of! Some unappeasable hate, perhaps.”
“No, M. le juge,” said Poirot. “I should fancy it was done quite cold-bloodedly—to create an impression.”
“What impression?”
“The impression it nearly did create,” returned Poirot oracularly.
M. Bex had been thinking.
“How, then, was the man killed?”
“He was not killed. He died. He died, M. le juge, if I am not much mistaken, of an epileptic fit!”
This statement of Poirot’s again aroused considerable excitement. Dr. Durand knelt down again, and made a searching examination. At last he rose to his feet.
“Well, M. le docteur?”
“M. Poirot, I am inclined to believe that you are correct in your assertion. I was misled to begin with. The incontrovertible fact that the man had been stabbed distracted my attention from any other indications.”
Poirot was the hero of the hour. The examining magistrate38 was profuse39 in compliments. Poirot responded gracefully40, and then excused himself on the pretext41 that neither he nor I had yet lunched, and that he wished to repair the ravages42 of the journey. As we were about to leave the shed, Giraud approached us.
“One more thing, M. Poirot,” he said, in his suave43 mocking voice. “We found this coiled round the handle of the dagger. A woman’s hair.”
“Ah!” said Poirot. “A woman’s hair? What woman’s, I wonder?”
“I wonder also,” said Giraud. Then, with a bow, he left us.
“He was insistent44, the good Giraud,” said Poirot thoughtfully, as we walked towards the hotel. “I wonder in what direction he hopes to mislead me? A woman’s hair—h’m!”
We lunched heartily45, but I found Poirot somewhat distrait46 and inattentive. Afterwards we went up to our sitting-room47 and there I begged him to tell me something of his mysterious journey to Paris.
“Willingly, my friend. I went to Paris to find this.”
He took from his pocket a small faded newspaper cutting. It was the reproduction of a woman’s photograph. He handed it to me. I uttered an exclamation48.
“You recognize it, my friend?”
I nodded. Although the photo obviously dated from very many years back, and the hair was dressed in a different style, the likeness49 was unmistakable.
“Madame Daubreuil!” I exclaimed.
Poirot shook his head with a smile.
“Not quite correct, my friend. She did not call herself by that name in those days. That is a picture of the notorious Madame Beroldy!”
Madame Beroldy! In a flash the whole thing came back to me. The murder trial that had evoked50 such world-wide interest.
The Beroldy Case.
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1
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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jauntiness
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| n.心满意足；洋洋得意；高兴；活泼 | |
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demolishes
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| v.摧毁( demolish的第三人称单数 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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gape
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| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cursory
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| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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distrait
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| adj.心不在焉的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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48
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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49
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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50
evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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