IDinner was a reasonably cheerful meal. Mrs. Luttrell was down again and in her best vein1 ofartificial Irish gaiety. Franklin was more animated2 and cheerful than I had yet seen him. NurseCraven I saw for the first time in mufti instead of her nurse’s uniform. She was certainly a veryattractive young woman now that she had cast off her professional reserve.
After dinner Mrs. Luttrell suggested bridge, but in the end some round games were started.
About half past nine Norton declared his intention of going up to see Poirot.
“Good idea,” said Boyd Carrington. “Sorry he’s been under the weather lately. I’ll come uptoo.”
I had to act quickly.
“Look here,” I said, “do you mind—it really tires him too much to talk to more than one personat a time.”
Norton took the cue and said quickly: “I promised to lend him a book on birds.”
Boyd Carrington said: “All right. You coming back again, Hastings?”
“Yes.”
I went up with Norton. Poirot was waiting. After a word or two I came down again. We beganplaying rummy.
Boyd Carrington, I think, resented the carefree atmosphere of Styles tonight. He thought,perhaps, that it was too soon after the tragedy for everyone to forget. He was absentminded, forgotfrequently what he was doing, and at last excused himself from further play.
He went to the window and opened it. The sound of thunder could be heard in the distance.
There was a storm about although it had not yet reached us. He closed the window again and cameback. He stood for a minute or two watching us play. Then he went out of the room.
I went up to bed at a quarter to eleven. I did not go in to Poirot. He might be asleep. Moreover Ifelt a reluctance3 to think anymore about Styles and its problems. I wanted to sleep—to sleep andforget.
I was just dropping off when a sound wakened me. I thought it might have been a tap on mydoor. I called “Come in,” but as there was no response, I switched the light on and, getting up,looked out into the corridor.
I saw Norton just coming from the bathroom and going into his own room. He wore a checkeddressing gown of particularly hideous5 colouring and his hair was sticking up on end as usual. Hewent into his room and shut the door, and immediately afterwards I heard him turn the key in thelock.
Overhead there was a low rumbling6 of thunder. The storm was coming nearer.
I went back to bed with a slightly uneasy feeling induced by the sound of that turning key.
It suggested, very faintly, sinister7 possibilities. Did Norton usually lock his door at night, Iwondered? Had Poirot warned him to do so? I remembered with sudden uneasiness how Poirot’sdoor key had mysteriously disappeared.
I lay in bed and my uneasiness grew whilst the storm overhead added to my feeling ofnerviness. I got up at last and locked my own door. Then I went back to bed and slept.
II
I went in to Poirot before going down to breakfast.
He was in bed and I was struck again by how ill he looked. Deep lines of weariness and fatiguewere on his face.
“How are you, old boy?”
He smiled patiently at me. “I exist, my friend. I still exist.”
“Not in pain?”
“No—just tired—” he sighed—“very tired.”
I nodded. “What about last night? Did Norton tell you what he saw that day?”
“He told me, yes.”
“What was it?”
Poirot looked at me long and thoughtfully before he replied: “I am not sure, Hastings, that I hadbetter tell you. You might misunderstand.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Norton,” said Poirot, “tells me he saw two people—”
“Judith and Allerton,” I cried. “I thought so at the time.”
“Eh bien, non. Not Judith and Allerton. Did I not tell you you would misunderstand? You are aman of one idea!”
“Sorry,” I said, a little abashed8. “Tell me.”
“I will tell you tomorrow. I have much on which I wish to reflect.”
“Does it—does it help with the case?”
Poirot nodded. He closed his eyes, leaning back in his pillows.
“The case is ended. Yes, it is ended. There are only some loose ends to be tied. Go down tobreakfast, my friend. And as you go, send Curtiss to me.”
I did so and went downstairs. I wanted to see Norton. I was deeply curious to know what it wasthat he had told Poirot.
Subconsciously9 I was still not happy. The lack of elation10 in Poirot’s manner struck medisagreeably. Why this persistent11 secrecy12? Why that deep inexplicable13 sadness? What was thetruth of all this?
Norton was not at breakfast.
I strolled out into the garden afterwards. The air was fresh and cool after the storm. I noticedthat it had rained heavily. Boyd Carrington was on the lawn. I felt pleased to see him and wishedthat I could take him into my confidence. I had wanted to all along. I was very tempted14 to do sonow. Poirot was really unfit to carry on by himself.
This morning Boyd Carrington looked so vital, so sure of himself, that I felt a wave of warmthand reassurance15.
“You’re late up this morning,” he said.
I nodded. “I slept late.”
“Bit of a thunderstorm last night. Hear it?”
I remembered now that I had been conscious of the rolling of thunder through my sleep.
“I felt a bit under the weather last night,” said Boyd Carrington. “I feel a lot better today.” Hestretched his arms out and yawned.
“Where’s Norton?” I asked.
“Don’t think he’s up yet. Lazy devil.”
With common accord we raised our eyes. Where we were standing16 the windows of Norton’sroom were just above us. I started. For alone in the fa?ade of windows Norton’s were stillshuttered.
I said: “That’s odd. Do you think they’ve forgotten to call him?”
“Funny. Hope he’s not ill. Let’s go up and see.”
We went up together. The housemaid, a rather stupid-looking girl, was in the passage. In answerto a question she replied that Mr. Norton hadn’t answered when she knocked. She’d knocked onceor twice but he hadn’t seemed to hear. His door was locked.
A nasty foreboding swept over me. I rapped loudly on the door, calling as I did so: “Norton—Norton. Wake up!”
And again with growing uneasiness: “Wake up. .?.?.”
III
When it was apparent that there was going to be no answer we went and found Colonel Luttrell.
He listened to us with a vague alarm showing in his faded blue eyes. He pulled uncertainly at hismoustache.
Mrs. Luttrell, always the one for prompt decisions, made no bones about it.
“You’ll have to get that door open somehow. There’s nothing else for it.”
For the second time in my life, I saw a door broken open at Styles. Behind that door was whathad been behind a locked door on the first occasion. Death by violence.
Norton was lying on his bed in his dressing4 gown. The key of the door was in the pocket. In hishand was a small pistol, a mere17 toy, but capable of doing its work. There was a small hole in theexact centre of his forehead.
For a moment or two I could not think of what I was reminded. Something, surely very old.?.?.?.
I was too tired to remember.
As I came into Poirot’s room he saw my face.
He said quickly: “What has happened? Norton?”
“Dead!”
“How? When?”
Briefly18 I told him.
I ended wearily: “They say it’s suicide. What else can they say? The door was locked. Thewindows were shuttered. The key was in his pocket. Why! I actually saw him go in and heard himlock the door.”
“You saw him, Hastings?”
“Yes, last night.”
I explained.
“You’re sure it was Norton?”
“Of course. I’d know that awful old dressing gown anywhere.”
For a moment Poirot became his old self.
“Ah, but it is a man you are identifying, not a dressing gown. Ma foi! Anyone can wear adressing gown.”
“It’s true,” I said slowly, “that I didn’t see his face. But it was his hair all right, and that slightlimp—”
“Anyone could limp, mon Dieu!”
I looked at him, startled. “Do you mean to suggest, Poirot, that it wasn’t Norton that I saw?”
“I am not suggesting anything of the kind. I am merely annoyed by the unscientific reasons yougive for saying it was Norton. No, no, I do not for one minute suggest that it was not Norton. Itwould be difficult for it to be anyone else, for every man here is tall—very much taller than he was—and enfin you cannot disguise height—that, no. Norton was only five foot five, I should say.
Tout19 de même, it is like a conjuring20 trick, is it not? He goes into his room, locks the door, puts thekey in his pocket, and is found shot with the pistol in his hand and the key still in his pocket.”
“Then you don’t believe,” I said, “that he shot himself?”
Slowly Poirot shook his head. “No,” he said. “Norton did not shoot himself. He was deliberatelykilled.”
IV
I went downstairs in a daze21. The thing was so inexplicable I may be forgiven, I hope, for notseeing the next inevitable22 step. I was dazed. My mind was not working properly.
And yet it was so logical. Norton had been killed—why? To prevent, or so I believed, his tellingwhat he had seen.
But he had confided23 that knowledge to one other person.
So that person, too, was in danger. .?.?.
And was not only in danger, but was helpless.
I should have known.
I should have foreseen. .?.?.
“Cher ami!” Poirot had said to me as I left the room.
They were the last words I was ever to hear him say. For when Curtiss came to attend to hismaster he found that master dead. .?.?.
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1
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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4
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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5
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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6
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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7
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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8
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
subconsciously
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| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
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10
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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11
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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13
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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14
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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16
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
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daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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