Lord Edgware Dies

‘But the lady overheard him. She is quick enough and shrewd enough to realize that in some way or other she has given herself away. She heard Hastings say that I will not be in till five. At twenty to five she goes to Ross’s maisonette. He opens the door, is very surprised to see her, but it does not occur to him to be afraid. A strong able-bodied young man is not afraid of a woman. He goes with her into the dining-room. She pours out some story to him. Perhaps she goes on her knees and flings her arms around his neck. And then, swift and sure, she strikes-as before. Perhaps he gives a choked cry-no more. He, too, is silenced.’

There was a silence. Then Japp spoke hoarsely.

‘You mean-she did it all the time?’

Poirot bowed his head.

‘But why, if he was willing to give her a divorce?’

‘Because the Duke of Merton is a pillar of the Anglo-Catholics. Because he would not dream of marrying a woman whose husband was alive. He is a young man of fanatical principles. As a widow, she was pretty certain to be able to marry him. Doubtless she had tentatively suggested divorce, but he had not risen to the bait.’

‘Then why send you to Lord Edgware?’

‘Ah! parbleu!’ Poirot, from having been very correct and English, suddenly relapsed into his natural self. ‘To pull the cotton-wool over my eyes! To make me a witness to the fact that there was not motive for the murder! Yes, she dared to make me, Hercule Poirot, her cat’s-paw!Ma foi, she succeeded, too! Oh, that strange brain, childlike and cunning. She can act! How well she acted surprise at being told of the letter her husband had written her which she swore she had never received. Did she feel the slightest pang of remorse for any of her three crimes? I can swear she did not.’

‘I told you what she was like,’ cried Bryan Martin.

‘I told you. I knew she was going to kill him. I felt it. And I was afraid that somehow she’d get away with it. She’s clever-devilish clever in a kind of half-wit way. And I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her to hang for it.’

His face was scarlet. His voice came thickly.

‘Now, now,’ said Jenny Driver.

She spoke exactly as I have heard nursemaids speak to a small child in the park.

‘And the gold box with the initial D, and Paris November inside?’ said Japp.

‘She ordered that by letter and sent Ellis, her maid, to fetch it. Naturally Ellis just called for a parcel which she paid for. She had no idea what was inside. Also, Lady Edgware borrowed a pair of Ellis’s pince-nez to help in the Van Dusen impersonation. She forgot about them and left them in Carlotta Adams’ handbag-her one mistake.

‘Oh! it came to me-it all came to me as I stood in the middle of the road. It was not polite what the bus driver said to me, but it was worth it. Ellis! Ellis’s pince-nez. Ellis calling for the box in Paris. Ellis and therefore Jane Wilkinson. Very possibly she borrowed something else from Ellis besidesdes pince-nez.’

‘What?’

‘A corn knife…’

I shivered.

There was a momentary silence.

Then Japp said with a strange reliance in the answer.

‘M. Poirot. Is this true?’

‘It is true, mon ami.’

Then Bryan Martin spoke, and his words were, I thought, very typical of him.

‘But look here,’ he said peevishly. ‘What about me? Why bring me here today? Why nearly frighten me to death?’

Poirot looked at him coldly.

‘To punish you, Monsieur, for being impertinent! How dare you try and make the games with Hercule Poirot?’

And then Jenny Driver laughed. She laughed and laughed.

‘Serve you right, Bryan,’ she said at last.

She turned to Poirot.

‘I’m glad as I can be that it wasn’t Ronnie Marsh,’ she said. ‘I’ve always liked him. And I’m glad, glad, glad that Carlotta’s death won’t go unpunished! As for Bryan here, well I’ll tell you something, M. Poirot. I’m going to marry him. And if he thinks he can get divorced and married every two or three years in the approved Hollywood fashion, well, he never made a bigger mistake in his life. He’s going to marry and stick to me.’

Poirot looked at her-looked at her determined chin-and at her flaming hair.

‘It is very possible, Mademoiselle,’ he said, ‘that that may be so. I said that you had sufficient nerve for anything. Even to marry a film “star”.’

Chapter 31. A Human Document

A day or two after that I was suddenly recalled to the Argentine. So it happened that I never saw Jane Wilkinson again and only read in the paper of her trial and condemnation. Unexpectedly, at least unexpectedly to me, she went completely to pieces when charged with the truth. So long as she was able to be proud of her cleverness and act her part she made no mistakes, but once her self-confidence failed her, owing to someone having found her out, she was as incapable as a child would be of keeping up a deception. Cross-examined, she went completely to pieces.