The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding

‘The coffee is good tonight. It varies. Cook is very unreliable over her coffee. Lily keeps looking out of the window, I don't know why. Now Reuben comes into the room; he is in one of his worst moods tonight, and bursts out with a perfect flood of abuse to poor Mr Trefusis. Mr Trefusis has his hand round the paper-knife, the big one with the sharp blade like a knife. How hard he is grasping it; his knuckles are quite white. Look, he has dug it so hard in the table that the point snaps. He holds it just as you would hold a dagger you were going to stick into someone. There, they have gone out together now. Lily has got her green evening dress on; she looks so pretty in green, just like a lily. I must have the covers cleaned next week.’

‘Just a minute, Lady Astwell.’

The doctor leaned across to Poirot.

‘We have got it, I think,’ he murmured; ‘that action with the paper-knife, that's what convinced her that the secretary did the thing.’

‘Let us go on to the Tower room now.’

The doctor nodded, and began once more to question Lady Astwell in his high, decisive voice.

‘It is later in the evening; you are in the Tower room with your husband. You and he have had a terrible scene together, have you not?’

Again the figure stirred uneasily.

‘Yes — terrible — terrible. We said dreadful things — both of us.’

‘Never mind that now. You can see the room clearly, the curtains were drawn, the lights were on.’

‘Not the middle light, only the desk light.’

‘You are leaving your husband now, you are saying good night to him.’

‘No, I was too angry.’

‘It is the last time you will see him; very soon he will be murdered. Do you know who murdered him, Lady Astwell?’

‘Yes. Mr Trefusis.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because of the bulge — the bulge in the curtain.’

‘There was a bulge in the curtain?’

‘Yes.’

‘You saw it?’

‘Yes. I almost touched it.’

‘Was there a man concealed there — Mr Trefusis?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do you know?’

For the first time the monotonous answering voice hesitated and lost confidence.

‘I — I — because of the paper-knife.’

Poirot and the doctor again interchanged swift glances.

‘I don't understand you, Lady Astwell. There was a bulge in the curtain, you say? Someone concealed there? You didn't see that person?’

‘No.’

‘You thought it was Mr Trefusis because of the way he held the paper-knife earlier?’

‘Yes.’

‘But Mr Trefusis had gone to bed, had he not?’

‘Yes — yes, that's right, he had gone away to his room.’

‘So he couldn't have been behind the curtain in the window?’

‘No — no, of course not, he wasn't there.’

‘He had said good night to your husband some time before, hadn't he?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you didn't see him again?’

‘No.’

She was stirring now, throwing herself about, moaning faintly.

‘She is coming out,’ said the doctor. ‘Well, I think we have got all we can, eh?’

Poirot nodded. The doctor leaned over Lady Astwell.

‘You are waking,’ he murmured softly. ‘You are waking now. In another minute you will open your eyes.’

The two men waited, and presently Lady Astwell sat upright and stared at them both.

‘Have I been having a nap?’

‘That's it, Lady Astwell, just a little sleep,’ said the doctor.

She looked at him.

‘Some of your hocus-pocus, eh?’

‘You don't feel any the worse, I hope,’ he asked.

Lady Astwell yawned.

‘I feel rather tired and done up.’

The doctor rose.

‘I will ask them to send you up some coffee,’ he said, ‘and we will leave you for the present.’

‘Did I — say anything?’ Lady Astwell called after them as they reached the door.

Poirot smiled back at her.

‘Nothing of great importance, Madame. You informed us that the drawing-room covers needed cleaning.’

‘So they do,’ said Lady Astwell. ‘You needn't have put me into a trance to get me to tell you that.’ She laughed good-humouredly. ‘Anything more?’

‘Do you remember M. Trefusis picking up a paper-knife in the drawing-room that night?’ asked Poirot.

‘I don't know, I'm sure,’ said Lady Astwell. ‘He may have done so.’

‘Does a bulge in the curtain convey anything to you?’

Lady Astwell frowned.

‘I seem to remember,’ she said slowly. ‘No — it's gone, and yet —’

‘Do not distress yourself, Lady Astwell,’ said Poirot quickly, ‘it is of no importance — of no importance whatever.’

The doctor went with Poirot to the latter's room.

‘Well,’ said Cazalet, ‘I think this explains things pretty clearly. No doubt when Sir Reuben was dressing down the secretary, the latter grabbed tight hold on a paper-knife, and had to exercise a good deal of self-control to prevent himself answering back. Lady Astwell's conscious mind was wholly taken up with the problem of Lily Margrave, but her subconscious mind noticed and misconstrued the action.

‘It implanted in her the firm conviction that Trefusis murdered Sir Reuben. Now we come to the bulge in the curtain. That is interesting. I take it from what you have told me of the Tower room that the desk was right in the window. There are curtains across that window, of course?’

‘Yes, mon ami, black velvet curtains.’

‘And there is room in the embrasure of the window for anyone to remain concealed behind them?’