The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories

Lady Chatterton was one of Poirot's most ar-dent admirers. Starting from the mysterious con-duct of a Pekingese, he had unraveled a chain which led to a noted burglar and housebreaker. Lady Chatterton had been loud in his praises ever since.

To see Poirot at a party was a great sight. His

faultless evening clothes, the exquisite set of his

white tie, the exact symmetry of his hair parting,

the sheen of pomade on his hair, and the tortured splendor of his famous mustaches--all combined to paint the perfect picture of an inveterate dandy. It was hard, at these moments, to take the little man seriously.

It was about half-past eleven when Lady Chat-terton, bearing down upon us, whisked Poirot neatly out of an admiring group, and carried him off--I need hardly say, with myself in tow.

"I want you to go into my little room upstairs," said Lady Chatterton rather breathlessly as soon as she was out of earshot of her other guests. "You know where it is, M. Poirot. You'll find someone there who needs your help very badly--and you will help her, I know. She's one of my dearest friends--so don't say no."

Energetically leading the way as she talked, Lady Chatterton flung open a door, exclaiming

THE MYSTERY OF THE I,GD.D CHEST 35

as she 'did so, "I've got him, Maruerita darling. And he'll do anything you want. You ¢i!! help Mrs. Clayton, won't you, M. Poirct?"

And taking the answer for grated, she with-drew with the same energy that characterized all her movements.

Mrs. Clayton had been sitting in a chair by the window. She rose now and cme toward us. Dressed in deep mourning, the dull black showed up her fair coloring. She was a singularly lovely woman, and there was about her a aimple childlike candor which made her charm quit irresistible.

"Alice Chatterton is so kind," she said. "She arranged this. She said you would help me, M. Poirot. Of course I don't know whether you will or not--but I hope you will."

She had held out her hand and P oirot had taken it. He held it now for a moment cr two while he stood scrutinizing her closely. There was nothing

ill-bred in his manner of doing it. It was more the

kind but searching look that a fanaous consultant gives a new patient as the latter is shered into his presence.

"Are you ,Jure, madame," he said at last, "that I can help you?"

"Alice says so."

"Yes, but I am asking you, madame." A little flush rose to her cheeks. "I don't know what you mean."

"What is it, madame, that you want me to do?" "You--you--know who I am?" she asked. "Assuredly."

"Then you can guess what it is I am asking you to do, M. Poirot--Captain Hastings"--I was

36 Agatha Christie

gratified that she realized my identity--"Major

Rich did not kill my husband."

"Why not?"

"I beg your pardon?"

POirot smiled at her slight discomfiture. "I said, 'Why not?' "he repeated. "I'm not sure that I understand."

"Yet it is very simple. The police--the lawyers --they will all ask the same question: Why did Major Rich kill M. Clayton? I ask the opposite. I ask you, madame, why did Major Rich not kill Major Clayton?"

"You mean--why I'm so sure? Well, but I know. I know Major Rich so well."

"You know Major Rich so well," repeated Poirot tonelessly.

The color flamed into her cheeks.

"Yes, that's what they'll say--what they'll

think! Oh, I know!"

"C'est vrai. That is what they will ask you about--how well you knew Major Rich. Perhaps you will speak the truth, perhaps you will lie. It is very necessary for a woman to lie sometimes. Women must defend themselves--and the lie, it is a good weapon. But there are three people, ma-dame, to whom a woman should speak the truth. To her father confessor, to her hairdresser and to her private detective--if she trusts him. Do you trust me, madame?"

Marguerita Clayton drew a deep breath. "Yes," she said. "I do. I must," she added rather child-ishly.

"Then, how well do you know Major Rich?"

THE MYSTERY OF THE BAGDAD CHEST 37

She looked at him for a moment in silence, then she raised her chin defiantly. "I will answer your question. I loved Jack from

the first moment I saw him--two years ago. Lately I think--I believe--he has come to love me. But he

has never said so."

"£patant.t'' said Poirot. "You have saved me a good quarter of an hour by coming to the point without beating the bush. You have the good sense. Now your husband--did he suspect your feelings?" "I don't know," Said Marguerita slowly. "I thoughtlately--that he might. His manner has been different But that may have been merely my fancy." "Nobody else knew?" "I do not think so." "And--pardon me, madame--you did not love your husband?" There were, I think, very few women who we ld have answered that question as simply as this woman did. They would have tried to explain their feelings.

Maruerita Clayton said

quite simply: "No." "Bien. Now we know where

we are. According to you, madame, Major Rich did

not kill your husband, but you realize that

all the evidence points to his having done so.

Are you aware,

privately, of any flaw

in that evidence?"

"No.

I know nothing."