“You felt the same?” I asked.
“Yes–that impression was very definitely in the air.” He paused and then went on: “And yet you liked Tanios, did you not? You found him an agreeable man, openhearted, good-natured, genial. Attractive in spite of your insular prejudice against the Argentines, the Portuguese and the Greeks–a thoroughly congenial personality?” “Yes,” I admitted. “I did.” In the silence that ensued, I watched Poirot. Presently I said: “What are you thinking of, Poirot?” “I am reflecting on various people, handsome young Norman Gale, bluff, hearty Evelyn Howard, the pleasant Dr. Sheppard, the quiet, reliable Knighton.” For a moment I did not understand these references to people who had figured in past cases.
“What of them?” I asked.
“They were all delightful personalities.
…” “My goodness, Poirot, do you really think Tanios–” “No, no. Do not jump to conclusions, Hastings. I am only pointing out that one’s own personal reactions to people are singularly unsafe guides. One must go not by one’s feelings but by facts.” “H’m,” I said. “Facts are not our strong suit. No, no, Poirot, don’t go over it all again!” “I will be brief, my friend, do not fear.
To beein with, we have quite certainly a case of attempted murder. You admit that, do you not?” “Yes,” I said slowly. “I do.” I had, up to now, been a little sceptical over Poirot’s (as I thought) somewhat fanciful reconstruction of the events on the night of Easter Tuesday. I was forced to admit, however, that his deductions were perfectly logical.
“Tres bien. Now one cannot have attempted murder without a murderer. One of the people present on that evening was a murderer–in intention if not in fact.” “Granted.” “Then that is our starting point–a murderer. We make a few inquiries–we, as you would say–stir the mud–and what do we get–several very interesting accusations uttered apparently casually in the course of conversations.” “You think they were not casual?” “Impossible to tell at the moment! Miss Lawson’s innocent-seeming way of bringing out the fact that Charles threatened his aunt may have been quite innocent or it may not. Dr. Tanios’s remarks about Theresa Arundell may have absolutely no malice behind them, but be merely a physician’s genuine opinion. Miss Peabody, on the other hand, is probably quite genuine in her opinion of Charles ArundelFs proclivities–but it is, after all, merely an opinion. So it goes on.
There is a saying, is there not, a nigger in the woodpile. Eh bien, that is just what I find here. There is–not a nigger–but a murderer in our woodpile.” “What I’d like to know is what you yourself really think, Poirot.” “Hastings–Hastings–I do not permit myself to ‘think’–not, that is, in the sense that you are using the word. At the moment I only make certain reflections.” “Such as?” “I consider the question of motive. What are the likely motives for Miss ArundelFs death? Clearly the most obvious one is gain. Who would have gained by Miss ArundelFs death–if she had died on Easter Tuesday?” “Every one–with the exception of Miss Lawson.” “Precisely.” “Well, at any rate, one person is automatically cleared.” “Yes,” said Poirot thoughtfully. “It would seem so. But the interesting thing is that the person who would have gained nothing if death had occurred on Easter Tuesday gains everything when death occurs two weeks later.” “What are you getting at, Poirot?” I said, slightly puzzled.
“Cause and effect, my friend, cause and effect.” I looked at him doubtfully.
He went on: “Proceed logically! What exactly happened–after the accident?” I hate Poirot in this mood. Whatever one says is bound to be wrong! I proceeded with intense caution.
“Miss Arundell was laid up in bed.” “Exactly. With plenty of time to think.
What next?” “She wrote to you.” Poirot nodded.
“Yes, she wrote to me. And the letter was not posted. A thousand pities, that.” “Do you suspect that there was something fishy about that letter not being posted?” Poirot frowned.
“There, Hastings, I have to confess that I do not know. I think–in view of everything I am almost sure–that the letter was genuinely mislaid. I believe–but I cannot be sure–that the fact that such a letter was written was unsuspected by anybody. Continue–what happened next?” I reflected.