‘But yes – I mean what I say. See now, I did not invite Inspector Raglan to be present. That was for a reason. I did not want to tell him all that I knew – at least I did not want to tell him tonight.’ He leaned forward, and suddenly his voice and his whole personality changed. He suddenly became dangerous.
‘I who speak to you – I know the murderer of Mr Ackroyd is in this room now. It is to the murderer I speak.
Tomorrow the truth goes to Inspector Raglan. You understand?’
There was a tense silence. Into the midst of it came the old Breton woman with a telegram on a salver. Poirot tore it open.
Blunt’s voice rose abrupt and resonant.
‘The murderer is amongst us, you say? You know which?’
Poirot had read the message. He crumpled it up in his hand.
‘I know – now.’ He tapped the crumpled ball of paper.
‘What is that?’ said Raymond sharply.
‘A wireless message – from a steamer now on her way to the United States.’ There was a dead silence. Poirot rose to his feet bowing.
‘Messieurs et Mesdames, this reunion of mine is at an end. Remember – the truth goes to Inspector Raglan in the morning.’
CHAPTER 25 The Whole Truth
A slight gesture from Poirot enjoined me to stay behind the rest. I obeyed, going over to the fire and thoughtfully stirring the big logs on it with the toe of my boot.
I was puzzled. For the first time I was absolutely at sea as to Poirot’s meaning. For a moment I was inclined to think that the scene I had just witnessed was a gigantic piece of bombast – that he had been what he called ‘playing the comedy’ with a view to making himself interesting and important. But, in spite of myself, I was forced to believe in an underlying reality. There had been real menace in his words – a certain indisputable sincerity. But I still believed him to be on entirely the wrong tack.
When the door shut behind the last of the party he came over to the fire.
‘Well, my friend,’ he said quietly, ‘and what do you think of it all?’ ‘I don’t know what to think,’ I said frankly. ‘What was the point? Why not go straight to Inspector Raglan with the truth instead of giving the guilty person this elaborate warning?’ Poirot sat down and drew out his case of tiny Russian cigarettes. He smoked for a minute or two in silence. Then: ‘Use your little grey cells,’ he said. ‘There is always a reason behind my actions.’ I hesitated for a moment, and then I said slowly: ‘The first one that occurs to me is that you yourself do not know who the guilty person is, but that you are sure that he is to be found amongst the people here tonight. Therefore your words were intended to force a confession from the unknown murderer?’ Poirot nodded approvingly.
‘A clever idea, but not the truth.’ ‘I thought, perhaps, that by making him believe you knew, you might force him out into the open – not necessarily by confession. He might try to silence you as he formerly silenced Mr Ackroyd – before you could act tomorrow morning.’ ‘A trap with myself as the bait! Merci, man ami, but I am not sufficiently heroic for that.’ ‘Then I fail to understand you. Surely you are running the risk of letting the murderer escape by thus putting him on his guard?’ Poirot shook his head.
‘He cannot escape,’ he said gravely. ‘There is only one way out – and that way does not lead to freedom.’ ‘You really believe that one of those people here tonight committed the murder?’ I asked incredulously.
‘Yes, my friend.’ ‘Which one?’ There was a silence for some minutes. Then Poirot tossed the stump of his cigarette into the grate and began to speak in a quiet, reflective tone.
‘I will take you the way that I have travelled myself. Step by step you shall accompany me, and see for yourself that all the facts point indisputably to one person. Now, to begin with, there were two facts and a little discrepancy in time which especially attracted my attention. The first fact was the telephone call. If Ralph Paton were indeed the murderer, the telephone call became meaningless and absurd. Therefore, I said to myself, Ralph Paton is not the murderer.