‘Mademoiselle,’ said Poirot, ‘will you let an old man congratulate you on your courage and your loyalty? And will you not misunderstand me if I ask you – ask you most solemnly – to postpone the announcement you speak of for at least two days more?’ Flora hesitated.
‘I ask it in Ralph Paton’s interests as much as in yours, mademoiselle. You frown. You do not see how that can be.
But I assure you that it is so. Pas de blagues. You put the case into my hands – you must not hamper me now.’ Flora paused a few minutes before replying.
‘I do not like it,’ she said at last, ‘but I will do what you say.’ She sat down again at the table.
‘And now, messieurs et mesdames,’ said Poirot rapidly ‘I will continue with what I was about to say. Understand this I mean to arrive at the truth. The truth, however ugly in itself, is always curious and beautiful to the seeker after it. I am much aged, my powers may not be what they were.’ Here he clearly expected a contradiction. ‘In all probability this is the last case I shall ever investigate. But Hercule Poirot does not end with a failure. Messieurs et mesdames, I tell you, I mean to know. And I shall know – in spite of you all.’ He brought out the last words provocatively, hurling them in our face as it were. I think we all flinched back a little, excepting Geoffrey Raymond, who remained goodhumoured and imperturbable as usual.
‘How do you mean – in spite of us all?’ he asked, with slightly raised eyebrows.
‘But – just that, monsieur. Every one of you in this room is concealing something from me.’ He raised his hand as a faint murmur of protest arose. ‘Yes, yes, I know what I am saying. It may be something unimportant – trivial – which is supposed to have no bearing on the case, but there it is.
Each one of you has something to hide. Come now, am I right?’ His glance, challenging and accusing, swept round the table. And every pair of eyes dropped before his. Yes, mine as well.
‘I am answered,’ said Poirot, with a curious laugh. He got up from his seat. ‘I appeal to you all. Tell me the truth – the whole truth.’ There was a silence. ‘Will no one speak?’ He gave the same short laugh again.
‘C’est dommage,’ he said, and went out.
CHAPTER 13 The Goose Quill
That evening, at Poirot’s request, I went over to his house after dinner. Caroline saw me depart with visible reluctance.
I think she would have liked to have accompanied me.
Poirot greeted me hospitably. He had placed a bottle of Irish whiskey (which I detest) on a small table, with a soda water siphon and a glass. He himself was engaged in brewing hot chocolate. It was a favourite beverage of his, I discovered later.
He inquired politely after my sister, whom he declared to be a most interesting woman.
‘I’m afraid you’ve been giving her a swelled head,’ I said drily. ‘What about Sunday afternoon?’ He laughed and twinkled.
‘I always like to employ the expert,’ he remarked obscurely, but he refused to explain the remark.
‘You got all the local gossip anyway,’ I remarked. ‘True, and untrue.’ ‘And a great deal of valuable information,’ he added quietly.
‘Such as-‘ He shook his head.
‘Why not have told me the truth?’ he countered. ‘In a place like this, all Ralph Paton’s doings were bound to be known. If your sister had not happened to pass through the wood that day somebody else would have done so.’ ‘I suppose they would,’ I said grumpily. ‘What about this interest of yours in my patients?’ Again he twinkled.
‘Only one of them, doctor. Only one of them.’ ‘The last?’ I hazarded.
I ^ He held out to me the little quill. I looked at it curiously.
Then a memory of something I had read stirred in me.
Poirot, who had been watching my face, nodded.
‘Yes, heroin, “snow.” Drug-takers carry it like this, and sniff it up the nose.’ ‘Diamorphine hydrochloride,’ I murmured mechanically.