desired the death of Sir Claud, quite apart from any question of the formula? What does his death mean to most of the people in this house? I will tell you. It means freedom, Monsieur Poirot. Freedom, and what you mentioned just now - money. That old man was a tyrant, and apart from his beloved work he was a miser.”
“Did you observe all this last night, Monsieur le Docteur?” asked Poirot innocently.
“What if I did?” replied Carelli. “I have eyes. I can see. At least three of the people in this house wanted Sir Claud out of the way.” He rose, and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. “But that does not concern me now.”
Hastings leaned forward, looking very interested, as Carelli continued, “I am vexed that I cannot keep my appointment in London.”
“I am desolated, Monsieur le Docteur,” said Poirot. “But what can I do?”
“Well, then, you have no further need of me?” asked Carelli.
“For the moment, no,” Poirot told him.
Dr Carelli moved to the door. “I will tell you one thing more, Monsieur Poirot,” he announced, opening the door and turning back to face the detective. “There are some women whom it is dangerous to drive too far.”
Poirot bowed to him politely, and Carelli returned his bow somewhat more ironically before making his exit.
Black Coffee
Chapter 12
When Carelli had left the room, Hastings stared after him for a few moments.
“I say, Poirot,” he asked finally, “what do you think he meant by that?”
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. “It was a remark of no consequence,” he declared.
“But Poirot,” Hastings persisted, “I'm sure Carelli was trying to tell you something.”
“Ring the bell once more, Hastings,” was the little detective's only response. Hastings did as he was bidden, but could not refrain from a further inquiry. “What are you going to do now?”
Poirot's reply was in his most enigmatic vein. “You will see, my dear Hastings. Patience is a great virtue.”
Tredwell entered the room again with his usual respectful inquiry of “Yes, sir?” Poirot beamed at him genially.
“Ah, Tredwell. Will you present my compliments to Miss Caroline Amory, and ask her if she will be good enough to allow me a few minutes of her time?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“I thank you, Tredwell.”
When the butler had left, Hastings exclaimed, “But the old soul's in bed. Surely you're not going to make her get up if she isn't feeling well.”
“My friend Hastings knows everything! So she is in bed, yes?”
“Well, isn't she?”
Poirot patted his friend's shoulder affectionately. “That is just what I want to find out.”
“But, surely -” Hastings elaborated. “Don't you remember? Richard Amory said so.”
The detective regarded his friend steadily. “Hastings,” he declared, “here is a man killed. And how does his family react? With lies, lies, lies everywhere! Why does Madame Amory want me to go? Why does Monsieur Amory want me to go? Why does he wish to prevent me from seeing his aunt? What can she tell me that he does not want me to hear? I tell you, Hastings, what we have here is drama! Not a simple, sordid crime, but drama. Poignant, human drama!”
He looked as though he would have expanded on this theme had not Miss Amory entered at that moment.
“Monsieur Poirot,” she addressed him as she closed the door, “Tredwell tells me you wanted to see me.”
“Ah yes, mademoiselle,” Poirot declared as he went to her. “It is just that I would like to ask you a few questions. Will you not sit down?” He led her to a chair by the table, and she sat, looking at him nervously. “But I understood that you were prostrated, ill?” Poirot continued as he sat on the other side of the table and regarded her with an expression of anxious solicitude.
“It's all been a terrible shock, of course.” Caroline Amory sighed. “Really terrible! But what I always say is, somebody must keep their head. The servants, you know, are in a
“Did you observe all this last night, Monsieur le Docteur?” asked Poirot innocently.
“What if I did?” replied Carelli. “I have eyes. I can see. At least three of the people in this house wanted Sir Claud out of the way.” He rose, and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. “But that does not concern me now.”
Hastings leaned forward, looking very interested, as Carelli continued, “I am vexed that I cannot keep my appointment in London.”
“I am desolated, Monsieur le Docteur,” said Poirot. “But what can I do?”
“Well, then, you have no further need of me?” asked Carelli.
“For the moment, no,” Poirot told him.
Dr Carelli moved to the door. “I will tell you one thing more, Monsieur Poirot,” he announced, opening the door and turning back to face the detective. “There are some women whom it is dangerous to drive too far.”
Poirot bowed to him politely, and Carelli returned his bow somewhat more ironically before making his exit.
Black Coffee
Chapter 12
When Carelli had left the room, Hastings stared after him for a few moments.
“I say, Poirot,” he asked finally, “what do you think he meant by that?”
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. “It was a remark of no consequence,” he declared.
“But Poirot,” Hastings persisted, “I'm sure Carelli was trying to tell you something.”
“Ring the bell once more, Hastings,” was the little detective's only response. Hastings did as he was bidden, but could not refrain from a further inquiry. “What are you going to do now?”
Poirot's reply was in his most enigmatic vein. “You will see, my dear Hastings. Patience is a great virtue.”
Tredwell entered the room again with his usual respectful inquiry of “Yes, sir?” Poirot beamed at him genially.
“Ah, Tredwell. Will you present my compliments to Miss Caroline Amory, and ask her if she will be good enough to allow me a few minutes of her time?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“I thank you, Tredwell.”
When the butler had left, Hastings exclaimed, “But the old soul's in bed. Surely you're not going to make her get up if she isn't feeling well.”
“My friend Hastings knows everything! So she is in bed, yes?”
“Well, isn't she?”
Poirot patted his friend's shoulder affectionately. “That is just what I want to find out.”
“But, surely -” Hastings elaborated. “Don't you remember? Richard Amory said so.”
The detective regarded his friend steadily. “Hastings,” he declared, “here is a man killed. And how does his family react? With lies, lies, lies everywhere! Why does Madame Amory want me to go? Why does Monsieur Amory want me to go? Why does he wish to prevent me from seeing his aunt? What can she tell me that he does not want me to hear? I tell you, Hastings, what we have here is drama! Not a simple, sordid crime, but drama. Poignant, human drama!”
He looked as though he would have expanded on this theme had not Miss Amory entered at that moment.
“Monsieur Poirot,” she addressed him as she closed the door, “Tredwell tells me you wanted to see me.”
“Ah yes, mademoiselle,” Poirot declared as he went to her. “It is just that I would like to ask you a few questions. Will you not sit down?” He led her to a chair by the table, and she sat, looking at him nervously. “But I understood that you were prostrated, ill?” Poirot continued as he sat on the other side of the table and regarded her with an expression of anxious solicitude.
“It's all been a terrible shock, of course.” Caroline Amory sighed. “Really terrible! But what I always say is, somebody must keep their head. The servants, you know, are in a
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