Prince Paul’s name, the butler who answered the door at once took us to the scene of the tragedy. The library was a magnificent room, running from back to front of the whole building, with a window at either end, one giving on the front carriage-drive, and the other on the garden. It was in the recess of the latter that the body had lain. It had been removed not long before, the police having concluded their examination.
‘That is annoying,’ I murmured to Poirot. ‘Who knows what clues they may have destroyed?’
My little friend smiled. ‘Eh—Eh! How often must I tell you that clues come from within ? In the little grey cells of the brain lies the solution of every mystery.’
He turned to the butler. ‘I suppose, except for the removal of the body, the room has not been touched?’
‘No, sir. It’s just as it was when the police came up last night.’
‘These curtains, now. I see they pull right across thewindow recess. They are the same in the other window. Were they drawn last night?’
‘Yes, sir, I draw them every night.’
‘Then Reedburn must have drawn them back himself?’
‘I suppose so, sir.’
‘Did you know your master expected a visitor last night?’
‘He did not say so, sir. But he gave orders he was not to be disturbed after dinner. You see, sir, there is a door leading out of the library on to the terrace at the side of the house. He could have admitted anyone that way.’
‘Was he in the habit of doing that?’
The butler coughed discreetly. ‘I believe so, sir.’
Poirot strode to the door in question. It was unlocked. He stepped through it on to the terrace which joined the drive on the right; on the left it led up to a red brick wall.
‘The fruit garden, sir. There is a door leading into it farther along, but it was always locked at six o’clock.’
Poirot nodded, and re-entered the library, the butler following.
‘Did you hear nothing of last night’s events?’
‘Well, sir, we heard voices in the library, a little before nine. But that wasn’t unusual, especially being a lady’s voice. But of course, once we were all in theservants’ hall, right the other side, we didn’t hear anything at all. And then, about eleven o’clock, the police came.’
‘How many voices did you hear?’
‘I couldn’t say, sir. I only noticed the lady’s.’
‘Ah!’
‘I beg pardon, sir, but Dr Ryan is still in the house, if you would care to see him.’
We jumped at the suggestion, and in a few minutes the doctor, a cheery, middle-aged man, joined us, and gave Poirot all the information he required. Reedburn had been lying near the window, his head by the marble window-seat. There were two wounds, one between the eyes, and the other, the fatal one, on the back of the head.
‘He was lying on his back?’
‘Yes. There is the mark.’ He pointed to a small dark stain on the floor.
‘Could not the blow on the back of the head have been caused by his striking the floor?’
‘Impossible. Whatever the weapon was, it penetrated some distance into the skull.’
Poirot looked thoughtfully in front of him. In the embrasure of each window was a carved marble seat, the arms being fashioned in the form of a lion’s head. A light came into Poirot’s eyes. ‘Supposing he had fallen backwards on this projecting lion’s head, and slippedfrom there to the ground. Would not that cause a wound such as you describe?’
‘Yes, it would. But the angle at which he was lying makes that theory impossible. And besides there could not fail to be traces of blood on the marble of the seat.’
‘Unless they were washed away?’
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. ‘That is hardly likely. It would be to no one’s advantage to give an accident the appearance of murder.’
‘Quite so,’ acquiesced Poirot. ‘Could either of the blows have been struck by a woman, do you think?’
‘Oh, quite out of the question, I should say. You are thinking of Mademoiselle Saintclair, I
‘That is annoying,’ I murmured to Poirot. ‘Who knows what clues they may have destroyed?’
My little friend smiled. ‘Eh—Eh! How often must I tell you that clues come from within ? In the little grey cells of the brain lies the solution of every mystery.’
He turned to the butler. ‘I suppose, except for the removal of the body, the room has not been touched?’
‘No, sir. It’s just as it was when the police came up last night.’
‘These curtains, now. I see they pull right across thewindow recess. They are the same in the other window. Were they drawn last night?’
‘Yes, sir, I draw them every night.’
‘Then Reedburn must have drawn them back himself?’
‘I suppose so, sir.’
‘Did you know your master expected a visitor last night?’
‘He did not say so, sir. But he gave orders he was not to be disturbed after dinner. You see, sir, there is a door leading out of the library on to the terrace at the side of the house. He could have admitted anyone that way.’
‘Was he in the habit of doing that?’
The butler coughed discreetly. ‘I believe so, sir.’
Poirot strode to the door in question. It was unlocked. He stepped through it on to the terrace which joined the drive on the right; on the left it led up to a red brick wall.
‘The fruit garden, sir. There is a door leading into it farther along, but it was always locked at six o’clock.’
Poirot nodded, and re-entered the library, the butler following.
‘Did you hear nothing of last night’s events?’
‘Well, sir, we heard voices in the library, a little before nine. But that wasn’t unusual, especially being a lady’s voice. But of course, once we were all in theservants’ hall, right the other side, we didn’t hear anything at all. And then, about eleven o’clock, the police came.’
‘How many voices did you hear?’
‘I couldn’t say, sir. I only noticed the lady’s.’
‘Ah!’
‘I beg pardon, sir, but Dr Ryan is still in the house, if you would care to see him.’
We jumped at the suggestion, and in a few minutes the doctor, a cheery, middle-aged man, joined us, and gave Poirot all the information he required. Reedburn had been lying near the window, his head by the marble window-seat. There were two wounds, one between the eyes, and the other, the fatal one, on the back of the head.
‘He was lying on his back?’
‘Yes. There is the mark.’ He pointed to a small dark stain on the floor.
‘Could not the blow on the back of the head have been caused by his striking the floor?’
‘Impossible. Whatever the weapon was, it penetrated some distance into the skull.’
Poirot looked thoughtfully in front of him. In the embrasure of each window was a carved marble seat, the arms being fashioned in the form of a lion’s head. A light came into Poirot’s eyes. ‘Supposing he had fallen backwards on this projecting lion’s head, and slippedfrom there to the ground. Would not that cause a wound such as you describe?’
‘Yes, it would. But the angle at which he was lying makes that theory impossible. And besides there could not fail to be traces of blood on the marble of the seat.’
‘Unless they were washed away?’
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. ‘That is hardly likely. It would be to no one’s advantage to give an accident the appearance of murder.’
‘Quite so,’ acquiesced Poirot. ‘Could either of the blows have been struck by a woman, do you think?’
‘Oh, quite out of the question, I should say. You are thinking of Mademoiselle Saintclair, I
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