ac.themysteriousaffairatstyles-第35部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


y　had　heard　and　sift　it　impartially。　The　strychnine　had　been　found　in　a　drawer　in　the　prisoner's　room。　That　drawer　was　an　unlocked　one；　as　he　had　pointed　out；　and　he　submitted　that　there　was　no　evidence　to　prove　that　it　was　the　prisoner　who　had　concealed　the　poison　there。　It　was；　in　fact；　a　wicked　and　malicious　attempt　on　the　part　of　some　third　person　to　fix　the　crime　on　the　prisoner。　The　prosecution　had　been　unable　to　produce　a　shred　of　evidence　in　support　of　their　contention　that　it　was　the　prisoner　who　ordered　the　black　beard　from　Parkson's。　The　quarrel　which　had　taken　place　between　prisoner　and　his　stepmother　was　freely　admitted；　but　both　it　and　his　financial　embarrassments　had　been　grossly　exaggerated。　
　His　learned　friend　　Sir　Ernest　nodded　carelessly　at　Mr。　Philips　　had　stated　that　if　the　prisoner　were　an　innocent　man；　he　would　have　e　forward　at　the　inquest　to　explain　that　it　was　he；　and　not　Mr。　Inglethorp；　who　had　been　the　participator　in　the　quarrel。　He　thought　the　facts　had　been　misrepresented。　What　had　actually　occurred　was　this。　The　prisoner；　returning　to　the　house　on　Tuesday　evening；　had　been　authoritatively　told　that　there　had　been　a　violent　quarrel　between　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Inglethorp。　No　suspicion　had　entered　the　prisoner's　head　that　anyone　could　possibly　have　mistaken　his　voice　for　that　of　Mr。　Inglethorp。　He　naturally　concluded　that　his　stepmother　had　had　two　quarrels。　
　The　prosecution　averred　that　on　Monday；　July　16th；　the　prisoner　had　entered　the　chemist's　shop　in　the　village；　disguised　as　Mr。　Inglethorp。　The　prisoner；　on　the　contrary；　was　at　that　time　at　a　lonely　spot　called　Marston's　Spinney；　where　he　had　been　summoned　by　an　anonymous　note；　couched　in　blackmailing　terms；　and　threatening　to　reveal　certain　matters　to　his　wife　unless　he　plied　with　its　demands。　The　prisoner　had；　accordingly；　gone　to　the　appointed　spot；　and　after　waiting　there　vainly　for　half　an　hour　had　returned　home。　Unfortunately；　he　had　met　with　no　one　on　the　way　there　or　back　who　could　vouch　for　the　truth　of　his　story；　but　luckily　he　had　kept　the　note；　and　it　would　be　produced　as　evidence。　
　As　for　the　statement　relating　to　the　destruction　of　the　will；　the　prisoner　had　formerly　practiced　at　the　Bar；　and　was　perfectly　well　aware　that　the　will　made　in　his　favour　a　year　before　was　automatically　revoked　by　his　stepmother's　remarriage。　He　would　call　evidence　to　show　who　did　destroy　the　will；　and　it　was　possible　that　that　might　open　up　quite　a　new　view　of　the　case。　
　Finally；　he　would　point　out　to　the　jury　that　there　was　evidence　against　other　people　besides　John　Cavendish。　He　would　direct　their　attention　to　the　fact　that　the　evidence　against　Mr。　Lawrence　Cavendish　was　quite　as　strong；　if　not　stronger　than　that　against　his　brother。　
　He　would　now　call　the　prisoner。　
　John　acquitted　himself　well　in　the　witness…box。　Under　Sir　Ernest's　skilful　handling；　he　told　his　tale　credibly　and　well。　The　anonymous　note　received　by　him　was　produced；　and　handed　to　the　jury　to　examine。　The　readiness　with　which　he　admitted　his　financial　difficulties；　and　the　disagreement　with　his　stepmother；　lent　value　to　his　denials。　
　At　the　close　of　his　examination；　he　paused；　and　said：　
　‘‘I　should　like　to　make　one　thing　clear。　I　utterly　reject　and　disapprove　of　Sir　Ernest　Heavywether's　insinuations　against　my　brother。　My　brother；　I　am　convinced；　had　no　more　to　do　with　the　crime　than　I　have。''　
　Sir　Ernest　merely　smiled；　and　noted　with　a　sharp　eye　that　John's　protest　had　produced　a　very　favourable　impression　on　the　jury。　
　Then　the　cross…examination　began。　
　‘‘I　understand　you　to　say　that　it　never　entered　your　head　that　the　witnesses　at　the　inquest　could　possibly　have　mistaken　your　voice　for　that　of　Mr。　Inglethorp。　Is　not　that　very　surprising？''　
　‘‘No；　I　don't　think　so。　I　was　told　there　had　been　a　quarrel　between　my　mother　and　Mr。　Inglethorp；　and　it　never　occurred　to　me　that　such　was　not　really　the　case。''　
　‘‘Not　when　the　servant　Dorcas　repeated　certain　fragments　of　the　conversation　　fragments　which　you　must　have　recognized？''　
　‘‘I　did　not　recognize　them。''　
　‘‘Your　memory　must　be　unusually　short！''　
　‘‘No；　but　we　were　both　angry；　and；　I　think；　said　more　than　we　meant。　I　paid　very　little　attention　to　my　mother's　actual　words。''　
　Mr。　Philips'　incredulous　sniff　was　a　triumph　of　forensic　skill。　He　passed　on　to　the　subject　of　the　note。　
　‘‘You　have　produced　this　note　very　opportunely。　Tell　me；　is　there　nothing　familiar　about　the　hand…writing　of　it？''　
　‘‘Not　that　I　know　of。''　
　‘‘Do　you　not　think　that　it　bears　a　marked　resemblance　to　your　own　hand…writing　　carelessly　disguised？''　
　‘‘No；　I　do　not　think　so。''　
　‘‘I　put　it　to　you　that　it　is　your　own　hand…writing！''　
　‘‘No。''　
　‘‘I　put　it　to　you　that；　anxious　to　prove　an　alibi；　you　conceived　the　idea　of　a　fictitious　and　rather　incredible　appointment；　and　wrote　this　note　yourself　in　order　to　bear　out　your　statement！''　
　‘‘No。''　
　‘‘Is　it　not　a　fact　that；　at　the　time　you　claim　to　have　been　waiting　about　at　a　solitary　and　unfrequented　spot；　you　were　really　in　the　chemist's　shop　in　Styles　St。　Mary；　where　you　purchased　strychnine　in　the　name　of　Alfred　Inglethorp？''　
　‘‘No；　that　is　a　lie。''　
　‘‘I　put　it　to　you　that；　wearing　a　suit　of　Mr。　Inglethorp's　clothes；　with　a　black　beard　trimmed　to　resemble　his；　you　were　there　　and　signed　the　register　in　his　name！''　
　‘‘That　is　absolutely　untrue。''　
　‘‘Then　I　will　leave　the　remarkable　similarity　of　hand…writing　between　the　note；　the　register；　and　your　own；　to　the　consideration　of　the　jury；''　said　Mr。　Philips；　and　sat　down　with　the　air　of　a　man　who　has　done　his　duty；　but　who　was　nevertheless　horrified　by　such　deliberate　perjury。　
　After　this；　as　it　was　growing　late；　the　case　was　adjourned　till　Monday。　
　Poirot；　I　noticed；　was　looking　profoundly　discouraged。　He　had　that　little　frown　between　the　eyes　that　I　knew　so　well。　
　‘‘What　is　it；　Poirot？''　I　inquired。　
　‘‘Ah；　mon　ami；　things　are　going　badly；　badly。''　
　In　spite　of　myself；　my　heart　gave　a　leap　of　relief。　Evidently　there　was　a　likelihood　of　John　Cavendish　being　acquitted。　
　When　we　reached　the　house；　my　little　friend　waved　aside　Mary's　offer　of　tea。　
　‘‘No；　I　thank　you；　madame。　I　will　mount　to　my　room。''　
　I　followed　him。　Still　frowning；　he　went　across　to　the　desk　and　took　out　a　small　pack　of　patience　cards。　Then　he　drew　up　a　chair　to　the　table；　and；　to　my　utter　amazement；　began　solemnly　to　build　card　houses！　
　My　jaw　dropped　involuntarily；　and　he　said　at　once：　
　‘‘No；　mon　ami；　I　am　not　in　my　second　childhood！　I　steady　my　nerves；　that　is　all。　This　employment　requires　precision　of　the　fingers。　With　precision　of　the　fingers　goes　precision　of　the　brain。　And　never　have　I　needed　that　more　than　now！''　
　‘‘What　is　the　trouble？''　I　asked。　
　With　a　great　thump　on　the　table；　Poirot　demolished　his　carefully　built　up　edifice。　
　‘‘It　is　this；　mon　ami！　That　I　can　build　card　houses　seven　stories　high；　but　I　cannot''　　thump　　‘‘find''　　thump　　‘‘that　last　link　of　which　I　spoke　to　you。''　
　I　could　not　quite　tell　what　to　say；　so　I　held　my　peace；　and　he　began　slowly　building　up　the　cards　again；　speaking　in　jerks　as　he　did　so。　
　‘‘It　is　done　　so！　By　placing　　one　card　　on　another　　with　mathematical　　precision！''　
　I　watched　the　card　house　rising　under　his　hands；　story　by　story。　He　never　hesitated　or　faltered。　It　was　really　almost　like　a　conjuring　trick。　
　‘‘What　a　steady　hand　you've　got；''　I　remarked。　‘‘I　believe　I've　only　seen　your　hand　shake　once。''　
　‘‘On　an　occasion　when　I　was　enraged；　without　doubt；''　observed　Poirot；　with　great　placidity。　
　‘‘Yes　indeed！　You　were　in　a　towering　rage。　Do　you　remember？　It　was　when　you　discovered　that　the　lock　of　the　despatch…case　in　Mrs。　Inglethorp's　bedroom　had　been　forced。　You　stood　by　the　mantel…piece；　twiddling　the　things　on　it　in　your　usual　fashion；　and　your　hand　shook　like　a　leaf！　I　must　say　　　''　
　But　I　stopped　suddenly。　For　Poirot；　uttering　a　hoarse　and　inarticulate　cry；　again　annihilated　his　masterpiece　of　cards；　and　putting　his　hands　over　his　eyes　swayed　backwards　and　forwards；　apparently　suffering　the　keenest　agony。　
　‘‘Good　heavens；　Poirot！''　I　cried。　‘‘What　is　the　matter？　Are　you　taken　ill？''　
　‘‘No；　no；''　he　gasped。　‘‘It　is