Lord Edgware Dies Page 0,39

is written very clearly on her face.'

'At any rate,' I said warmly, 'you realize how preposterous Jane Wilkinson's suggestion was - that she should have had anything to do with the crime, I mean.'

'Doubtless her alibi is satisfactory, but Japp has not communicated it to me as yet.'

'My dear Poirot - do you mean to say that even after seeing her and talking to her, you are still not satisfied and want an alibi?'

'Eh bien, my friend, what is the result of seeing and talking to her? We perceive that she has passed through great unhappiness, she admits that she hated her father and is glad that he is dead, and she is deeply uneasy about what he may have said to us yesterday morning. And after that you say - no alibi is necessary!'

'Her mere frankness proves her innocence,' I said warmly.

'Frankness is a characteristic of the family. The new Lord Edgware - with what a gesture he laid his cards on the table.'

'He did indeed,' I said, smiling at the remembrance. 'Rather an original method.'

Poirot nodded.

'He - what do you say? - cut the ground before our feet.'

'From under,' I corrected. 'Yes - it made us look rather foolish.'

'What a curious idea. You may have looked foolish. I didn't feel foolish in the least and I do not think I looked it. On the contrary, my friend, I put him out of countenance.'

'Did you?' I said doubtfully, not remembering having seen signs of anything of the kind.

'Si, si. I listen - and listen. And at last I ask a question about something quite different, and that, you may have noticed, disconcerts our brave Monsieur very much. You do not observe, Hastings.'

'I thought his horror and astonishment at hearing of Carlotta Adams' death was genuine,' I said. 'I suppose you will say it was a piece of clever acting.'

'Impossible to tell. I agree it seemed genuine.'

'Why do you think he flung all those facts at our head in that cynical way? Just for amusement?'

'That is always possible. You English, you have the most extraordinary notions of humour. But it may have been policy. Facts that are concealed acquire a suspicious importance. Facts that are frankly revealed tend to be regarded as less important than they really are.'

'The quarrel with his uncle that morning, for instance?'

'Exactly. He knows that the fact is bound to leak out. Eh bien, he will parade it.'

'He is not so foolish as he looks.'

'Oh! he is not foolish at all. He has plenty of brains when he cares to use them. He sees exactly where he stands and, as I said, he lays his cards on the table. You play the bridge, Hastings. Tell me, when does one do that?'

'You play bridge yourself,' I said, laughing. 'You know well enough - when all the rest of the tricks are yours and you want to save time and get on to a new hand.'

'Yes, mon ami, that is all very true. But occasionally there is another reason. I have remarked it once or twice when playing with les dames. There is perhaps a little doubt. Eh bien, la dame, she throws down the cards, says "and all the rest are mine," and gathers up the cards and cuts the new pack. And possibly the other players agree - especially if they are a little inexperienced. The thing is not obvious, mark you. It requires to be followed out. Half-way through dealing the next hand, one of the players thinks: "Yes, but she would have to have taken over that fourth diamond in dummy whether she wanted it or not, and then she would have had to lead a little club and my nine would have made."'

'So you think?'

'I think, Hastings, that too much bravado is a very interesting thing. And I also think that it is time we dined. Une petite omelette, n'est ce pas? And after that, about nine o'clock, I have one more visit I wish to make.'

'Where is that?'

'We will dine first, Hastings. And until we drink our coffee, we will not discuss the case further. When engaged in eating, the brain should be the servant of the stomach.'

Poirot was as good as his word. We went to a little restaurant in Soho where he was well known, and there we had a delicious omelette, a sole, a chicken and a Baba au Rhum of which Poirot was inordinately fond.

Then, as we sipped our coffee, Poirot smiled affectionately across the table at me.

'My