Lord Edgware Dies Page 0,63

Carlotta Adams gave it herself to the maid to post. There was no hocus pocus about it. And certainly it reads as a perfectly genuine ordinary epistle.'

Poirot sighed.

'I know. I know. And that is what makes it so difficult. Because, Hastings, as it stands, that letter is impossible.'

'Nonsense.'

'Si, si, it is so. See you, as I have reasoned it out, certain things must be - they follow each other with method and order in an understandable fashion. But then comes this letter. It does not accord. Who, then, is wrong? Hercule Poirot or the letter?'

'You don't think it possible that it could be Hercule Poirot?' I suggested as delicately as I was able.

Poirot threw me a glance of reproof.

'There are times when I have been in error - but this is not one of them. Clearly then, since the letter seems impossible, it is impossible. There is some fact about the letter which escapes us. I seek to discover what that fact is.'

And thereupon he resumed his study of the letter in question, using a small pocket microscope.

As he finished perusing each page, he passed it across to me. I, certainly, could find nothing amiss. It was written in a firm fairly legible handwriting and it was word for word as it had been telegraphed across.

Poirot sighed deeply.

'There is no forgery of any kind here - no, it is all written in the same hand. And yet, since, as I say, it is impossible - '

He broke off. With an impatient gesture he demanded the sheets from me. I passed them over, and once again he went slowly through them.

Suddenly he uttered a cry.

I had left the breakfast table and was standing looking out of the window. At this sound, I turned sharply.

Poirot was literally quivering with excitement. His eyes were green like a cat's. His pointing finger trembled.

'See you, Hastings? Look here - quickly - come and look.'

I ran to his side. Spread out before him was one of the middle sheets of the letter. I could see nothing unusual about it.

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'See you not? All these other sheets they have the clean edge - they are single sheets. But this one - see - one side of it is ragged - it has been torn. Now do you see what I mean? This letter was a double sheet, and so, you comprehend, one page of the letter is missing.'

I stared stupidly, no doubt.

'But how can it be. It makes sense.'

'Yes, yes, it makes sense. That is where the cleverness of the idea comes in. Read - and you will see.'

I think I cannot do better than to apprehend a facsimile of the page in question.

'You see it now?' said Poirot. 'The letter breaks off where she is talking of Captain Marsh. She is sorry for him, and then she says: "He enjoyed my show very much." Then on the new sheet she goes on: "he said..." But, mon ami, a page is missing. The "he" of the new page may not be the "He" of the old page. In fact it is not the "He" of the old page. It is another man altogether who proposed that hoax. Observe, nowhere after that is the name mentioned. Ah! C'est epatant! Somehow or other our murderer gets hold of this letter. It gives him away. No doubt he thinks to suppress it altogether, and then - reading it over - he sees another way of dealing with it. Remove one page, and the letter is capable of being twisted into a damning accusation of another man - a man too who has a motive for Lord Edgware's death. Ah! it was a gift! The money for the confiture as you say! He tears the sheet off and replaces the letter.'

I looked at Poirot in some admiration. I was not perfectly convinced of the truth of his theory. It seemed to be highly possible that Carlotta had used an odd half sheet that was already torn. But Poirot was so transfigured with joy that I simply had not the heart to suggest this prosaic possibility. After all, he might be right.

I did, however, venture to point out one or two difficulties in the way of his theory.

'But how did the man, whoever he was, get hold of the letter? Miss Adams took it straight from her handbag and gave it herself to the maid to post. The maid told us so.'

'Therefore we must assume one of two things. Either the maid was