unlikely if it had been noticed.'
Poirot nodded thoughtfully. 'What time is it supposed h,
died?' he asked.
S 'ullingfleet said:
'I examined the body as soon as I got here - that is, at thirt3
two minutes past four. Mr Farley had been dead at least
hour.'
Poirot's face was very grave.
'So then, it seems possible that his death could have occurre{
at the time he mentioned to me - that is, at twenty-eig, h
nunutes past three.
'Exactly ,' said Stillingileet.
'Any fmgermarks on the revolver?'
Yes, his own.
'And the revolver itself?.'
The inspector took up the tale.
'Was one which he kept in the second right-hand drawer of hi:
desk, just as he told you. Mrs Farley has identified it positively
Moreover, you understand, there is only one entrance to the
room, the door giving on to the landing. The two reporters wer
sitting exactly opposite that door and they swear that no on
entered the room from the time Mr Farley spoke to them, un
Mr Comworthy entered it at a little after four o'clock.'
'So that there is every reason to suppose that Mr Farley.
comnutted stuclde.
Inspector Barnett smiled a little.
'There would have been no doubt at all but for one point.'
'And that?'
'The letter written to you.
Poirot smiled too.
'I see! Where Hercule Poirot is concerned- immediately the
suspicion of murder arises.
15
'Precisely,' said the inspector dryly. 'However, after your
clearing up of the situation-'
Poirot interrupted him. 'One little minute.' He turned to
Mrs Farley. 'Had your husband ever been hypnotized?'
'Never.'
'Had he studied the question of hypnotism? Was he
interested in the subject?'
She shook her head. 'I don't think so.'
Suddenly her self-control seemed to break down. 'That
horrible dream! It's uncanny! That he should have dreamed
that - night after night - and then - it's as though he were hounded to death!'
Poirot remembered Benedict Farley saying-- 'I proceed to
do that which I really wish to do. I put an end to myself.'
He said, 'Had it ever occurred to you that your husband
might be tempted to do away with himself?.'
'No- at least- sometimes he was very queer .... '
Joanna Farley's voice broke in clear and scornful. 'Father
would never have killed himself. He was far too careful of
himself.'
Dr Stillingfleet said, 'It isn't the people who threaten to
commit suicide who usually do it, you know, Miss Farley.
That's why suicides sometimes seem unaccountable.'
Poirot rose to his feet. 'Is it permitted,' he asked, 'that I see
the room where the tragedy occurred?'
'Certainly. Dr Stillingfleet-'
The doctor accompanied Poirot upstairs.
Benedict Farley's room was a much larger one than the
secretary's next door. It was luxuriously furnished with deep
leather-covered arm-chairs, a thick pile carpet, and a superb
outsize writing-desk.
Poirot passed behind the latter to where a dark stain on the
carpet showed just before the window. He remembered the
millionaire saying, 'A t twenty-eight minutes past three I open the
second drawer on the right of my desk, take out the revolver that I
158
keep there, load it, and walk over to the window. And then - and
then I shoot myself.'
He nodded slowly. Then he said:
'The window was open like this?'
'Yes. But nobody could have got in that way.'
Poirot put his head out. There was no sill or parapet and no
pipes near. Not even a cat could have gained access that way.
Opposite rose the blank wall of the factory, a dead wall with no
windows in it.
Sfillingtleet said, 'Funny room for a rich man to choose as his
own sanctum, with that outlook. It's like looking out on to a
prison wall.'
'Yes,' said Poirot. He drew his head in and stared at the
expanse of solid brick. 'I think,' he said, 'that that wall is
important.'
Stillingtleet looked at him curiously. 'You mean - psycho-
logicany?'
Poirot had moved to the desk. Idly, or so it seemed, he
picked up a pair of what are usually called lazy-tongs. He
pressed the handles; the tongs shot out to their full length.
Delicately, Poirot picked up a burnt match stump with them
from beside a chair some feet away and conveyed it carefully to
the wastepaper basket.
'When you've finished playing with those things '
said
Stillingfleet
irritably.
Hercule
Poirot murmured, 'An ingenious invention,' and replaced
the tongs neatly on the writing-table. Then he asked:
'Where
were Mrs Farley and Miss Farley at the time of the death?'
'Mrs
Farley
was resting in her room on the floor above this. Miss Farley
was painting in her studio at the top of the house.'
Hercule Poirot
drummed idly with his fingers on the table for a minute
or two. Then he said:
'I should
like to see Miss Farley. Do you think you could ask her to
come here for a minute or two?'
159
'If you like.'
Stillingfieet glanced at him curiously, then left the room. r2
.another minute or two the door opened and Joanna Farley care
m.
'You do not mind, Mademoiselle, if I ask you a few questions ?
She returned his glance coolly. 'Please ask anything you
choose. '
'Did you know that your father kept a revolver in his desk.)' 'No.'
'Where were you and your mother - that is to say your
stepmother- that is fight?'
'Yes, Louise is my father's second wife. She is only eight
years older than I am. You were about to say-?'
'Where were you and she on Thursday of last week? That is
to say, on Thursday night.'
She reflected for a minute or two.
'Thursday? Let me see. Oh, yes, we had gone to the theatre.
To see Little Dog Laughed.'
'Your father did not suggest accompanying you?'
'He never went out to theatres.'
'What did he usually do in the evenings?'
'He sat in here and read.'
'He was not a very sociable man?'
The girl looked at him directly. 'My father,' she said, 'had a
singularly unpleasant personality. No one who lived in close
association with him could possibly be fond of him.'
'That, Mademoiselle, is a very candid statement.'
'I am saving you time, M. Poirot. I realize quite well what
you are getting at. My stepmother married my father for his
money. I live here because I have no money to live elsewhere.
There is a man I wish to marry- a poor man; my father saiv to it
that he lost his job. He wanted me, you see, to mar well - an
easy matter since I was to be his heiress!'
'Your father's fortune passes to you?'
'Yes. That is,
he left Louise, my stepmother, a quarter of a
160
million free of tax, and there are other legacies, but the residue
goes to me.' She smiled suddenly. 'So you see, M. Poirot, I had
every reason to desire my father's death!'
'I see, Mademoiselle, that you have inherited your father's
intdligence.'
She said thoughtfully, 'Father was'clever .... One felt that
with him - that he had force - driving power - but it had all
turned sour- bitter- there was no humanity left .... '
Hercule Poirot said softly, 'Grand Dieu, but what an imbecile
Joanna Farley turned towards the door. 'Is there anything
more?'
'Two little questions. These tongs here,' he picked up the
lazy-tongs, 'were they always on the table?'
'Yes. Father used them for picking up things. He didn't like
stooping.'
'One other question. Was your father's eyesight good?'
She stared at him.
'Oh, no - he couldn't see at all - I mean he couldn't see
without his glasses. His sight had always been bad from a boy.'
'But with his glasses?'
'Oh, he could see all right then, of course.'
'He could read newspapers and frae print?'
'Oh, yes.'
'That is all, Mademoiselle.'
She went out of the room.
Poirot murmured, 'I was stupid. It was there, all the time,
under my nose. And because it was so near I could not see it.'
He leaned out of the window once more. Down below, in the
narrow way between the house and the factory, he saw a small
dark object.
Hercule Poirot nodded, satisfied, and went downstairs again.
The others were still in the library. Poirot addressed himself
to the secretary:
'I want you, Mr Comworthy, to recount to me in detail the
161
exact circumstances of Mr Farley's summons to me. When,
for instance, did Mr Farley dictate that letter?'
'On Wednesday afternoon - at five-thirty, as far as I can
remember.'
'Were there any special directions about posting it?'
'He told me to post it myself.'
'And you did so?'
'Yes.'
'Did he give any special instructions to the butler abou,.
admitting me?'
'Yes. He told me to tell Holmes (Holmes is the butler) that
a gentleman would be calling at nine-thirty. He was to ask the
gentleman's name. He was also to ask to see the letter.'
'Rather peculiar precaution to take, don't you think?'
Cornworthy shrugged his shoulders.
'Mr Farley,' he said carefully, 'was rather a peculiar man.'
'Any other instructions?'
'Yes. He told me to take the evening off.'
'Did you do so?'
'Yes, immediately after dinner I went to the cinema.'
'When did you return?'
'I let myself in about a quarter past eleven.'
'Did you see Mr Farley again that evening?'.
'No.'
'And he did not mention the matter the next morning?'
Poirot paused a moment, then resumed, 'When I arrived I
was not shown into Mr Farley's own room.'
'No. He told me that I was to tell Holmes to show you into
my room.'
'Why was that? Do you know?'
Comworthy shook his head. 'I never questioned any of Mr
Farley's orders,' he said dryly. 'He would have resented it if I
had.'
'Did he usually receive visitors in his own room?'
162
'Ustally, but not always. Sometimes he saw them in my room.'
'Was there any reason for that?'
Hugo Comworthy considered.
'No- I hardly think so- I've never really thought about it.'
Turning to Mrs Farley, Poirot asked:
'You permit that I ring for your butler?'
'Certainly, M. Poirot.'
Very correct, very urbane, Holmes answered the bell.
'You rang, madam?'
Mrs Farley indicated Poirot with a gesture. Holmes mined.
politely. 'Yes, sir?'
'What were your instructions, Holmes, on the Thursday
night when I came here?'
Holmes cleared his throat, then said:
'Mter dinner Mr Comworthy told me that Mr Farley ex-pected
a Mr Hercul Poirot at nine-thirty. I was to ascertain the
gentleman's name, and I was to verify the information by
glancing at a letter. Then I was to show him up to Mr
Cornworthy's room.'
'Were you also told to knock on the door?'
An expression of distaste crossed the butler's countenance.
'That was one of Mr Farley's orders. I was always to knock
when introducing visitors- business visitors, that is,' he added.
'Ah, that puled me! Were you given any other instructions
concerning me?'
'No, sir. When Mr Cornworthy had told me what I have just
repeated to you he went out.'
'what time was that?'
'Ten minutes to nine, sir.'
'Did you see Mr Farley after that?'
'Yes, sir, I took him up a glass of hot water as usual at nine
o'clock.'
'Was he then in his own room or in Mr Comworthy's?'
'He was in his own room, sir.'
'You noticed nothing unusual about that room?'
163
'Unusual? No, sir.'
'Where were Mrs Farley and Miss Farley?'
'They had gone to the theatre, sir.'
'Thank you, Holmes, that will do.'
Holmes bowed and left the room. Poirot turned to Ha
millionaire's widow.
'One more question, Mrs Farley. Had your husband goc
sight?'
'No. Not without his glasses.'
'He was very shortsighted?'
'Oh, yes, he was quite helpless without his spectacles.'
'He had several pairs of glasses?'
'yes.'
'Ah,' said Poirot. He leaned back. 'I think that that con
cludes the case .... '
There was silence in. the room. They were all looking at th
little man who sat there complacently stroking his moustache
On the inspector's face was perplexity, Dr S 'tdlingfieet was
frowning, Cornworthy merely stared uncomprehendingly, Mr
Farley gazed in blank astonishment, Joanna Farley look
eager.
Mrs Farley broke the silence.
'I don't understand, M. Poirot.' Her voice was fretful. 'The
dream '
'Yes,' said Poirot. 'That dream was very important.'
Mrs Farley shivered. She said:
'I've never believed in anything supernatural before - but
now- to dream it night after night beforehand-'
'It's extraordinary,' said S 'tfilingfieet. 'Extraordinary! If we
hadn't got your word for it, Poirot, and if you hadn't had it
straight from the horse's mouth -' he coughed in
embarrassment, and readopting his professional manner, 'I beg
your pardon, Mrs Farley. If Mr Farley himself had not told that
story-'
'Exactly,' said Poirot. His eyes, which had been half-closed,
164
opened suddenly. They were very green. '/f Benedict Farley
hadn't told me-'
He paused a minute, looking round at a circle of blank faces.
'There are certain things, you comprehend, that happened
that evening which I was quite at a
loss to explain. First, why
make such a point of my bringing that letter with me?'
'Identification,' suggested Cornworthy.
'No, no, my dear young man. Really that idea is too
ridiculous. There must be some much more valid reason. For
not only did Mr Farley require to see that letter produced, but
he definitely demanded that I should leave it behind me. And
moreover even then he did not destroy it! It was found among
his papers this afternoon. Why did he keep it?'
Joanna Fafiey's voice broke in. 'He wanted, in case anything
happened to him, that the facts of his strange dream should be
made known.'
Poirot nodded approvingly.
'You are astute, Mademoiselle. That must be- that can only
be- the point of the keeping of the letter. When Mr Farley was
dead, the story of that strange dream was to be told! That dream
was very important. That dream, Mademoiselle, was vita/!
'I will come now,' he went on, 'to the second point. After
hearing his story I ask Mr Farley to show me the desk and the
revolver. He seems about to get up to do so, then suddenly
refuses. Why did he refuse?'
· This time no one advanced an answer.
'I will put that question differently. What was there in that
next room that Mr Farley did not want me to see?'
There was still silence.
AgathaChristie-HerculePoirotsCasebook Page 19
