She had held out her hand and P oirot had taken it. He held it now for a moment cr two while he stood scrutinizing her closely. There was nothing
ill-bred in his manner of doing it. It was more the
kind but searching look that a fanaous consultant gives a new patient as the latter is shered into his presence.
"Are you ,Jure, madame," he said at last, "that I can help you?"
"Alice says so."
"Yes, but I am asking you, madame." A little flush rose to her cheeks. "I don't know what you mean."
"What is it, madame, that you want me to do?" "You--you--know who I am?" she asked. "Assuredly."
"Then you can guess what it is I am asking you to do, M. Poirot--Captain Hastings"--I was
36 Agatha Christie
gratified that she realized my identity--"Major
Rich did not kill my husband."
"Why not?"
"I beg your pardon?"
POirot smiled at her slight discomfiture. "I said, 'Why not?' "he repeated. "I'm not sure that I understand."
"Yet it is very simple. The police--the lawyers --they will all ask the same question: Why did Major Rich kill M. Clayton? I ask the opposite. I ask you, madame, why did Major Rich not kill Major Clayton?"
"You mean--why I'm so sure? Well, but I know. I know Major Rich so well."
"You know Major Rich so well," repeated Poirot tonelessly.
The color flamed into her cheeks.
"Yes, that's what they'll say--what they'll
think! Oh, I know!"
"C'est vrai. That is what they will ask you about--how well you knew Major Rich. Perhaps you will speak the truth, perhaps you will lie. It is very necessary for a woman to lie sometimes. Women must defend themselves--and the lie, it is a good weapon. But there are three people, ma-dame, to whom a woman should speak the truth. To her father confessor, to her hairdresser and to her private detective--if she trusts him. Do you trust me, madame?"
Marguerita Clayton drew a deep breath. "Yes," she said. "I do. I must," she added rather child-ishly.
"Then, how well do you know Major Rich?"
THE MYSTERY OF THE BAGDAD CHEST 37
She looked at him for a moment in silence, then she raised her chin defiantly. "I will answer your question. I loved Jack from
the first moment I saw him--two years ago. Lately I think--I believe--he has come to love me. But he
has never said so."
"£patant.t'' said Poirot. "You have saved me a good quarter of an hour by coming to the point without beating the bush. You have the good sense. Now your husband--did he suspect your feelings?" "I don't know," Said Marguerita slowly. "I thoughtlately--that he might. His manner has been different But that may have been merely my fancy." "Nobody else knew?" "I do not think so." "And--pardon me, madame--you did not love your husband?" There were, I think, very few women who we ld have answered that question as simply as this woman did. They would have tried to explain their feelings.
Maruerita Clayton said
quite simply: "No." "Bien. Now we know where
we are. According to you, madame, Major Rich did
not kill your husband, but you realize that
all the evidence points to his having done so.
Are you aware,
privately, of any flaw
in that evidence?"
"No.
I know nothing."
"When did your husband first
inform you of his
visit to Scotland?"
"Just after lunch. He said it was
a
bore,
but
38 Agatha Christie
he'd have to go. Something to do with land values, he said it was."
"And after that?"
"He went out--to his club, I think. I--I didn't see him again."
"Now as to Major Rich--what was his manner
that evening? Just as usual?" "Yes, I think so." "You are not sure?" Marguerita wrinkled her brows.
"He wasma little constrained. With me--not with the others. But I thought I knew why that was. You understand? I am sure the constraint or--or--absentmindedness perhaps describes it better--had nothing to do with Edward. He was surprised to hear that Edward had gone to Scot-land, but not unduly so."
"And nothing else unusual occurs to you in
connection with that evening?" Marguerita thought. "No, nothing whatever."
"You--noticed the chest?"
She shook her head with a little shiver.
"I don't even remember it--or what it was like.
We played poker most of the evening."
"Who won?"
"Major Rich. I had very bad luck, and so did Major Curtiss. The Spences won a little, but
Major Rich was the chief winner."
"The party broke up--when?"
"About half-past twelve, I think. We all left together."
"Ah!"
THE MYSTERY OF THE BAGDAD CHEST 39
Poirot remained silent, lost in thought.
"I wish I could be more helpful to you," said Mrs. Clayton. "I seem to be able to tell you so little."
"About the present--yes. What about the past, madame?"
"The past?"
"Yes. Have there not been incidents?"
She flushed.
"You mean that dreadful little man who shot himself. It wasn't my fault, M. Poirot. Indeed it wasn't."
"It was not precisely of that incident that I was thinking."
"That ridiculous due!? But Italians do fight duels. I was so thankful the man wasn't killed."
"It must have been a relief to you," agreed
Poirot gravely.
She was looking at him doubtfully. He rose and took her hand in his.