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Poirot smiled beneficently.
“No? It is a curious thing that. The idea occurred to me at once—but at once. If the poor gentleman is not poisoned by the cocktail, then he must have been poisoned a very few minutes before entering the house. What way could there be? A capsule? Something, perhaps, to prevent indigestion. But who, then, could tamper with that? Only a wife. Who might, perhaps, have a motive that no one outside could possibly suspect? Again a wife.”
“But they were devoted to each other,” cried Egg indignantly. “You don’t understand a bit.”
Poirot smiled kindly at her.
“No. That is valuable. You know, but I do not. I see the facts unbiased by any preconceived notions. And let me tell you something, mademoiselle—in the course of my experience I have known five cases of wives murdered by devoted husbands, and twenty-two of husbands murdered by devoted wives. Les femmes, they obviously keep up appearances better.”
“I think you’re perfectly horrid,” said Egg. “I know the Babbingtons are not like that. It’s—it’s monstrous!”
“Murder is monstrous, mademoiselle,” said Poirot, and there was a sudden sternness in his voice.
He went on in a lighter tone.
“But I—who see only the facts—agree that Mrs. Babbington did not do this thing. You see, she was not at Melfort Abbey. No, as Sir Charles has already said, the guilt must lie on a person who was present on both occasions—one of the seven on your list.”
There was a silence.
“And how do you advise us to act?” asked Satterthwaite.
“You have doubtless already your plan?” suggested Poirot.
Sir Charles cleared his throat.
“The only feasible thing seems to be a process of elimination,” he said. “My idea was to take each person on that list and consider them guilty until they are proved innocent. I mean that we are to feel convinced ourselves that there is a connection between that person and Stephen Babbington, and we are to use all our ingenuity to find out what that connection can be. If we find no connection, then we pass onto the next person.”
“It is good psychology, that,” approved Poirot. “And your methods?”
“That we have not yet had time to discuss. We should welcome your advice on that point, M. Poirot. Perhaps you yourself—”
Poirot held up a hand.
“My friend, do not ask me to do anything of an active nature. It is my lifelong conviction that any problem is best solved by thought. Let me hold what is called, I believe, the watching brief. Continue your investigations which Sir Charles is so ably directing—”
“And what about me?” thought Mr. Satterthwaite. “These actors! Always in the limelight playing the star part!”
“You will, perhaps, from time to time require what we may describe as Counsel’s opinion. Me, I am the Counsel.”
He smiled at Egg.
“Does that strike you as the sense, mademoiselle?”
“Excellent,” said Egg. “I’m sure your experience will be very useful to us.”
Her face looked relieved. She glanced at her watch and gave an exclamation.
“I must go home. Mother will have a fit.”
“I’ll drive you home,” said Sir Charles.
They went out together.
Five
DIVISION OF LABOUR
“So you see, the fish has risen,” said Hercule Poirot.
