to bring the crime home to the prisoner. He went on to state that the Prosecution had been unable to prove to any degree that it was the prisoner who had ordered the beard from Messrs Parksons. As for the quarrel with his mother and his financial constraints – both had been most grossly exaggerated.
His learned friend had stated that if [the] prisoner had been an honest man he would have come forward at the inquest and explained that it was he and not his step-father who had been the participator in that quarrel. That view was based upon a misapprehension. The prisoner, on returning to the house in the evening, had been told at once6 that his mother had now had a violent dispute with her husband. Was it likely, was it probable, he asked the jury, that he should connect the two? It would never enter his head that anyone could ever mistake his voice for that of Mr. A[lfred] Inglethorp. As for the construction that [the] prisoner had destroyed a will – this mere idea was absurd. [The] prisoner had presented at the Bar and, being well versed in legal matters, knew that the will formerly made in his favour was revoked automatically. He had never heard a more ridiculous suggestion! He would, however, call evidence which would show who did destroy the will, and with what motive.
Finally, he would point out to the jury that there was evidence against other persons besides John Cavendish. He did not wish to accuse Mr. Lawrence Cavendish in any way; nevertheless, the evidence against him was quite as strong – if not stronger – than that against his brother.
Just at that point, a note was handed to him. As he read it, his eyes brightened, his burly figure seemed to swell and double its size.
‘Gentlemen of the jury,’ he said, and there was a new ring in his voice, ‘this has been a murder of peculiar cunning and complexity. I will first call the prisoner. He shall tell you his own story and I am sure you will agree with me that he cannot be guilty. Then I will call a Belgian gentleman, a very famous member of the Belgian police force in past years, who has interested himself in the case and who has important proofs that it was not the prisoner who committed this crime. I call the prisoner.’
John in the box acquitted himself well. His manner, quiet and direct, was all in his favour.7 At the end of his examination he paused and said, ‘I should like to say one thing. I utterly refute and disapprove of Sir Ernest Heavywether’s insinuation about my brother Lawrence. My brother, I am convinced, had no more to do with this crime than I had.’
Sir Ernest, remaining seated, noted with a sharp eye that John’s protest had made a favourable effect upon the jury. Mr Bunthorne cross-examined.8
‘You say that you never thought it possible that your quarrel with your mother was identical with the one spoken of at the inquest – is not that very surprising?’
‘No, I do not think so – I knew that my mother and Mr Inglethorp had quarrelled. It never occurred to me that they had mistaken my voice for his.’
‘Not even when the servant Dorcas repeated certain fragments of this conversation which you must have recognised?’
‘No, we were both angry and said many things in the heat of the moment which we did not really mean and which we did not recollect afterwards. I could not have told you which exact words I used.’
Mr Bunthorne sniffed incredulously.
‘About this note which you have produced so opportunely, is the handwriting not familiar to you?’
‘No.’
‘Do you not think it bears a marked resemblance to your own handwriting?’
‘No – I don’t think so.’
‘I put it to you that it is your own handwriting.’
‘No.’
‘I put it to you that, anxious to prove an alibi, you conceived the idea of a fictitious appointment and wrote this note to yourself in order to bear out your statement.’
‘No.’
‘I put it to you that at the time you claim to have been waiting about in Marldon Wood,9 you were really in Styles St Mary, in the chemist’s shop, buying strychnine in the name of Alfred Inglethorp.’
‘No – that is a lie.’
That completed Mr Bunthorne’s CE [cross examination]. He sat down and Sir Ernest, rising, announced that his next witness would be M. Hercule Poirot.
Poirot strutted into the witness box like a bantam cock.10 The little man was transformed; he was foppishly attired and his face beamed with self confidence and complacency. After a few preliminaries Sir Ernest asked: ‘Having been called in by Mr. Cavendish what was your first procedure?’
‘I examined Mrs Inglethorp’s bedroom and found certain …?’
‘Will you tell us what these were?’
‘Yes.’
With a flourish Poirot drew out his little notebook.
‘Voila,’ he announced, ‘There were in the room five points of importance.11 I discovered, amongst other things, a brown stain on the carpet near the window and a fragment of green material which was caught on the bolt of the communicating door between that room and the room adjoining, which was occupied by Miss Cynthia Paton.’12
‘What did you do with the fragment of green material?’
‘I handed it over to the police, who, however, did not consider it of importance.’
‘Do you agree?’
‘I disagree with that most utterly.’
‘You consider the fragment important?’
‘Of the first importance.’
‘But I believe,’ interposed the judge, ‘that no-one in the house had a green garment in their possession.’
‘I believe so, Mr Le Juge,’ agreed Poirot facing in his direction. ‘And so at first, I confess, that disconcerted me – until I hit upon the explanation.’
Everybody was listening eagerly.
‘What is your explanation?’
‘That fragment of green was torn from the sleeve of a member of the household.’
‘But no-one had a green dress.’
‘No, Mr Le Juge, this fragment is a fragment torn from a green land armlet.’
With a frown the judge turned to Sir Ernest.
‘Did anyone in that house wear an armlet?’
‘Yes, my lord. Mrs Cavendish, the prisoner’s wife.’
There was a sudden exclamation and the judge commented sharply that unless there was absolute silence he would have the court cleared. He then leaned forward to the witness.
‘Am I to understand that you allege Mrs Cavendish to have entered the room?’
‘Yes, Mr Le Juge.’
‘But the door was bolted on the inside.’
‘Pardon, Mr Le Juge, we have only one person’s word for that – that of Mrs Cavendish herself. You will remember that it was Mrs Cavendish who had tried that door and found it locked.’
‘Was not her door locked when you examined the room?’
‘Yes, but during the afternoon she would have had ample opportunity to draw the bolt.’13
‘But Mr Lawrence Cavendish has claimed that he saw it.’
There was a momentary hesitation on Poirot’s part before he replied.
‘Mr. Lawrence Cavendish was mistaken.’
Poirot continued calmly: