'Enfin, I abandon it!' I said aloud. 'There is not a clue any-wherel Everything is perfectly normal.' As I said the words, my eyes fell on a large box of chocolates standing on a table near by, and my heart gave a leap. It might not
be a clue to M. D6roulard's death, but here at least was something that was not normal. I lifted the lid. The box was full, untouched; not a chocolate was missing - but that only made the peculiarity that had caught my eye more striking. For, see you, Hastings, while the box itself was pink, the lid was blue. Now, one often sees a blue ribbon on a pink box, and vice versa, but a box of one colour, and a lid of another - no; decidedly - fa ne se You jamais!
I did not as yet see that this little incident was of any use to me, yet I determined to investigate it as being out of the ordinary.
I rang the bell for Franvois, and asked him if his late master had been fond of sweets. A faint melancholy smile came to his lips.
'Passionately fond of them, monsieur. He would always have a box of chocolates in the house. He did not drink wine of any kind, you see.' 'Yet this box has not been touched?' I lifted the lid to show him.
'Pardon, monsieur, but that was a new box purchased on the day of his death, the other being nearly finished.' 'Then the other box was finished on the day of his death,' I said slowly.
'Yes, monsieur, I found it empty in the morning and threw it away.' 'Did M. D6roulard eat sweets at all hours of the day?' 'Usually after dinner, monsieur.' I began to see light.
'Franvois,' I said, 'you can be discreet?' 'If there is need, monsieur.' 'Bon! Know, then, that I am of the police. Can you find me that other box?' 'Without doubt, monsieur. It will be in the dustbin.' He departed, and returned in a few minutes with a dust-covered object. It was the duplicate of the box I held, save for the fact that this time the box was blue and the lid was pink. I thanked Francois, recommended him once more to be discreet, and left the house in the Avenue Louise without more ado.
Nt I called upon the doctor who had attended M. D6roulard.
With him I had a difficult task. He entrenched himself prettil, behind a wall of learned phraseology, but I fancied that he was quite as sure about the case as he would like to be.
'There have been many curious occurrences of the kind,' he observed, when I had managed to disarm him somewhat. ', sudden fit of anger, a violent emotion - after a heavy dinner, c'est entendu - then, with an access of rage, the blood flies to th head, and pstl - there you are!' 'But M. Droulard had had no violent emotion.' 'No? I made sure that he had been having a stormy altercatio with M. de Saint Alard.' 'Why should he?' 'C'est dvidentl' The doctor shrugged his shoulders. 'Was not M. de Saint Alard a Catholic of the most fanatical? Their friendship was being ruined by this question of church and state. Not a day passed without discussions. To M. de Saint Alard, Ddroulard appeared almost as Antichrist.' This was unexpected, and gave me food for thought.
'One more question, Doctor: would it be possible to introduce a fatal dose of poison into a chocolate?' 'It would be possible, I suppose,' said the doctor slowly. 'Pure prussic acid would meet the case if there were no chance of evaporation, and a tiny globule of anything might be swallowed unnoticed - but it does not seem a very likely supposition. A chocolate full of morphine or strychnine - ' He made a wry face. 'You comprehend, M. Poirot - one bite would be enoughl The unwary one would not stand upon ceremony.' 'Thank you, M. le Docteur.' I withdrew. Next I made inquiries of the chemists, especially those in the neighbourhood of the Avenue Louise. It is good to be of the police. I got the information I wanted without any trouble. Only in one case could I hear of any poison having been supplied to the house in question. This was some eye drops atropine sulphate for Madame Droulard. Atropine is a potent poison, and for the moment I was elated, but the symptoms of atropine poisoning are closely allied to those of ptomaine, and bear no resemblance to those I was studying. Besides, the prescription was an old one. Madame Droulard had suffered from cataract in both eyes for many years.
I was turning away discouraged when the chemist's voice called me back.
'Un moment, M. Poirot. I remember, the girl who brought that prescription, she said something about having to go on to the English chemist. You might try there.' I did. Once more enforcing my official status, I got the information I wanted. On the day before M. Droulard's death they had made up a prescription for Mr John Wilson. Not that there was any making up about it. They were simplylittle tablets of trinitrine.
I asked if I might see some. He showed me them, and my heart beat faster - for the tiny tablets were of chocolate. 'It is a poison?' I asked.
'No, monsieur.' 'Can you describe to me its effect?' 'It lowers the blood-pressure. It is given for some forms of heart trouble - angina pectoris for instance. It relieves the arterial tem4on. In arteriosclerosis - ' I interrupted him. 'Ma foil This rigmarole says nothing to me.
Does it cause the face to flush?' 'Certainly it does.' 'And supposing I ate ten - twenty of your little tablets, what then?' 'I should not advise you to attempt it,' he replied drily.
'And yet you say it is not poison?' 'There are many things not called poison which can kill a man,' he replied as before.
I left the shop elated. At last, things had begun to marchl I now knew that John Wilson held the means for the crime but what about the motive? He had come to Belgium on business, and had asked M. Droulard, whom he knew slightly, to put him up. There was apparently no way in which Droulard's death could benefit him. Moreover, I discovered by inquiries in England that he had suffered for some years from that painful form of heart disease known as angina. Therefore he had a genuine right to have those tablets in his possession. Nevertheless, I was convinced that
someone had gone to the chocolate box, opening the full one first by mistake, and had abstracted the contents of the last chocolate, cramming in instead as manylittle trinitrin tablets as it would hold.
The chocolates were large ones. Between twenty or thirty tablets, I felt sure, could have been inserted. But who had done this?
There were two guests in the house. John Wilson had the means.
Saint Alard had the motive. Remember, he was a fanatic, and there is no fanatic like a religious fanatic. Could he, by any means, have got hold of John Wilson's trinitrine?
Another little idea came to me. Aht You smile at my little ideas[Why had Wilson run out of trinitrine? Surely he would bring an adequate supply from England. I called once more at the house in the Avenue Louise. Wilson was out, but I saw the girl who did his room, Flicie. I demanded of her immediately whether i was not true that M. Wilson had lost a bottle from his washstand some little time ago. The girl responded eagerly. It was quite true. She, Flicie, had been blamed for it. The English gentleman had evidently thought that she had broken it, and did not like to say so.
Whereas she had never even touched it. Without doubt it was Jeannette - always nosing round where she had no business tobe- I calmed the flow of words, and took my leave. I knew now all that I wanted to know. It remained for me to prove my case. That, I felt, would not be easy. I might be sure that Saint Alard had removed the bottle of trinitrine from John Wilson's washstand, but to convince others, I would have to produce evidence. And I had none to producei Never mind. I kneo - that was the great thing. You remember our difficulty in the Styles case, Hastings? There again, I knew but it took me a long time to find the last link which made my chain of evidence against the murderer complete.
I asked for an interview with Mademoiselle Mesnard. She came at once. I demanded of her the address of M. de Saint Alard. A look of trouble came over her face.