"Tell me," he said. "When you brought the x cigarettes into your master that night,, was there not something out of place in the room?"
Burgoyne hesitated for a minute, then with
some slight reluctance he replied,
"It's odd your saying that, sir. Now you come to mention it, there was. That screen there that cuts off the draft from the bedroom door--it was
moved a bit more to the left."
"Like this?"
Poirot darted nimbly forward and pulled at the screen. It was a handsome affair of painted leather. It already slightly obscured the view of the chest, and as Poirot adjusted it, it hid the chest altogether.
"That's right, sir," said the valet. "It was like that."
"And the next morning?"
44 Agatha Christie
"It was still like that. I remember. I moved it away and it was then I saw the stain. The carpet's gone to be cleaned, sir. That's why the boards are bare."
Poirot nodded.
"I see," he said. "I thank you."
He placed a crisp piece of paper in the valet's palm.
"Thank you, sir."
"Poirot," I said when we were out in the street, "that point about the screen--is that a point helpful to Rich?"
"It is a further point against him," said Poirot ruefully. "The screen hid the chest from the room. It also hid the stain on the carpet. Sooner or later the blood was bound to soak through the wood and stain the carpet. The screen would prevent discovery for the moment. Yes--but there is some-thing
there that I do not understand. The valet,
Hastings, the valet."
"What about the valet? He seemed a most in-telligent fellow."
"As you say, most intelligent. Is it credible, then, that Major Rich failed to realize that the valet would certainly discover the body in the morning? Immediately after the deed he had no time for anything--granted. He shoves the body into the chest, pulls the screen in front of it and goes through the evening hoping for the best. But after the guests are gone? Surely, then is the time to dispose of the body."
"Perhaps he hoped the valet wouldn't notice the stain?"
"That, mort ami, is absurd. A stained carpet is
THE MYSTERY OF THE BAGDAD CHEST
the first thing a good servant would be bound to, notice. And Major Rich, he goes to bed and snores
there comfortably and does nothing at all about the matter. Very remarkable and interesting, that."
"Curtiss might have seen the stains when he was changing the records the night before?" I sug, gested.
"That is unlikely. The screen would throw deep shadow just there. No, but I begin to see, Yes, dimly I begin to see."
"See what?" I asked eagerly.
"The possibilities, shall we say, of an alter,, native explanation. Our next visit may throw light on things."
Our next visit was to the doctor who had exam, ined the body. His evidence was a mere recapitula, tion of what he had already given at the inquest. Deceased had been stabbed to the heart with long thin knife something like a stiletto. The knife had been left in the wound. Death had been in,
stantaneous. The knife was the property of Major Rich and usually lay on his writing table. Ther
were no fingerprints on it, the doctor understood, It had been either wiped or held in a handkerchief. As regards time, any time between seven and hint seemed indicated.
"He could not, for instance, have been kille after midnight?" asked Poirot.
"No. That I can say. Ten o'clock at the outsid --but seven-thirty to eight seems clearly indi, cated."
"There is a second hypothesis possible," Poirol said when we were back home. "I wonder if y0
46 Agatha Christie
see it, Hastings. To me it is very plain, and I only need one point to clear up the matter for good and all. ' '
"It's no good," I said. "I'm not there."
"But make an effort, Hastings. Make an ef-fort.''
"Very well," I said. "At seven-forty Clayton is alive and well. The last person to see him alive is Rich--"
"So we assume."
"Well, isn't it so?"
"You forget, rnon ami, that Major Rich denies that. He states explicitly that Clayton had gone when he came in"
"But the valet says that he would have heard Clayton leave because of the bang of the door. And also, if Clayton had left, when did he return? He couldn't have returned after midnight because the doctor says positively that he was dead at least two hours before that. That only leaves one alter-native."
"Yes, rnon ami?" said Poirot.
"That in the five minutes Clayton was alone in
the sitting room, someone else came in and killed him. But there we have the same objection. Only someone with a key could come in without the valet's knowing, and in the same way the mur-derer on leaving would have had to bang the door, and that again the valet would have heard."
"Exactly," said Poirot. "And therefore--"
"And therefore--nothing," I said. "I can see no other solution."
"It is a pity," murmured Poirot. "And it is
THE MYSTERY OF THE BAGDAD CHEST 47
really so exceedingly simple--as the clear blue eyes of Madame Clayton."
"You really believe--"
"I believe nothing--until I have got proof. One
little proof will convince me."
He took up the telephone and called japp at Scotland Yard.
Twenty minutes later we were standing before a little heap of assorted objects laid out on a table. They were the contents of the dead man's pockets.
There was a handkerchief, a handful of loose change, a pocketbook containing three pounds ten shillings, a couple of bills and a worn snapshot of Marguerita Clayton. There was also a pocket-knife, a gold pencil and a cumbersome wooden tool.
It was on this latter that Poirot swooped. He unscrewed it and several small blades fell out.