Hercule Poirot - Murder in the Spotlight

Chapter Five - The Revelations

'I have learnt a great many things about our suspects from that question.' Poirot began, 'Lets take Emmeline Macklin. She is a well bred young woman, of high social standing. Her mother, a wealthy woman was drawn to the big rug on the floor, the furniture and the beautiful curtains, but her daughter simply noticed the fireplace, the coal, the tray with a teapot and mug upon it, needing to be taken to the kitchen. She has all the qualities of a maid, but a girl in her position would never work as a maid! This, added to the pale, timid appearance of Mademoiselle Emmeline, leaves me wondering just what sort of life the lady leads.

Let's move on to her mother. She is a very observant woman, noticing more items in the room than any other suspect, yet she fails to observe the actions of a girl sitting on the same sofa beside her! Now I ask you my friend, is that probable?'

'So it was Emmeline who left her seat!' the inspector jumped up, 'Then she had opportunity. Remember the tray of coffee was left in the hallway. She got up, telling her mother she was going to the lavatories, then seeing the mug, she slipped the stuff into the drink and hurried back to her seat.'
Poirot was deep in thought, 'Yes, it may be so. The lady definitely left her seat.'

'But what about Hugo? He must have been lying to us then. He had a perfect view of her chair and was not in anyway entranced.'

A slight smile flickered at the corner of the Belgians lips, 'Yes, Hugo, we will return to him later.'

'But dash it all Poirot, we have no proof!'

'I think I will have some for you soon inspector.' he rang the bell for an attendant, 'Be so kind as to go and fetch Monsieur Constantine. I wish to have a word.'

'You wished to see me?'

Hugo walked into the smoking room and turned to the inspector. It occurred then, to Poirot, that he was a decidedly good looking young man.

'Sit down,' ordered the Belgian.

He obediently sat.

'Constantine,' Poirot rolled the name around his mouth, 'It's a nice name, Hugo Constantine. Nicer than Martin. Hugo Constantine Martin I think?'

Hugo stared blankly at Poirot. 'You know?'

'Monsieur, I may look like a stupid little foreigner, but I assure you that I know everything. Your father was in the fabric industry, and that's where he met Christine Redlaw, only at the time that was not her name. Christine Denton. He fell madly in love. He proposed. She said no. She married Redlaw, his friend, and your father was angry, was he not?'

'Yes.'

'Well what do you have to say for yourself?' the inspector had stood up.

'Nothing. Nothing at all. Except that I didn't murder Miss Redlaw.' Hugo Constantine was looking very relaxed, lounged out in the chair before them.

'Then why,' said the inspector, 'did you adopt a false name.'

'When I heard that a lady, a lady from a family of which my father had had a large grudge, had been killed, and Gerald Kerslake, a man my father had known, was in this hotel, I used my middle name as my surname. Naturally, I did not want to get charged with a murder that I did not commit.'

'But you lied to us,' the inspector was growing desperate, 'Emmeline Macklin left her seat and you said no-one had.'

'Then I simply must not have noticed her.'

'And an alibi. You have no alibi for the murder of the maid.'

'I knew of no such murder.'

'You have the most evidence against you, of all the suspects!'

'Inspector, you can form all the theories in the world, but you haven't got a mite of proof.'

Inspector Gleb was a broken man after the interview with Hugo. Far from his usual self, he sat in his chair looking sorrowfully at Poirot.

'I don't get it, Poirot. It just doesn't make any sense! We seem to have progressed and yet we find ourselves no nearer to discovering who the criminal is. Each new fact revealed does not make the image clearer, just leaves me more confused.' he looked appealingly at the Belgian, but for once his friend was silent, deep in thought.

'Mon amie, I suggest you conduct a search.'

'Whatever for?'

'You may find something of use. And meanwhile,' he stroked his moustache, 'I shall make a little trip.'

'Where?'

'You shall see.'

'Poirot!'

But the Belgian was already walking out the door.

Poirot's abrupt departure intrigued everyone greatly. The day wore away, and still he did not reappear. But at about nine o'clock the next morning, a ferocious and prolonged hooting outside the hotel drove the Doctor out onto the front steps, where he saw Poirot alighting from a small, black Ford Escort. The little man was transformed. He radiated an absurd complacency.

'Oh monsieur Poirot! I'm so glad you've come,' the doctor said, 'The inspectors been in hysterics without you.'

Poirot jumped up the stairs and smiled wildly at him. His eyes were a twinkling green.
'Rather like a cat,' the doctor thought.

'I too, am glad I am back. I have discovered so much and I am almost there, oh it's agonizing, agaçant, how close I am. Just one link, then Hercule Poirot will know it all.'

'Well, there's been a .... development. An arrest actually.'

'What?' Poirot spun round, 'Oh the idiots!'

'Hugo Constantine,' the doctor continued, 'they took him this morning.'

***

There had indeed been a search, and one that had provided reward. A small glass capsule bearing signs of cyanide had been found in the breast pocket of the suit worn by Hugo on the night of the murder. The accused had denied any knowledge of the capsule, and had presently been arrested.

'Well Poirot, that's that.' Said the pleased inspector.

'Non, mon ami, that is not that. You have made a right hash of the case.'

The inspector went red in the face and, puffing out his cheeks stated he had done no such thing.

'Think what you must. I have just one request of you.'

'And what is that?' the inspector huffed.

'I would like to hold a little gathering this evening, here in the hotel. All the guests must be there, including your prisoner. Oh and Mademoiselle Tipton, she deserves to be there too. You can reach her, non?'

'What are you going to do, interview them?' He scoffed.

'I shall tell you all the truth. You are idiots for having arrested Monsieur Martin. How could he have possibly have administered the poison? But I shall show you all.'

The Inspector shook his head.

'You do not believe me? Oh well. Just do as I ask. You will, just to please me?'

'Very well Poirot. You have, I suppose, been of some assistance to us in the past.'

'Good, good my friend. I shall see you this evening then. Seven shall we say?'

'Oui.'

They smiled at each other, and went their separate ways.