"Amazing business that Cartwright case," remarked the host reminiscently. "Amazing man! Enormous charm of manner. Why, when he came here with you, he had us all eating out of his hand."

He shook his head.

"We'll never have anything like that case!" he said. "Nicotine poisoning is rare, fortunately."

"There was a time when you would have considered all poisoning unEnglish," suggested Hercule Poirot. "A device of foreigners! Unsportsmanlike!"

"I hardly think we could say that," said the chief constable. "Plenty of poisoning by arsenic-probably a good deal more than has ever been suspected."

"Possibly, yes."

"Always an awkward business, a poisoning case," said Johnson. "Conflicting testimony of the experts-then doctors are usually so extremely cautious in what they say. Always a difficult case to take to a jury. No, if one must have murder (which heaven forbid!) give me a straightforward case. Something where there's no ambiguity about the cause of death."

Poirot nodded.

"The bullet wound, the cut throat, the crushed-in skull? It is there your preference lies?"

"Oh, don't call it a preference, my dear fellow. Don't harbour the idea that I like murder cases! Hope I never have another. Anyway, we ought to be safe enough during your visit."

Poirot began modestly: "My reputation-"

But Johnson had gone on.

"Christmastime," he said. "Peace, goodwill-and all that kind of thing. Goodwill all round."

Hercule Poirot leaned back in his chair. He joined his fingertips. He studied his host thoughtfully.

He murmured: "It is, then, your opinion that Christmastime is an unlikely season for crime?"

"That's what I said."

"Why?"

"Why?" Johnson was thrown slightly out of his stride. "Well, as I've just said-season of good cheer, and all that!"

Hercule Poirot murmured: "The British, they are so sentimental!"

Johnson said stoutly: "What if we are? What if we do like the old ways, the old traditional festivities? What's the harm?"

"There is no harm. It is all most charming! But let us for a moment examine facts. You have said that Christmas is a season of good cheer. That means, does it not, a lot of eating and drinking? It means, in fact, the overeating! And with the overeating there comes the indigestion! And with the indigestion there comes the irritability!"

"Crimes," said Colonel Johnson, "are not committed from irritability."

"I am not so sure! Take another point. There is, at Christmas, a spirit of goodwill. It is, as you say, 'the thing to do.' Old quarrels are patched up, those who have disagreed consent to agree once more, even if it is only temporarily."

Johnson nodded.

"Bury the hatchet, that's right."

Poirot pursued his theme: "And families now, families who have been separated throughout the year, assemble once more together. Now under these conditions, my friend, you must admit that there will occur a great amount of strain. People who do not feel amiable are putting great pressure on themselves to appear amiable! There is at Christmastime a great deal of hypocrisy, honourable hypocrisy, hypocrisy undertaken pour le bon motif, c'est entendu, but nevertheless hypocrisy!"

"Well, I shouldn't put it quite like that myself," said Colonel Johnson doubtfully.

Poirot beamed upon him.

"No, no. It is I who am putting it like that, not you. I am pointing out to you that under these conditions-mental strain, physical malaise-it is highly probable that dislikes that were before merely mild and disagreements that were trivial might suddenly assume a more serious character. The result of pretending to be a more amiable, a more forgiving, a more high-minded person than one really is, has sooner or later the effect of causing one to behave as a more disagreeable, a more ruthless and an altogether more unpleasant person than is actually the case! If you dam the stream of natural behaviour, mon ami, sooner or later the dam bursts and a cataclysm occurs!"

Colonel Johnson looked at him doubtfully.

"Never know when you're serious and when you're pulling my leg," he grumbled.

Poirot smiled at him.

"I am not serious! Not in the least am I serious! But all the same, it is true what I say-artificial conditions bring about their natural reaction."

Colonel Johnson's manservant entered the room.

"Superintendent Sugden on the phone, sir."

"Right. I'll come."

With a word of apology the chief constable left the room.

He returned some three minutes later. His face was grave and perturbed.

"Damn it all!" he said. "Case of murder! On Christmas Eve, too!"

Poirot's eyebrows rose.

"It is that definitely-murder, I mean?"

"Eh? Oh, no other solution possible! Perfectly clear case. Murder-and a brutal murder at that!"

"Who is the victim?"

"Old Simeon Lee. One of the richest men we've got! Made his money in South Africa originally. Gold-no, diamonds, I believe. He sunk an immense fortune in manufacturing some particular gadget of mining machinery. His own invention, I believe. Anyway, it's paid him hand over fist! They say he's a millionaire twice over."

Poirot said: "He was well-liked, yes?"

Johnson said slowly: "Don't think anyone liked him. Queer sort of chap. He's been an invalid for some years now. I don't know very much about him myself. But of course he is one of the big figures of the county."

"So this case, it will make a big stir?"

"Yes. I must get over to Longdale as fast as I can."

He hesitated, looking at his guest. Poirot answered the unspoken question: "You would like that I should accompany you?"

Johnson said awkwardly: "Seems a shame to ask you. But, well, you know how it is! Superintendent Sugden is a good man, none better, painstaking, careful, thoroughly sound-but-well, he's not an imaginative chap in any way. Should like very much, as you are here, benefit of your advice."

He halted a little over the end part of his speech, making it somewhat telegraphic in style. Poirot responded quickly.

"I shall be delighted. You can count on me to assist you in any way I can. We must not hurt the feelings of the good superintendent. It will be his case-not mine. I am only the unofficial consultant."

Colonel Johnson said warmly: "You're a good fellow, Poirot."

With those words of commendation, the two men started out.

VI.

It was a constable who opened the front door to them and saluted. Behind him, Superintendent Sugden advanced down the hall and said: "Glad you've got here, sir. Shall we come into this room here on the left-Mr. Lee's study? I'd like to run over the main outlines. The whole thing's a rum business."

He ushered them into a small room on the left of the hall. There was a telephone there and a big desk covered with papers. The walls were lined with bookcases.

The chief constable said: "Sugden, this is M. Hercule Poirot. You may have heard of him. Just happened to be staying with me. Superintendent Sugden."

Poirot made a little bow and looked the other man over. He saw a tall man with square shoulders and a military bearing who had an aquiline nose, a pugnacious jaw and a large flourishing chestnut-coloured moustache. Sugden stared hard at Hercule Poirot after acknowledging the introduction. Hercule Poirot stared hard at Superintendent Sugden's moustache. Its luxuriance seemed to fascinate him.

The superintendent said: "Of course I have heard of you, Mr. Poirot. You were in this part of the world some years ago, if I remember rightly. Death of Sir Bartholomew Strange. Poisoning case. Nicotine. Not my district, but of course I heard all about it."

Colonel Johnson said impatiently: "Now, then, Sugden, let's have the facts. A clear case, you said."

"Yes, sir, it's murder right enough-not a doubt of that. Mr. Lee's throat was cut-jugular vein severed, I understand from the doctor. But there's something very odd about the whole matter."

"You mean-?"

"I'd like you to hear my story first, sir. These are the circumstances: This afternoon, about five o'clock, I was rung up by Mr. Lee at Addlesfield police station. He sounded a bit odd over the phone-asked me to come and see him at eight o'clock this evening-made a special point of the time. Moreover, he instructed me to say to the butler that I was collecting subscriptions for some police charity."

The chief constable looked up sharply.

"Wanted some plausible pretext to get you into the house?"

"That's right, sir. Well, naturally, Mr. Lee is an important person, and I acceded to his request. I got here a little before eight o'clock, and represented myself as seeking subscriptions for the Police Orphanage. The butler went away and returned to tell me that Mr. Lee would see me. Thereupon he showed me up to Mr. Lee's room, which is situated on the first floor, immediately over the dining room."

Superintendent Sugden paused, drew a breath and then proceeded in a somewhat official manner with his report.

"Mr. Lee was seated in a chair by the fireplace. He was wearing a dressing gown. When the butler had left the room and closed the door, Mr. Lee asked me to sit near him. He then said rather hesitatingly that he wanted to give me particulars of a robbery. I asked him what had been taken. He replied that he had reason to believe that diamonds (uncut diamonds, I think he said) to the value of several thousand pounds had been stolen from his safe."

"Diamonds, eh?" said the chief constable.

"Yes, sir. I asked him various routine questions, but his manner was very uncertain and his replies were somewhat vague in character. At last he said, 'You must understand, Superintendent, that I may be mistaken in this matter.' I said, 'I do not quite understand, sir. Either the diamonds are missing or they are not missing-one or the other.' He replied, 'The diamonds are certainly missing, but it is just possible, Superintendent, that their disappearance may be simply a rather foolish kind of practical joke.' Well, that seemed odd to me, but I said nothing. He went on: 'It is difficult for me to explain in detail, but what it amounts to is this: So far as I can see, only two persons can possibly have the stones. One of those persons might have done it as a joke. If the other person took them, then they have definitely been stolen.' I said, 'What exactly do you want me to do, sir?' He said quickly, 'I want you, Superintendent, to return here in about an hour-no, make it a little more than that-say nine fifteen. At that time I shall be able to tell you definitely whether I have been robbed or not.' I was a little mystified, but I agreed and went away."

Colonel Johnson commented: "Curious-very curious. What do you say, Poirot?"

Hercule Poirot said: "May I ask, Superintendent, what conclusions you yourself drew?"

The superintendent stroked his jaw as he replied carefully: "Well, various ideas occurred to me, but on the whole, I figured it out this way. There was no question of any practical joke. The diamonds had been stolen all right. But the old gentleman wasn't sure who'd done it. It's my opinion that he was speaking the truth when he said that it might have been one of two people-and of those two people one was a servant and the other was a member of the family."

Poirot nodded appreciatively.

"Tres bien. Yes, that explains his attitude very well."

"Hence his desire that I should return later. In the interval he meant to have an interview with the person in question. He would tell them that he had already spoken of the matter to the police but that, if restitution were promptly made, he could hush the matter up."

Colonel Johnson said: "And if the suspect didn't respond?"

"In that case, he meant to place the investigation in our hands."

Colonel Johnson frowned and twisted his moustache. He demurred.

"Why not take that course before calling you in?"

"No, no, sir." The superintendent shook his head. "Don't you see, if he had done that, it might have been bluff. It wouldn't have been half so convincing. The person might say to himself, 'The old man won't call the police in, no matter what he suspects!' But if the old gentleman says to him, 'I've already spoken to the police, the superintendent has only just left.' Then the thief asks the butler, say, and the butler confirms that. He says, 'Yes, the superintendent was here just before dinner.' Then the chief is convinced the old gentleman means business and it's up to him to cough up the stones."

"H'm, yes, I see that," said Colonel Johnson. "Any idea, Sugden, who this 'member of the family' might be?"

"No, sir."

"No indication whatsoever?"

"None."

Johnson shook his head. Then he said: "Well, let's get on with it."

Superintendent Sugden resumed his official manner.

"I returned to the house, sir, at nine fifteen precisely. Just as I was about to ring the front door bell, I heard a scream from inside the house, and then a confused sound of shouts and a general commotion. I rang several times and also used the knocker. It was three or four minutes before the door was answered. When the footman at last opened it I could see that something momentous had occurred. He was shaking all over and looked as though he was about to faint. He gasped out that Mr. Lee had been murdered. I ran hastily upstairs. I found Mr. Lee's room in a state of wild confusion. There had evidently been a severe struggle. Mr. Lee himself was lying in front of the fire with his throat cut in a pool of blood."

The chief constable said sharply: "He couldn't have done it himself?"

Sugden shook his head.

"Impossible, sir. For one thing, there were the chairs and tables overturned, and the broken crockery and ornaments, and then there was no sign of the razor or knife with which the crime had been committed."

The chief constable said thoughtfully: "Yes, that seems conclusive. Anyone in the room?"

"Most of the family were there, sir. Just standing round."

Colonel Johnson said sharply: "Any ideas, Sugden?"

The superintendent said slowly: "It's a bad business, sir. It looks to me as though one of them must have done it. I don't see how anyone from outside could have done it and got away in time."

"What about the window? Closed or open?"

"There are two windows in the room, sir. One was closed and locked. The other was open a few inches at the bottom-but it was fixed in that position by a burglar screw, and moreover, I've tried it and it's stuck fast-hasn't been opened for years, I should say. Also the wall outside is quite smooth and unbroken-no ivy or creepers. I don't see how anyone could have left that way."

"How many doors in the room?"

"Just one. The room is at the end of a passage. That door was locked on the inside. When they heard the noise of the struggle and the old man's dying scream, and rushed upstairs, they had to break down the door to get in."