Agatha Christie - Sparkling Cyanide

A strange feeling stole over Colonel Race.

This interview was not going as it should. He stared at the figure in front of him lounging back in its chair – and an odd sense of familiarity came to him.

"Shall I recapitulate what I know about you, Morelli?"

"It might be amusing."

"You were convicted in the States of attempted sabotage in the Ericsen aeroplane works and were sentenced to a term of imprisonment. After serving your sentence, you came out and the authorities lost sight of you. You were next heard of in London staying at Claridge's and calling yourself Anthony Browne. There you scraped acquaintance with Lord Dewsbury and through him you met certain other prominent armaments manufacturers. You stayed in Lord Dewsbury's house and by means of your position as his guest you were shown things which you ought never to have seen! It is a curious coincidence, Morelli, that a trail of unaccountable accidents and some very near escapes from disaster on a large scale followed very closely after your visits to various important works and factories."

"Coincidences," said Anthony, "are certainly extraordinary things."

"Finally, after another lapse of time, you reappeared in London and renewed your acquaintance with Iris Marle, making excuses not to visit her home, so that her family should not realise how intimate you were becoming. Finally you tried to induce her to marry you secretly."

"You know," said Anthony, "it's really extraordinary the way you have found out all these things – I don't mean the armaments business – I mean my threats to Rosemary, and the tender nothings I whispered to Iris. Surely those don't come within the province of the law?"

Race looked sharply at him.

"You've a good deal to explain, Morelli."

"Not at all. Granted your facts are all correct, what of them? I've served my prison sentence. I've made some interesting friends. I've fallen in love with a very charming girl and am naturally impatient to marry her."

"So impatient that you would prefer the wedding to take place before her family have the chance of finding out anything about your antecedents. Iris Marle is a very rich young woman."

Anthony nodded his head agreeably.

"I know. When there's money, families are inclined to be abominably nosy. And Iris, you see, doesn't know anything about my murky past. Frankly, I'd rather she didn't."

"I'm afraid she is going to know all about it."

"A pity," said Anthony.

"Possibly you don't realise –"

Anthony cut in with a laugh.

"Oh! I can dot the i's and cross the t's. Rosemary Barton knew my criminal past, so I killed her. George Barton was growing suspicious of me, so I killed him! Now I'm after Iris's money! It's all very agreeable and it hangs together nicely, but you haven't got a mite of proof."

Race looked at him attentively for some minutes. Then he got up.

"Everything I have said is true," he said. "And it's all wrong."

Anthony watched him narrowly. "What's wrong?"

"You're wrong." Race walked slowly up and down the room. "It hung together all right until I saw you – but now I've seen you, it won't do. You're not a crook. And if you're not a crook, you're one of our kind. I'm right, aren't I?"

Anthony looked at him in silence while a smile slowly broadened on his face. Then he hummed softly under his breath.

"'For the Colonel's lady and Judy O'Grady are sisters under the skin.' Yes, funny how one knows one's own kind. That's why I've tried to avoid meeting you. I was afraid you'd spot me for what I am. It was important then that nobody should know – important up to yesterday. Now, thank goodness, the balloon's gone up! We've swept our gang of international saboteurs into the net. I've been working on this assignment for three years. Frequenting certain meetings, agitating among workmen, getting myself the right reputation. Finally it was fixed that I pulled an important job and got sentenced. The business had to be genuine if I was to establish my bona fides.

"When I came out, things began to move. Little by little I got further into the centre of things – a great international net run from Central Europe . It was as their agent I came to London and went to Claridge's. I had orders to get on friendly terms with Lord Dewsbury – that was my lay, the social butterfly! I got to know Rosemary Barton in my character of attractive young man about town. Suddenly, to my horror, I found that she knew I had been in prison in America as Tony Morelli. I was terrified for her! The people I was working with would have had her killed without a moment's hesitation if they had thought she knew that. I did my best to scare her into keeping her mouth shut, but I wasn't very hopeful. Rosemary was born to be indiscreet. I thought the best thing I could do was to sheer off – and then I saw Iris coming down a staircase, and I swore that after my job was done I would come back and marry her.

"When the active part of my work was over, I turned up again and got into touch with Iris, but I kept aloof from the house and her people for I knew they'd want to make inquiries about me and I had to keep under cover for a bit longer. But I got worried about her. She looked ill and afraid – and George Barton seemed to be behaving in a very odd fashion. I urged her to come away and marry me. Well, she refused. Perhaps she was right. And then I was roped in for this party. It was as we sat down to dinner that George mention you were to be there. I said rather quickly that I'd met a man I knew and might have to leave early. Actually I had seen a fellow I knew in America – Monkey Coleman – though he didn't remember me – but I really wanted to avoid meeting you. I was still on my job.

"You know what happened next – George died. I had nothing to do with his death or with Rosemary's. I don't know now who did kill them."

"Not even an idea?"

"It must have been either the waiter or one of the five people round the table. I don't think it was the waiter. It wasn't me and it wasn't Iris. It could have been Sandra Farraday or it could have been Stephen Farraday, or it could have been both of them together. But the best bet, in my opinion, is Ruth Lessing."

"Have you anything to support that belief?"

"No. She seems to me the most likely person – but I don't see in the least how she did it! In both tragedies she was so placed at the table that it would be practically impossible for her to tamper with the champagne glass – and the more I think over what happened the other night, the more it seems to me impossible that George could have been poisoned at all – and yet he was!" Anthony paused. "And there's another thing that gets me – have you found out who wrote those anonymous letters that started him on the track?"

Race shook his head.

"No. I thought I had – but I was wrong."

"Because the interesting thing is that it means that there is someone, somewhere, who knows that Rosemary was murdered, so that, unless you're careful – that person will be murdered next!"

From information received over the telephone Anthony knew that Lucilla Drake was going out at five o'clock to drink a cup of tea with a dear old friend.

Allowing for possible contingencies (returning for a purse, determination after all to take an umbrella just in case, and last-minute chats on the doorstep) Anthony timed his own arrival at Elvaston Square at precisely twenty-five minutes past five. It was Iris he wanted to see, not her aunt. And by all accounts once shown into Lucilla's presence, he would have had very little chance of uninterrupted conversation with his lady.

He was told by the parlourmaid (a girl lacking the impudent polish of Betty Archdale) that Miss Iris had just come in and was in the study.

Anthony said with a smile, "Don't bother. I'll find my way," and went past her and along to the study door.