Agatha Christie - Black Coffee

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry," said Richard, turning towards Sir Claud. "Father, would you please tell Monsieur Poirot that we no longer have any need of his services?"

Sir Claud did not answer.

"Father!" Richard exclaimed, moving quickly to Sir Claud's arm-chair. He bent over his father, and then turned around wildly. "Dr Carelli," he called.

Miss Amory rose, white-faced. Carelli swiftly crossed to Sir Claud and felt his pulse. Frowning, he placed his hand over Sir Claud's heart, and then shook his head.

Poirot moved slowly to the arm-chair and stood looking down at the motionless body of the scientist. "Yes – I fear -" he murmured, as though to himself, "I very much fear -"

"What do you fear?" asked Barbara, moving towards him.

Poirot looked at her. "I fear that Sir Claud has sent for me too late, mademoiselle."

Consternation followed Hercule Poirot's statement. Dr Carelli continued his examination of Sir Claud for a few moments before straightening himself and turning to the others. Addressing Richard Amory, "I am afraid your father is dead," he confirmed.

Richard stared at him in disbelief, as though he were unable to take the Italian doctor's words in. Then, "My God – what was it? Heart failure?" he asked.

"I – I suppose so," replied Carelli somewhat doubtfully.

Barbara moved to her aunt to comfort her, for Miss Amory seemed about to faint. Edward Raynor joined them, helping to support Miss Amory, and whispering to Barbara as he did so, "I suppose that fellow is a real doctor?"

"Yes, but only an Italian one," Barbara murmured in reply, as between them they settled Miss Amory into a chair. Overhearing Barbara's remark, Poirot shook his head energetically. Then, stroking his luxuriant moustache with exquisite care, he smiled as he commented softly, "Me, I am a detective – but only a Belgian one. Nevertheless, madame, we foreigners do arrive at the correct answer occasionally."

Barbara had the grace to look at least a trifle embarrassed. She and Raynor remained in conversation for a few moments, but then Lucia approached Poirot, taking his arm and drawing him aside from the others.

"Monsieur Poirot," she urged him breathlessly, "you must stay! You must not let them send you away."

Poirot regarded her steadily. His face remained quite impassive as he asked her, "Is it that you wish me to stay, madame?"

"Yes, yes," replied Lucia, glancing anxiously towards the body of Sir Claud, still seated in its upright position in the arm-chair. "There's something wrong about all this. My father-in-law's heart was perfectly all right. Perfectly, I tell you. Please, Monsieur Poirot, you must find out what has happened."

Dr Carelli and Richard Amory continued to hover near the body of Sir Claud. Richard, in an agony of indecision, appeared to be almost petrified into immobility. "I would suggest, Mr Amory," Dr Carelli urged him, "that you send for your father's own physician. I assume he had one?"

Richard roused himself with an effort. "What? Oh, yes," he responded. "Dr Graham. Young Kenneth Graham. He has a practice in the village. In fact, he's rather keen on my cousin Barbara. I mean – sorry, that's irrelevant, isn't it?" Glancing across the room at Barbara, he called to her.

"What's Kenneth Graham's phone number?"

"Market Cleve five," Barbara told him. Richard moved to the phone, lifted the receiver and asked for the number.

While he was waiting to be connected, Edward Raynor, recalling his secretarial duties, asked Richard, "Do you think I should order the car for Monsieur Poirot?"

Poirot spread out his hands apologetically. He was about to speak when Lucia forestalled him. "Monsieur Poirot is remaining – at my request," she announced to the company in general.

Still holding the telephone receiver to his ear, Richard turned, startled. "What do you mean?" he asked his wife tersely.

"Yes, yes, Richard, he must stay," Lucia insisted. Her voice sounded almost hysterical.

Miss Amory looked up in consternation, Barbara and Edward Raynor exchanged worried glances, Dr Carelli stood looking down thoughtfully at the lifeless body of the great scientist, while Hastings, who had been absentmindedly examining the books on the library shelves, turned to survey the gathering.

Richard was about to respond to Lucia's outburst when his attention was claimed by the telephone he was holding.

"Oh, what… Is that Dr Graham?" he asked. "Kenneth, it's Richard Amory speaking. My father has had a heart attack. Can you come up at once?… Well, actually, I'm afraid there's nothing to be done… Yes, he's dead… No… I'm afraid so… Thank you." Replacing the receiver, he crossed the room to his wife and, in a low, agitated voice, muttered, "Lucia, are you mad? What have you done? Don't you realize we must get rid of this detective?"

Astonished, Lucia rose from her chair. "What do you mean?" she asked Richard.

Their exchange continued quietly but urgently. "Didn't you hear what Father said?" His tone fraught with meaning, he murmured, "The coffee is very bitter."

At first, Lucia seemed not to understand. "'The coffee is very bitter?'" she repeated. She looked at Richard uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then suddenly uttered a cry of horror which she quickly stifled.

"You see? Do you understand now?" Richard asked.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, "He's been poisoned. And obviously by a member of the family. You don't want a ghastly scandal, do you?"

"Oh, my God," murmured Lucia, staring straight in front of her. "Oh, merciful God."

Turning away from her, Richard approached Poirot.

"Monsieur Poirot -" he began, and then hesitated.

"M'sieu?" Poirot queried politely.

Summoning up his determination, Richard continued, "Monsieur Poirot, I'm afraid I do not quite understand what it is that my wife has asked you to investigate."

Poirot considered for a moment before replying. Then, smiling pleasantly, he answered, "Shall we say, the theft of a document? That, mademoiselle tells me," he continued, gesturing towards Barbara, "is what I was called down for."

Casting a glance of reproach at Barbara, Richard told Poirot, "The document in question has been returned."

"Has it?" asked Poirot, his smile becoming rather enigmatic.

The little detective suddenly had the attention of everyone present, as he moved to the table in the center of the room and looked at the envelope still lying on it, which had been generally forgotten in the excitement and commotion caused by the discovery of Sir Claud's death.

"What do you mean?" Richard Amory asked Hercule Poirot.

Poirot gave a flamboyant twist to his moustache and carefully brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. Then, "It is just a – no doubt foolish – idea of mine," the little detective finally replied. "You see, someone told me the other day a most amusing story. The story of the empty bottle – there was nothing in it."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand you," Richard Amory declared.

Picking up the envelope from the table, Poirot murmured, "I just wondered…" He glanced at Richard, who took the envelope from him, and looked inside.

"It's empty!" Richard exclaimed. Screwing up the envelope, he threw it on the table and looked searchingly at Lucia, who moved away from him.

"Then," he continued uncertainly, "I suppose we must be searched – we…" Richard's voice trailed away, and he looked around the room as though seeking guidance. He was met with looks of confusion from Barbara and her aunt, indignation from Edward Raynor and blandness from Dr Carelli. Lucia continued to avoid his eye.

"Why do you not take my advice, monsieur?" Poirot suggested. "Do nothing until the doctor comes. Tell me," he asked, pointing towards the study, "that doorway, where does he go?"