Agatha Christie - Black Coffee

"And to think, when I was a girl, I was strictly forbidden to eat caramels because of the Beeswax – I mean Beemax. Times change, you know. Times do change."

Though he attempted to disguise the fact, by now Dr Carelli was positively fuming. "Yes, yes, Miss Amory," he replied as politely as he could manage. Moving towards her, he tried a somewhat more direct approach. "I think your niece is calling you."

"Calling me?"

"Yes. Do you not hear?"

Miss Amory listened. "No – no," she confessed. "How curious." She rolled up her knitting. "You must have keen ears, Dr Carelli. Not that my hearing is bad. Indeed, I've been told that -"

She dropped her ball of wool, and Carelli picked it up for her. "Thank you so much," she said. "All the Amorys have keen hearing, you know." She rose from the settee. "My father kept his faculties in the most remarkable way. He could read without glasses when he was eighty." She dropped the ball of wool again, and again Carelli stooped to retrieve it for her.

"Oh, thank you so much," Miss Amory continued. "A remarkable man, Dr Carelli. My father, I mean. Such a remarkable man. He always slept in a four-poster featherbed; and the windows of his bedroom were never opened. The night air, he used to say, was most injurious. Unfortunately, when he had an attack of gout he was nursed by a young woman who insisted on the window being opened at the top, and my poor father died of it."

She dropped the ball of wool yet again. This time, after picking it up, Carelli planted it firmly in her hand and led her to the door. Miss Amory moved slowly, talking all the time. "I do not care at all for hospital nurses, Dr Carelli," she informed him. "They gossip about their cases, they drink far too much tea, and they always upset the servants."

"Very true, dear lady, very true," Carelli agreed hastily, opening the door for her.

"Thank you so much," Miss Amory said as he propelled her out of the room. Shutting the door after her, Carelli moved quickly to the desk and lifted the telephone receiver. After a pause, he spoke into it softly but urgently. "This is Market Cleve three-oh-four. I want London… Soho double-eight-five-three… no, five-three, that's right… Eh?… Will you call me?… Right."

He replaced the receiver and then stood biting his nails impatiently. After a moment he crossed to the door of the study, opened it, and entered the room. Hardly had he done so, when Edward Raynor came into the library from the hall. Glancing around the room, Raynor strolled casually to the fireplace. He touched the vase of spills on the mantelpiece, and as he did so, Carelli strolled into the room again from the study. As Carelli closed the study door, Raynor turned and saw him.

"I didn't know you were in here," said the secretary.

"I'm waiting for a phone call," Carelli explained.

"Oh!"

After a pause, Carelli spoke again. "When did the police inspector come?"

"About twenty minutes ago, I believe. Have you seen him?"

"Only in the distance," replied Carelli.

"He's a Scotland Yard man," Raynor informed him. "Apparently, he happened to be down in the neighbourhood clearing up some other case, so he was called in by the local police."

"That was a piece of luck, eh?" observed Carelli.

"Wasn't it?" The telephone rang, and Raynor moved towards it. Walking quickly ahead of him to the phone, Carelli said, "I think that will be my call." He looked at Raynor. "I wonder if you'd mind -"

"Certainly, my dear fellow," the secretary assured him. "I'll clear out."

Raynor left the room, and Carelli lifted the receiver. He spoke quietly. "Hello?… Is that Miguel?… Yes?… No, damn it, I haven't. It's been impossible… No, you don't understand, the old gentleman died last night… I'm leaving at once… Japp's here… Japp. You know, the Scotland Yard man… No, I've not met him yet… I hope so, too… At the usual place, nine-thirty tonight… Right."

Replacing the receiver, Carelli moved to the recess, picked up his suitcase, put on his hat, and went towards the French windows. At that moment, Hercule Poirot entered from the garden, and he and Carelli collided. "I beg your pardon," said the Italian.

"Not at all," replied Poirot politely, continuing to block the way out.

"If you would allow me to pass -"

"Impossible," said Poirot mildly. "Quite impossible."

"I insist."

"I shouldn't," murmured Poirot with a friendly smile.

Suddenly, Carelli charged at Poirot. The little detective stepped briskly aside, tripping Carelli up neatly with an unexpected movement, and taking the Italian doctor's suitcase from him at the same time. At that moment, Japp slid into the room behind Poirot, and Carelli fell into the Inspector's arms.

"Hello, what's all this?" exclaimed Inspector Japp, "Why, bless me if it isn't Tonio!"

"Ah!" Poirot gave a little laugh as he moved away from them both. "I thought, my dear Japp, that you would probably be able to give a name to this gentleman."

"Oh, I know all about him," Japp affirmed. "Tonio's quite a public character. Aren't you, Tonio? I'll bet you were surprised at Monsieur Poirot's move just then. What do you call that stuff, Poirot? Ju-jitsu or such-like, isn't it? Poor old Tonio!"

As Poirot placed the Italian's suitcase on the table and opened it, Carelli growled at Japp, "You've got nothing against me. You can't hold me."

"I wonder," said the Inspector. "I'll bet we won't have far to look for the man who stole that formula, and did in the old gentleman." Turning to Poirot, he added, "That formula is absolutely bang in Tonio's line, and since we've found him trying to make a getaway, I shouldn't be surprised if he's got the goods on him this minute."

"I agree with you," declared Poirot.

Japp ran his hands over Carelli, while Poirot went through the suitcase.

"Well?" Japp asked Poirot.

"Nothing," the detective replied, closing the suitcase. "Nothing. I am disappointed."

"You think yourselves very clever, do you not?" snarled Carelli. "But I could tell you -"

Poirot interrupted him, speaking quietly and significantly. "You could, perhaps, but it would be very unwise."

Startled, Carelli exclaimed, "What do you mean?"

"Monsieur Poirot's quite right," Japp declared. "You'd better keep your mouth shut." Moving to the hall door, he opened it and called, "Johnson!" The young constable put his head around the door. "Get the whole family together for me, will you?" Japp asked him. "I want them all here."

"Yes, sir," said Johnson as he left the room.

"I protest! I -" Carelli gasped. Suddenly, he grabbed his suitcase and made a dash towards the French windows.

Japp rushed after him, grabbed him, and threw him onto the settee, taking the suitcase from him as he did so. "No one's hurt you yet, so don't squeal," Japp barked at the now thoroughly cowed Italian.

Poirot strolled towards the French windows. "Please don't go away now, Poirot," Japp called after him, putting Carelli's suitcase down by the coffee-table. "This should be very interesting."

"No, no, my dear Japp, I am not leaving," Poirot assured him. "I shall be right here. This family gathering, as you say, will be most interesting indeed."

A few minutes later, when the Amory family began to assemble in the library, Carelli was still seated on the settee, looking rather sullen, while Poirot continued to hover by the French windows. Barbara Amory, with Hastings in tow, returned from the garden through the French windows, and Barbara moved to share the settee with Carelli, while Hastings went to stand by Poirot's side. Poirot whispered to his colleague, "It would be helpful, Hastings, if you would make a note – a mental note, you understand – of where they all choose to sit."