After various questions on other matters, Mr. Philips asked:
“In the month of June last, do you remember a parcel arriving for Mr. Lawrence Cavendish from Parkson’s?”
Dorcas shook her head.
“I don’t remember, sir. It may have done, but Mr. Lawrence was away from home part of June.”
“In the event of a parcel arriving for him whilst he was away, what would be done with it?”
“It would either be put in his room or sent on after him.”
“By you?”
“No, sir, I should leave it on the hall table. It would be Miss Howard who would attend to anything like that.”
Evelyn Howard was called and, after being examined on other points, was questioned as to the parcel.
“Don’t remember. Lots of parcels come. Can’t remember one special one.”
“You do not know if it was sent after Mr. Lawrence Cavendish to Wales, or whether it was put in his room?”
“Don’t think it was sent after him. Should have remembered it if it was.”
“Supposing a parcel arrived addressed to Mr. Lawrence Cavendish, and afterwards it disappeared, should you remark its absence?”
“No, don’t think so. I should think some one had taken charge of it.”
“I believe, Miss Howard, that it was you who found this sheet of brown paper?” He held up the same dusty piece which Poirot and I had examined in the morning-room at Styles.
“Yes, I did.”
“How did you come to look for it?”
“The Belgian detective who was employed on the case asked me to search for it.”
“Where did you eventually discover it?”
“On the top of--of--a wardrobe.”
“On top of the prisoner’s wardrobe?”
“I--I believe so.”
“Did you not find it yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must know where you found it?”
“Yes, it was on the prisoner’s wardrobe.”
“That is better.”
An assistant from Parkson’s, Theatrical Costumiers, testified that on June 29th, they had supplied a black beard to Mr. L. Cavendish, as requested. It was ordered by letter, and a postal order was enclosed. No, they had not kept the letter. All transactions were entered in their books. They had sent the beard, as directed, to “L. Cavendish, Esq., Styles Court.”
Sir Ernest Heavywether rose ponderously.
“Where was the letter written from?”
“From Styles Court.”
“The same address to which you sent the parcel?”
“Yes.”
“And the letter came from there?”
“Yes.”
Like a beast of prey, Heavywether fell upon him:
“How do you know?”
“I--I don’t understand.”
“How do you know that letter came from Styles? Did you notice the postmark?”
“No--but--”
“Ah, you did not notice the postmark! And yet you affirm so confidently that it came from Styles. It might, in fact, have been any postmark?”
“Y--es.”
“In fact, the letter, though written on stamped notepaper, might have been posted from anywhere? From Wales, for instance?”
The witness admitted that such might be the case, and Sir Ernest signified that he was satisfied.
Elizabeth Wells, second housemaid at Styles, stated that after she had gone to bed she remembered that she had bolted the front door, instead of leaving it on the latch as Mr. Inglethorp had requested. She had accordingly gone downstairs again to rectify her error. Hearing a slight noise in the West wing, she had peeped along the passage, and had seen Mr. John Cavendish knocking at Mrs. Inglethorp’s door.
Sir Ernest Heavywether made short work of her, and under his unmerciful bullying she contradicted herself hopelessly, and Sir Ernest sat down again with a satisfied smile on his face.
With the evidence of Annie, as to the candle grease on the floor, and as to seeing the prisoner take the coffee into the boudoir, the proceedings were adjourned until the following day.
As we went home, Mary Cavendish spoke bitterly against the prosecuting counsel.
“That hateful man! What a net he has drawn around my poor John! How he twisted every little fact until he made it seem what it wasn’t!”
“Well,” I said consolingly, “it will be the other way about tomorrow.”
“Yes,” she said meditatively; then suddenly dropped her voice. “Mr. Hastings, you do not think--surely it could not have been Lawrence--Oh, no, that could not be!”
But I myself was puzzled, and as soon as I was alone with Poirot I asked him what he thought Sir Ernest was driving at.
“Ah!” said Poirot appreciatively. “He is a clever man, that Sir Ernest.”
“Do you think he believes Lawrence guilty?”
“I do not think he believes or cares anything! No, what he is trying for is to create such confusion in the minds of the jury that they are divided in their opinion as to which brother did it. He is endeavouring to make out that there is quite as much evidence against Lawrence as against John--and I am not at all sure that he will not succeed.”
Detective-inspector Japp was the first witness called when the trial was reopened, and gave his evidence succinctly and briefly. After relating the earlier events, he proceeded:
“Acting on information received, Superintendent Summerhaye and myself searched the prisoner’s room, during his temporary absence from the house. In his chest of drawers, hidden beneath some underclothing, we found: first, a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez similar to those worn by Mr. Inglethorp”--these were exhibited--”secondly, this phial.”
The phial was that already recognized by the chemist’s assistant, a tiny bottle of blue glass, containing a few grains of a white crystalline powder, and labelled: “Strychnine Hydrochloride. POISON.”
A fresh piece of evidence discovered by the detectives since the police court proceedings was a long, almost new piece of blotting-paper. It had been found in Mrs. Inglethorp’s cheque book, and on being reversed at a mirror, showed clearly the words: “... erything of which I die possessed I leave to my beloved husband Alfred Ing ...” This placed beyond question the fact that the destroyed will had been in favour of the deceased lady’s husband. Japp then produced the charred fragment of paper recovered from the grate, and this, with the discovery of the beard in the attic, completed his evidence.
But Sir Ernest’s cross-examination was yet to come.
“What day was it when