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‘You mean she can’t do without it?’
‘Non, non. Mademoiselle Nick is not a addict. Sometimes—for fun—that is all. But tonight she needed it for a different purpose. It will be a full dose this time.’
‘You mean—?’ I gasped.
‘It is the best way. Better than the hangman’s rope. But pst! we must not say so before M. Vyse who is all for law and order. Officially I know nothing. The contents of the wrist-watch—it is the merest guess on my part.’
‘Your guesses are always right, M. Poirot,’ said Frederica.
‘I must be going,’ said Charles Vyse, cold disapproval in his attitude as he left the room.
Poirot looked from Frederica to Lazarus.
‘You are going to get married—eh?’
‘As soon as we can.’
‘And indeed, M. Poirot,’ said Frederica. ‘I am not the drug-taker you think. I have cut myself down to a tiny dose. I think now—with happiness in front of me—I shall not need a wrist-watch any more.’
‘I hope you will have happiness, Madame,’ said Poirot. gently. ‘You have suffered a great deal. And in spite of everything you have suffered, you have still the quality of mercy in your heart…’
‘I will look after her,’ said Lazarus. ‘My business is in a bad way, but I believe I shall pull through. And if I don’t—well, Frederica does not mind being poor—with me.’
She shook her head, smiling.
‘It is late,’ said Poirot, looking at the clock.
We all rose.
‘We have spent a strange night in this strange house,’ Poirot went on. ‘It is, I think, as Ellen says, an evil house…’
He looked up at the picture of old Sir Nicholas.
Then, with a sudden gesture, he drew Lazarus aside.
‘I ask your pardon, but, of all my questions, there is one still unanswered. Tell me, why did you offer fifty pounds for that picture? It would give me much pleasure to know—so as, you comprehend, to leave nothing unanswered.’
Lazarus looked at him with an impassive face for a minute or two. Then he smiled.
‘You see, M. Poirot,’ he said. ‘I am a dealer.’
‘Exactly.’
‘That picture is not worth a penny more than twenty pounds. I knew that if I offered Nick fifty, she would immediately suspect it was worth more and would get it valued elsewhere. Then she would find that I had offered her far more than it was worth. The next time I offered to buy a picture she would not have got it valued.’
‘Yes, and then?’
‘The picture on the far wall is worth at least five thousand pounds,’ said Lazarus drily.
‘Ah!’ Poirot drew a long breath.
‘Now I know everything,’ he said happily.
