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“Was that the only reason you planned this—to see whether it could be done unnoticed?”
“Well, not quite, perhaps. I had one other aim.”
“Yes?”
“I wanted to watch the expression on one person’s face when Sir Charles fell dead.”
“Which person’s?” said Egg sharply.
“Ah, that is my secret.”
“And you did watch that person’s face?” asked Mr. Satterthwaite.
“Yes.”
“Well?”
Poirot did not reply. He merely shook his head.
“Won’t you tell us what you saw there?”
Poirot said slowly:
“I saw an expression of the utmost surprise….”
Egg drew her breath in sharply.
“You mean,” she said, “that you know who the murderer is?”
“You can put it that way if you like, mademoiselle.”
“But then—but then—you know everything?”
Poirot shook his head.
“No; on the contrary I know nothing at all. For, you see, I do not know why Stephen Babbington was killed. Until I know that I can prove nothing, I can know nothing…It all hinges on that—the motive for Stephen Babbington’s death….”
There was a knock at the door and a page entered with a telegram on a tray.
Poirot opened it. His face changed. He handed the telegram to Sir Charles. Leaning over Sir Charles’s shoulder, Egg read it aloud:
“Please come and see me at once can give you valuable information as to Bartholomew Strange’s death—Margaret Rushbridger.”
“Mrs. de Rushbridger!” cried Sir Charles. “We were right after all. She has got something to do with the case.”
Twelve
DAY AT GILLING
I
At once an excited discussion sprang up. An A.B.C. was produced. It was decided that an early train would be better than going by car.
“At last,” said Sir Charles, “we’re going to get that particular part of the mystery cleared up.”
“What do you think the mystery is?” asked Egg.
“I can’t imagine. But it can’t fail to throw some light on the Babbington affair. If Tollie got those people together on purpose, as I feel pretty sure he did, then the ‘surprise’ he talked of springing on them had something to do with this Rushbridger woman. I think we can assume that, don’t you, M. Poirot?”
