Problem at Pollensa Bay and Other Stories

The applause broke out frenziedly. The lights went up. Barton Russell came back and slipped into his seat. "She's great, that girl -" cried Tony. But his words were cut short by a low cry from Lola. "Look - look..." And then they all saw. Pauline Weatherby dropped forward onto the table. Lola cried: "She's dead - just like Iris - like Iris in New York." Poirot sprang from his seat, signing to the others to keep back. He bent over the huddled form, very gently lifted a limp hand and felt for a pulse. His face was white and stern. The others watched him. They were paralyzed, held in a trance. Slowly, Poirot nodded his head. "Yes, she is dead - la pauvre petite. And I sitting by her! Ah! but this time the murderer shall not escape." Barton Russell, his face gray, muttered: "Just like Iris... She saw something - Pauline saw something that night - Only she wasn't sure - she told me she wasn't sure... We must get the police... Oh, God, little Pauline." Poirot said: "Where is her glass?" He raised it to his nose. "Yes, I can smell the cyanide. A smell of bitter almonds... the same method, the same poison... " He picked up her handbag. "Let us look in her handbag." Barton Russell cried out: "You don't believe this is suicide, too? Not on your life." "Wait," Poirot commanded. "No, there is nothing here. The lights went up, you see, too quickly, the murderer had not time. Therefore, the poison is still on him." "Or her," said Carter. He was looking at Lola Valdez. She spat out: "What do you mean - what do you say? That I killed her - eet is not true - not true - why should I do such a thing?" "You had rather a fancy for Barton Russell yourself in New York. That's the gossip I heard. Argentine beauties are notoriously jealous." "That ees a pack of lies. And I do not come from the Argentine. I come from Peru. Ah - I spit upon you. I -" She relapsed into Spanish. "I demand silence," cried Poirot. "It is for me to speak." Barton Russell said heavily: "Everyone must be searched." Poirot said calmly, "Non, non, it is not necessary." "What d'you mean, not necessary?" "I, Hercule Poirot, know. I see with the eyes of the mind. And I will speak! M. Carter, will you show us the packet in your breast pocket?" "There's nothing in my pocket. What the hell -" "Tony, my good friend, if you will be so obliging." Carter cried out: "Damn you -" Tony flipped the packet neatly out before Carter could defend himself. "There you are, M. Poirot, just as you said!" "It's a damned lie," cried Carter. Poirot picked up the packet, read the label. "Cyanide of potassium. The case is complete." Barton Russell's voice came thickly. "Carter! I always thought so. Iris was in love with you. She wanted to go away with you. You didn't want a scandal for the sake of your precious career so you poisoned her. You'll hang for this, you dirty dog." "Silence!" Poirot's voice rang out, firm and authoritative. "This is not finished yet. I, Hercule Poirot, have something to say. My friend here, Tony Chapell, he says to me when I arrive, that I have come in search of crime. That, it is partly true. There was crime in my mind - but it was to prevent a crime that I came. And I have prevented it. The murderer, he planned well - but Hercule Poirot he was one move ahead. He had to think fast, and to whisper quickly in Mademoiselle's ear when the lights went down. She is very quick and clever, Mademoiselle Pauline, she played her part well. Mademoiselle, will you be so kind as to show us that you are not dead after all?" Pauline sat up. She gave an unsteady laugh. "Resurrection of Pauline," she said. "Pauline - darling." "Tony!" "My sweet." "Angel." Barton Russell gasped. "I - I don't understand..." "I will help you to understand, Mr Barton Russell. Your plan has miscarried." "My plan?" "Yes, your plan. Who was the only man who had an alibi during the darkness? The man who left the table - you, Mr Barton Russell. But you returned to it under cover of the darkness, circling round it, with a champagne bottle, filling up glasses, putting cyanide in Pauline's glass and dropping the half empty packet in Carter's pocket as you bent over him to remove a glass. Oh, yes, it is easy to play the part of a waiter in darkness when the attention of everyone is elsewhere. That was the real reason for your party tonight. The safest place to commit a murder is in the middle of a crowd." "What the - why the hell should I want to kill Pauline?" "It might be, perhaps, a question of money. Your wife left you guardian to her sister. You mentioned that fact tonight. Pauline is twenty. At twenty-one or on her marriage you would have to render an account of your stewardship. I suggest that you could not do that. You have speculated with it. I do not know, Mr Barton Russell, whether you killed your wife in the same way, or whether her suicide suggested the idea of this crime to you, but I do know that tonight you have been guilty of attempted murder. It rests with Miss Pauline whether you are prosecuted for that." "No," said Pauline. "He can get out of my sight and out of this country. I don't want a scandal." "You had better go quickly, Mr Barton Russell, and I advise you to be careful in future." Barton Russell got up, his face working. "To hell with you, you interfering little Belgian jackanapes." He strode out angrily. Pauline sighed. "M. Poirot, you've been wonderful... " "You, Mademoiselle, you have been the marvelous one. To pour away the champagne, to act the dead body so prettily." "Ugh," she shivered, "you give me the creeps." He said gently: "It was you who telephoned me, was it not?" "Yes." "Why?" "I don't know. I was worried and - frightened without knowing quite why I was frightened. Barton told me he was having this party to commemorate Iris' death. I realized he had some scheme on - but he wouldn't tell me what it was. He looked so - so queer and so excited that I felt something terrible might happen - only of course I never dreamed that he meant to - to get rid of me." "And so, Mademoiselle?" "I'd heard people talking about you. I thought if I could only get you here perhaps it would stop anything happening. I thought that being foreigner - if I rang up and pretended to be in danger and - and made it sound mysterious -" "You thought the melodrama, it would attract me? That is what puzzled me. The message itself - definitely it was what you call 'bogus' - it did not ring true. But the fear in the voice - that was real. Then I came - and you denied very categorically having sent me a message." "I had to. Besides, I didn't want you to know it was me." "Ah, but I was fairly sure of that! Not at first. But I soon realized that the only two people who could know about the yellow irises on the table were you or Mr Barton Russell." Pauline nodded. "I heard him ordering them to be put on the table," she explained. "That, and his ordering a table for six when I knew only five were coming, made me suspect -" She stopped, biting her lip. "What did you suspect, Mademoiselle?" She said slowly: "I was afraid - of something happening - to Mr Carter." Stephen Carter cleared his throat. Unhurriedly but quite decisively he rose from the table. "Er - h'm - I have to - er - thank you, Mr Poirot. I owe you a great deal. You'll excuse I'm sure, if I leave you. Tonight's happenings have been - rather upsetting." Looking after his retreating figure, Pauline said violently: "I hate him. I've always thought it was because of him that Iris killed herself. Or perhaps - Barton killed her. Oh, it's all so hateful -" Poirot said gently: "Forget, Mademoiselle... forget. Let the past go. Think only of the present -" Pauline murmured, "Yes - you're right." Poirot turned to Lola Valdez. "Señora, as the evening advances I become more brave. If you would dance with me..." "Oh, yes, indeed. You are - you are ze cat's whiskers, M. Poirot. I inseest on dancing with you." "You are too kind, Señora." Tony and Pauline were alone. They leant towards each other across the table. "Darling Pauline." "Tony, I've been a nasty spiteful little cat to you all evening. Can you ever forgive me?" "My angel! They're playing our song again. Let's dance." They danced off, smiling at each other and humming softly: