Chapter 17 – A Box of Chocolates

All the way to the nursing home Poirot murmured and muttered to himself. He was full of self-reproach.

'I should have known,' he groaned. 'I should have known! And yet, what could I do? I took every precaution. It is impossible-impossible. No one could get to her! Who has disobeyed my orders?'

At the nursing home we were shown into a little room downstairs, and after a few minutes Dr Graham came to us. He looked exhausted and white.

'She'll do,' he said. 'It's going to be all right. The trouble was knowing how much she'd taken of the damned stuff.'

'What was it?' 'Cocaine.' 'She will live?' 'Yes, yes, she'll live.'

'But how did it happen? How did they get at her? Who has been allowed in?' Poirot fairly danced with impotent excitement.

'Nobody has been allowed in.'

'Impossible.'

'It's true.'

'But then-'

'It was a box of chocolates.'

'Ah! Sacre. And I told her to eat nothing-nothing -that came from outside.'

'I don't know about that. It's hard work keeping a girl from a box of chocolates. She only ate one, thank goodness.'

'Was the cocaine in all the chocolates?'

'No. The girl ate one. There were two others in the top layer. The rest were all right.'

'How was it done?'

'Quite clumsily. Chocolate cut in half-the cocaine mixed with the filling and the chocolate stuck together again. Amateurishly. What you might call a homemade job.'

Poirot groaned.

'Ah! if I knew-if I knew. Can I see Mademoiselle?'

'If you come back in an hour I think you can see her,' said the doctor. 'Pull yourself together, man. She isn't going to die.'

For another hour we walked the streets of St Loo. I did my best to distract Poirot's mind-pointing out to him that all was well, that, after all, no mischief had been done.

But he only shook his head, and repeated at intervals: 'I am afraid, Hastings, I am afraid...'

And the strange way he said it made me, too, feel afraid.

Once he caught me by the arm.

'Listen, my friend. I am all wrong. I have been all wrong from the beginning.'

'You mean it isn't the money-'

'No, no, I am right about that. Oh, yes. But those two-it is too simple-too easy, that. There is another twist still. Yes, there is something!'

And then in an outburst of indignation: 'Ah! cette petite! Did I not forbid her? Did I not say, "Do not touch anything from outside?" And she disobeys me-me, Hercule Poirot. Are not four escapes from death enough for her? Must she take a fifth chance? Ah, c'est in oui!'

At last we made our way back. After a brief wait we were conducted upstairs.

Nick was sitting up in bed. The pupils of her eyes were widely dilated. She looked feverish and her hands kept twitching violently.

'At it again,' she murmured.

Poirot experienced real emotion at the sight of her. He cleared his throat and took her hand in his.

'Ah! Mademoiselle-Mademoiselle.'

'I shouldn't care,' she said, defiantly, 'if they had got me this time. I'm sick of it all-sick of it!'

'Pauvre petite!'

'Something in me doesn't like to give them best!'

'That is the spirit-le sport-you must be the good sport, Mademoiselle.'

'Your old nursing home hasn't been so safe after all,' said Nick.

'If you had obeyed orders, Mademoiselle-'

She looked faintly astonished.

'But I have.'

'Did I not impress upon you that you were to eat nothing that came from outside?'

'No more I did.'

'But these chocolates-'

'Well, they were all right. You sent them.'

'What is that you say, Mademoiselle?'

'You sent them!'

'Me? Never. Never anything of the kind.'

'But you did. Your card was in the box.'

'What?'

Nick made a spasmodic gesture towards the table by the bed. The nurse came forward.

'You want the card that was in the box?' 'Yes, please, nurse.'

There was a moment's pause. The nurse returned to the room with it in her hand.

'Here it is.'

I gasped. So did Poirot. For on the card, in flourishing handwriting, were written the same words that I had seen Poirot inscribe on the card that accompanied the basket of flowers.

'With the Compliments of Hercule Poirot.'

'Sacre tonnerre!'

'You see,' said Nick, accusingly.

'I did not write this!' cried Poirot.

'What?'

'And yet,' murmured Poirot, 'and yet it is my handwriting.'

'I know. It's exactly the same as the card that came with the orange carnations. I never doubted that the chocolates came from you.'

Poirot shook his head.

'How should you doubt? Oh! the devil! The clever, cruel devil! To think of that! Ah! but he has genius, this man, genius! "With the Compliments of Hercule Poirot." So simple. Yes, but one had to think of it. And I-I did not think. I omitted to foresee this move.'

Nick moved restlessly.

'Do not agitate yourself, Mademoiselle. You are blameless-blameless. It is I that am to blame, miserable imbecile that I am! I should have foreseen this move. Yes, I should have foreseen it.'

His chin dropped on his breast. He looked the picture of misery.

'I really think-' said the nurse.

She had been hovering nearby, a disapproving expression on her face.

'Eh? Yes, yes, I will go. Courage, Mademoiselle. This is the last mistake I will make. I am ashamed, desolated-I have been tricked, outwitted-as though I were a little schoolboy. But it shall not happen again. No. I promise you. Come, Hastings.'

Poirot's first proceeding was to interview the matron. She was, naturally, terribly upset over the whole business.

'It seems incredible to me, M. Poirot, absolutely incredible. That a thing like that should happen in my nursing home.'

Poirot was sympathetic and tactful. Having soothed her sufficiently, he began to inquire into the circumstance of the arrival of the fatal packet. Here, the matron declared, he would do best to interview the orderly who had been on duty at the time of its arrival.

The man in question, whose name was Hood, was a stupid but honest-looking young fellow of about twenty-two. He looked nervous and frightened. Poirot put him at his ease, however.

'No blame can be attached to you,' he said kindly. 'But I want you to tell me exactly when and how this parcel arrived.'

The orderly looked puzzled.

'It's difficult to say, sir,' he said, slowly. 'Lots of people come and inquire and leave things for the different patients.'

'The nurse says this came last night,' I said. 'About six o'clock.'

The lad's face brightened.

'I do remember, now, sir. A gentleman brought it.'

'A thin-faced gentleman-fair-haired?'

'He was fair-haired-but I don't know about thin-faced.'

'Would Charles Vyse bring it himself?' I murmured to Poirot.

I had forgotten that the lad would know a local name.

'It wasn't Mr Vyse,' he said. 'I know him. It was a bigger gentleman-handsome-looking-came in a big car.'

'Lazarus,' I exclaimed.

Poirot shot me a warning glance and I regretted my precipitance.

'He came in a large car and he left this parcel. It was addressed to Miss Buckley?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And what did you do with it?'

'I didn't touch it, sir. Nurse took it up.'

'Quite so, but you touched it when you took it from the gentleman, n'est ce pas?' 'Oh! that, yes, of course, sir. I took it from him and put it on the table.' 'Which table? Show me, if you please.'

The orderly led us into the hall. The front door was open. Close to it, in the hall, was a long marble-topped table on which lay letters and parcels.

'Everything that comes is put on here, sir. Then the nurses take things up to the patients.'

'Do you remember what time this parcel was left?'

'Must have been about five-thirty, or a little after. I know the post had just been, and that's usually at about half-past five. It was a pretty busy afternoon, a lot of people leaving flowers and coming to see patients.'

'Thank you. Now, I think, we will see the nurse who took up the parcel.'

This proved to be one of the probationers, a fluffy little person all agog with excitement. She remembered taking the parcel up at six o'clock when she came on duty.

'Six o'clock,' murmured Poirot. 'Then it must have been twenty minutes or so that the parcel was lying on the table downstairs.'

'Pardon?'

'Nothing, Mademoiselle. Continue. You took the parcel to Miss Buckley?'

'Yes, there were several things for her. There was this box and some flowers also-sweet peas-from a Mr and Mrs Croft, I think. I took them up at the same time. And there was a parcel that had come by post-and curiously enough that was a box of Fuller's chocolates also.'

'Comment? A second box?'

'Yes, rather a coincidence. Miss Buckley opened them both. She said: "Oh! what a shame. I'm not allowed to eat them." Then she opened the lids to look inside and see if they were both just the same, and your card was in one and she said, "Take the other impure box away, nurse. I might have got them mixed up." Oh! dear, whoever would have thought of such a thing? Seems like an Edgar Wallace, doesn't it?'

Poirot cut short this flood of speech.

'Two boxes, you say? From whom was the other box?'

'There was no name inside.'

'And which was the one that came-that had the appearance of coming-from me? The one by post or the other?'

'I declare now-I can't remember. Shall I go up and ask Miss Buckley?'

'If you would be so amiable.'

She ran up the stairs.

'Two boxes,' murmured Poirot. 'There is confusion for you.'

The nurse returned breathless.

'Miss Buckley isn't sure. She unwrapped them both before she looked inside. But she thinks it wasn't the box that came by post.'

'Eh?' said Poirot, a little confused.

'The box from you was the one that didn't come by post. At least she thinks so, but she isn't quite sure.'

'Diable!' said Poirot, as we walked away. 'Is no one ever quite sure? In detective books-yes. But life-real life-is always full of muddle. Am I sure, myself, about anything at all? No, no-a thousand times, no.'

'Lazarus,' I said. 

'Yes, that is a surprise, is it not?'

'Shall you say anything to him about it?'

'Assuredly. I shall be interested to see how he takes it. By the way, we might as well exaggerate the serious condition of Mademoiselle. It will do no harm to let it be assumed that she is at death's door. You comprehend? The solemn face-yes, admirable. You resemble closely an undertaker. C'est tout a fait bien.'

We were lucky in finding Lazarus. He was bending over the bonnet of his car outside the hotel.

Poirot went straight up to him.

'Yesterday evening, Monsieur Lazarus, you left a box of chocolates for Mademoiselle,' he began without preamble.

Lazarus looked rather surprised.

'Yes?'

'That was very amiable of you.'

'As a matter of fact they were from Freddie, from Mrs Rice. She asked me to get them.'

'Oh! I see.'

'I took them round in the car.'

'I comprehend.'

He was silent for a minute or two and then said: 'Madame Rice, where is she?'

'I think she's in the lounge.'

We found Frederica having tea. She looked up at us with an anxious face.

'What is this I hear about Nick being taken ill?'

'It is a most mysterious affair, Madame. Tell me, did you send her a box of chocolates yesterday?'

'Yes. At least she asked me to get them for her.'

'She asked you to get them for her?'

'Yes.'

'But she was not allowed to see anyone. How did you see her?'

'I didn't. She telephoned.'

'Ah! And she said-what?'

'Would I get her a two-pound box of Fuller's chocolates.'

'How did her voice sound-weak?'

'No-not at all. Quite strong. But different somehow. I didn't realize it was she speaking at first.'

'Until she told you who she was?'

'Yes.'

'Are you sure, Madame, that it was your friend?'

Frederica looked startled.

'I-I-why, of course it was. Who else could it have been?'

'That is an interesting question, Madame.'

'You don't mean-'

'Could you swear, Madame, that it was your friend's voice-apart from what she said?'

'No,' said Frederica, slowly, 'I couldn't. Her voice was certainly different. I thought it was the phone-or perhaps being ill...'

'If she had not told you who she was, you would not have recognized it?'

'No, no, I don't think I should. Who was it, M. Poirot? Who was it?'

'That is what I mean to know, Madame.'

The graveness of his face seemed to awaken her suspicions.

'Is Nick-has anything happened?' she asked, breathlessly.

Poirot nodded.

'She is ill-dangerously ill. Those chocolates, Madame-were poisoned.'

'The chocolates I sent her? But that's impossible-impossible!'

'Not impossible, Madame, since Mademoiselle is at death's door.'

'Oh, my God.' She hid her face in her hands, then raised it white and quivering. 'I don't understand-I don't understand. The other, yes, but not this. They couldn't be poisoned. Nobody ever touched them but me and Jim. You're making some dreadful mistake, M. Poirot.'

'It is not I that make a mistake-even though my name was in the box.' She stared at him blankly.

'If Mademoiselle Nick dies-' he said, and made a threatening gesture with his hand.

She gave a low cry.

He turned away, and taking me by the arm, went up to the sitting-room.

He flung his hat on the table.

'I understand nothing-but nothing! I am in the dark. I am a little child. Who stands to gain by Mademoiselle's death? Madame Rice. Who buys the chocolates and admits it and tells a story of being rung up on the telephone that cannot hold water for a minute? Madame Rice. It is too simple-too stupid. And she is not stupid-no.'

'Well, then-'

'But she takes cocaine, Hastings. I am certain she takes cocaine. There is no mistaking it. And there was cocaine in those chocolates. And what did she mean when she said, "The other, yes, but not this." It needs explaining, that! And the sleek M. Lazarus-what is he doing in all this? What does she know, Madame Rice? She knows something. But I cannot make her speak. She is not of those you can frighten into speech. But she knows something, Hastings. Is her tale of the telephone true, or did she invent it? If it is true whose voice was it?

'I tell you, Hastings. This is all very black-very black.' 'Always darkest before dawn,' I said reassuringly. He shook his head.

'Then the other box-that came by post. Can we rule that out? No, we cannot, because Mademoiselle is not sure. It is an annoyance, that!'

He groaned.

I was about to speak when he stopped me.

'No, no. Not another proverb. I cannot bear it. If you would be the good friend-the good helpful friend-'

'Yes,' I said eagerly.

'Go out, I beg of you, and buy me some playing cards.'

I stared.

'Very well,' I said coldly.

I could not but suspect that he was making a deliberate excuse to get rid of me.

Here, however, I misjudged him. That night, when I came into the sitting-room about ten o'clock, I found Poirot carefully building card houses-and I remembered!

It was an old trick of his-soothing his nerves. He smiled at me.

'Yes-you remember. One needs the precision. One card on another-so-in exactly the right place and that supports the weight of the card on top and so on, up and up. Go to bed, Hastings. Leave me here, with my house of cards. I clear the mind.'

It was about five in the morning when I was shaken awake. Poirot was standing by my bedside. He looked pleased and happy.

'It was very just what you said, mon ami. Oh! it was very just. More, it was spiritual!'

I blinked at him, being imperfectly awake.

'Always darkest before dawn-that is what you said. It has been very dark-and now it is dawn.'

I looked at the window. He was perfectly right.

'No, no, Hastings. In the head! The mind! The little grey cells!'

He paused and then said quietly: 'You see, Hastings, Mademoiselle is dead.'

'What?' I cried, suddenly wide awake.

'Hush-hush. It is as I say. Not really-bien entendu-but it can be arranged. Yes, for twenty-four hours it can be arranged. I arrange it with the doctor, with the nurses.'

'You comprehend, Hastings? The murderer has been successful. Four times he has tried and failed. The fifth time he has succeeded.'

'And now, we shall see what happens next.. 'It will be very interesting.'

第十七章　一盒巧克力

到休养所去的路上，波洛一直在自言自语地责备自己。

“我应当想到的。”他抱怨地说，“我应当想到的！我还能干些什么呢？我采取了一切预防措施，这不可能——不可能。谁也接触不了她！是谁违反了我的命令呢？”

到了休养所，我们被让进楼下一间小会客室。几分钟后格雷厄姆医生进来了。他看上去精疲力竭，憔悴苍白。

“她不会死的，”他说，“危险期过去了。当时最大的困难是弄不清楚那些该死的东西她究竟吃了多少。”

“什么东西？”

“可卡因。”

“她会恢复得跟以前一样？”

“会的。没有问题。”

“这件事是怎么发生的？他们是怎么跟她接触的？什么人被放进来了？”波洛气咻咻地问。

“谁也没被放进来。”

“不可能！”

“是真的。”

“那怎么会——”

“是一盒巧克力。”

“啊，该死！我交待过她不许吃外边送进来的东西。”

“这我不知道。叫一个女孩子不去碰巧克力是件异想天开的事。她只吃了一块，谢天谢地。”

“所有的巧克力里都有可卡因吗？”

“不，她吃的那块里有，上面那层里还有两块里边也有可卡因。其它的没有。”

“可卡因是怎样放进去的？”

“方法很笨。巧克力被切成两半，把毒药同夹心层混合起来，再把两半巧克力重新粘合在一起。这是生手干的活儿，你们通常称之为‘业余自制品’。”

波洛低声说：

“啊！我要是没弄错的话……我可以去看看尼克小姐吗？”

“如果你过一个小时再来，我想你可以去看她了。”医生说，“别那么失魂落魄的，先生。她不要紧的。”

我们在街上逛了一个钟头。我想尽办法安慰他，我对他说一切正常，并没有出什么无法补救的乱子。

他只是摇摇头，老是说：

“我担心，黑斯廷斯，恐怕……”

他说话的奇怪声调使我也跟着感觉到一种无可名状的害怕。

有一次他位住我的膀子说，“听我说，朋友，我全都错了。从一开头就错了。”

“你是说问题不是出在那笔遗产上？”

“不，不，关于遗产我并没弄错。是的，没错。但是那两个我所怀疑的人……他们的可疑之处太明显了，其中必然还有奥妙！”接着他忿然叫道：“啊，那个丫头！难道我还关照得不够？难道我没叫她不许吃外面送来的东西？她不听话——我，赫尔克里·波洛的金玉良言！四次差点送命还嫌不够，还要再来第五次！噢，多不可思议！”

我们又回到了休养所。稍等了片刻之后，就被领上了楼。

尼克在床上坐着，瞳人散大无光，看上去好像还在发烧，双手微微颤抖。

“又是一次，”她咕噜着说。

见到她波洛真的动了感情。老侦探无限温存地捧着尼克的小手，慈爱地凝视着她，几乎说不出话来。

“噢，小姐呀，小姐……”

“如果他们这次成功了，”她怨恨地哭了，“我也不会在意。我已经厌倦了，是的，我厌倦了。”

“可怜的孩子。”

“但我不想让他们得意。”

“这就对了，是得争这口气，小姐。”

“说到头来，你的休养所也并不安全。”尼克说。

“如果你听了我的话，小姐——”

她惊讶地看着波洛。

“我是听你的话的呀。”

“我不是再三叮嘱过你不能吃外面送进来的东西吗？”

“我也是一直照办的呀。”

“但那些巧克力——”

“那些巧克力有什么呢？是你送来的嘛。”

“你说什么！小姐？”

“巧克力是你送的！”

“我？没有。从来没有送过。”

“是你送的！你的卡片就在盒子里。”

“什么？”

尼克敲敲床边的一张桌子。护士走了过来。

“你要盒子里的那张卡片吗？”

“对，劳驾你给拿一下。”

护士把它拿来了。

“喏，这就是。”

我和波洛同时低呼了一声，因为卡片上用花体字写着：

“赫尔克里·波洛鞠躬致意。”

“见鬼！”

“瞧，”尼克语气中带着责备的意味。

“我没写这个！”波洛说。

“什么？”

“不过，”波洛讷讷地说，“不过这确实是我的笔迹。”

“我认识的。这笔迹和上次同那些桔黄色康乃馨一起送来的卡片上的字迹完全一样。我根本没有疑心这巧克力到底是不是你送的。”

波洛摇摇头。

“你怎么会疑心呢？哦，这魔鬼，狡猾而冷酷的魔鬼！他确实有天才，居然想得出这种主意。‘赫尔克里·波洛鞠躬致意’——‘可卡因鞠躬致命’！嘿，多简单！多漂亮！但我怎么没能预见到这一着！”

尼克不安地扭动了一下。

“哦，小姐，你是没有责任的，是无可指责的。应当负责任的是我。我太无能了，那罪犯的每一个步骤怎么会都出乎我的意料之外呢？”

他的下巴垂了下来，看上去陷入了深不可测的痛苦深渊。

“我想——”护士说。

她一直在近旁徘徊，现在显得不耐烦起来。

“呃？啊，对，对，我们该让病人休息休息了。勇敢些，小姐，这将是我犯的最后一个错误了。真难为情——我上了当、中了计，仿佛我是个小学生似的。但这种事决不会再发生了。不会的，我向你保证。走吧，黑斯廷斯。”

第一步波洛先去找护士长。她被整个事情弄得心烦意乱。

“这种事情怎么会发生在我们休养所里！波洛先生，完全不可想象。”

波洛对她表示同情，并很老练地使她镇静下来，然后就开始询问那个致命的包裹是怎么来的。护士长说他最好还是去问包裹到达时正在当班的服务员。

那人名叫胡德，是个二十二岁的年轻人，看上去虽然不聪明，但相当老实。波洛设法使他从紧张慌乱中安静下来。

“这件事跟你没有关系，”他温和地说，“不过我要请你精确地告诉我这个包裹是在什么时间、通过什么方法送到这儿来的。”

服务员显得相当为难。

“很难说，先生，”他有点结结巴巴地说，“有很多人到这里来探问病情，并把带给病人们的东西交给我们。”

“护士说这包裹是昨晚送来的，”我说，“大约六点光景。”

那年轻人脸上放出光来。

“我想起来了，先生，是一位绅士把它送来的。”

“瘦瘦的脸，淡颜色的头发？”

“头发颜色不深，但脸——我记不起了。”

“会不会是查尔斯·维斯？”我犹豫地问波洛，忘记了面前站着的这个年轻人对这一带人的名字可能都熟悉。

“不是维斯先生，”他说，“维斯先生我认识的。来人还要高大些，很有派头，开着一辆大个头的轿车来的。”

“拉扎勒斯！”我惊呼了一声。

波洛警告地盯了我一眼，我知道我又莽撞了。

“那位先生驾驶一辆个头挺大的轿车到这儿来，留下了这个写明是给巴克利小姐的包裹。是这样吗？”

“是的，先生。”

“你是怎么处理这个包裹的呢？”

“我没碰它，先生。护士把它拿到楼上去了。”

“不错。但当你从那位先生手中接过包裹时不是碰了它吗？”

“哦，那，当然啰，先生。我从他手中接过之后就顺手放在那张桌子上了。”

“哪张桌子？请指给我看。”

服务员把我们领到大厅里。前门开着。不远处有一张大理石台面的长桌，上面摆着许多信和包裹。

“送来的东西都放在这里，先生。然后由护士把它们拿上楼去分送给病人。”

“你还记得我们所说的这个包裹是什么时候送来的吗？”

“想必是五点半或稍迟一些，那时候邮递员刚到——他总是五点半的样子来的。那天傍晚相当忙，探望病人和送花、送东西的人特别多。”

“谢谢。现在，我想见见那位把包裹送上楼去的护士。”

那是一位见习护士，生着一头浓密的软发，对什么都大惊小怪得不得了。她记得是在六点钟她来上班时把那个包裹拿到楼上去的。

“六点钟，”波洛低声说，“这么说来，包裹在楼下那张桌子上搁了有二十分钟左右。”

“什么？”

“没什么，小姐，说下去吧。你把包裹带给了巴克利小姐？”

“是的。送给她的东西还真不少，有这盒巧克力，还有一束香豌豆花，是克罗夫特夫妇送的，我想，我把它们一起送上去的。另外还有一个从邮局寄来的包裹——你看怪不怪，那也是一盒福勒牌巧克力。”

“什么？第二盒？”

“是的，真是巧事。巴克利小姐把它们一起拆开了。她说，‘哦，多可惜，我不能吃！’接着她掀开两盒巧克力的盖子看看里面的巧克力是不是一样的。其中有一只盒子里搁着你的卡片。她看了就说，‘把另外那盒不干净的巧克力拿走，护士，别让我把它们混到一起了。’哦，天哪，谁知道后来会出这种事，简直像埃德加·华莱士的小说一样，你说是不是？”

波洛截住了她的话语。

“两盒，你说？另外那盒是谁寄来的？”

“那盒子里没有卡片，不知道。”

“那么哪一盒是——看上去好像是——我送的呢？从邮局来的还是直接送来的？”

“我记不清了，要不要我到上面去问问巴克利小姐？”

“再好没有了。”

她跑上楼去了。

“两盒，”波洛喃喃地说，“这倒真叫我糊涂起来了。”

那护士上气不接下气地跑了回来，说：

“巴克利小姐也拿不准。在她掀开盖子之前把两只盒子的包装纸一起拆掉了，不过她想不会是寄来的那盒。”

“哦？”波洛疑惑地说。

“你那盒不是通过邮局寄来的——至少她觉得是这样，不过她也不十分肯定。”

“见鬼！”我们走出休养所时波洛说道，“不十分肯定！难道有人对一切都能十分肯定吗？侦探小说里有这样的人，但现实生活中没有。生活是千变万化、杂乱无章的。我——赫尔克里·波洛对一切都能有把握吗？都能肯定吗？不，不，这只是神话。”

“拉扎勒斯这个人，”我说。

“是啊，真想不到，对不对？”

“你要去同他谈谈吗？”

“对，我很想看看他听了这件事之后会有什么反应。而且我们可以夸大尼克小姐的病情，宣称她奄奄一息了，这不会有什么坏处的，你明白吗？噢，瞧你那张脸多严肃——啊，可钦可佩，活像个殡仪馆的老板，嘿，真是惟妙惟肖！”

我们运气不错，很快就找到了拉扎勒斯。他正弯着腰在旅馆外头修汽车。

波洛照直向他走去，开门见山地说：

“昨天傍晚，拉扎勒斯先生，你送了一盒巧克力给巴克利小姐。”

拉扎勒斯有点奇怪。

“是啊——”

“你可真够朋友的。”

“那盒巧克力事实上是弗雷迪——我是说赖斯太太——叫我去买来又叫我送去的。”

“哦，是这样。”

“我昨天开汽车把它送到休养所去了。”

“我知道。”

波洛沉默了一两分钟后说：“赖斯太太——她在哪儿？”

“我想在休息室里吧。”

我们找到她时她正坐在那里喝茶。见我们进去，她满脸是急切想知道些什么的神情。

“我听说尼克病了，是怎么回事呀？”

“是件十分神秘的事，太太。请你告诉我，昨天你送了她一盒巧克力？”

“是的。是她要我替她买一盒的。”

“她要你买的？”

“对。”

“但她谁也不能见，你是怎么见到她的呢？”

“我没见到她。是她打电话给我的。”

“啊！她说什么？”

“她问我是否可以给她买一盒两磅的福勒牌巧克力。”

“她的声音听看来怎么样？很弱吗？”

“不，一点也不弱，那声音很响，不过有点两样。一开始我听不出是她在说话。”

“直到她告诉你她是谁？”

“对了。”

“你能不能肯定，太太，那个打电话的人是你那位好朋友？”

弗雷德里卡怔住了。

“我，我，唔，当然是她啰，还会是谁呢？”

“这倒是个很有趣的问题呀，太太。”

“你总不是说——”

“你能不能发誓，太太，电话里确实是尼克小姐的声音——不要从她所说的话上推测。”

“不，”弗雷德里卡迟疑地说，“我不能发誓。她的声音肯定不是那样的。我当时以为是电话的毛病，要不然就是她身体不好的关系……”

“如果她不告诉你她是谁，你就听不出是谁在说话？”

“是的，我想我是听不出的。不过那到底是谁呢？波洛先生，是谁？”

“这正是我想知道的，太太。”

波洛的严重神色使她起了疑心。

“尼克——出了什么事吗？”她屏住气问。

波洛点点头。

“她病了——危在旦夕，太太。那些巧克力被下了毒。”

“我送的巧克力？这不可能，不可能的！”

“并非不可能，太太。尼克已经奄奄一息了。”

“哦，我的上帝！”她把脸埋进双手又抬了起来，脸色白得像死人，嘴唇直哆嗦。“我不明白——真不明白了。上一次那件事倒还可以理解，但这一回，我一点都不懂了。巧克力糖里不可能下毒的。除了我和吉姆，没人碰过它呀。你一定搞错了，波洛先生。”

“你以为盒子里有我的名片就是我搞错了吗？”

她不知所措地看着他。

“要是尼克小姐死了——”他用手做了一个威胁的手势。

她低声饮泣起来。

波洛转过身去，拉着我回到了我们的起居间。他把帽子往桌上一甩。

“我什么也不明白——一团糟！没有一线光明！我简直像个三岁小孩。谁是尼克之死的得益者呢？赖斯太太。谁送了巧克力然后又编出一个接到电话的故事呢？赖斯太太。疑点太简单太明显了，在这种情况之下还不偃旗息鼓，还要给自己增添新的疑点可真是太愚蠢了，然而你觉得她是一个愚蠢的人吗？不，不像啊！”

“那么——”

“可是她吸毒——可卡因！我可以肯定她吸可卡因。这是毫无疑问的。巧克力里面的毒药就是可卡因！她刚才说‘上次那件事倒还可以理解，但这一回，我一点都不懂了。’是什么意思呢？这个问题得搞清楚，这个问题！至于那个圆滑精明的拉扎勒斯先生，他是个什么角色呢？有些事情赖斯太太是知道的，但是些什么呢？我没法让她说出来。她不是那种吓得倒的人，可是她肚子里确实有些货色，黑斯廷斯。电话的故事是真的吗？如果是真的，打电话的人是谁？告诉你吧，黑斯廷斯，这一切全在黑暗当中，伸手不见五指的黑暗！”

“黎明前总是黑暗的。”我劝慰他说。

他摇摇头。

“再说另外那盒巧克力，通过邮局寄来的那盒。我们能排除它的可能性吗？不，不能，因为尼克小姐拿不准到底是哪盒有毒。这真叫人恼火！”

他哼了一声。

我刚想开口却被他挡住了。

“不，别说了，别再给我来上一句格言什么的，我受不了。如果你够朋友，肯帮忙的话……”

“怎么样呢？”我急忙问。

“就出去，我请求你，去给我买一副扑克牌来。”

我一怔，然后冷冷地说：“好吧。”

我想他只是找了个借口摆脱我罢了。

然而我错怪了他。那天晚上十点光景我走进起居间时，发现他正小心翼翼地在那里用扑克牌架房子。我恍然大悟了。

这是他的老习惯。他用这种方法来镇静他的神经和大脑。

他朝我笑笑。

“啊，我看得出你还记得我这个老习惯。人的思维应当严谨精确，架扑克牌也一样。每一张都只能放在一个位置上，否则就保持不了平衡。如果每一张的位置都精确，所有的牌就能全部架上去而不会倒塌。睡觉去吧，黑斯廷斯，让我一个人在这里搭我的纸牌房子，清醒一下头脑。”

大约早上五点钟我被摇醒了。

波洛站在我身边，精神焕发，兴高采烈。

“你说得对极了，我的朋友，啊，对极了，简直才气横溢！”

我对他眨眨眼睛，还没有完全醒过来。

“黎明前总是黑暗的——这就是你说的。那一阵子可的确黑得什么也看不见呀！现在黎明到了！”

我看看窗户，发现他说得完全正确。

“不，不，黑斯廷斯。黎明在我头脑里，在我那些小小的灰色细胞里！”

他停了一停，很快又说下去道：

“瞧，黑斯廷斯，尼克小姐死了。”

“什么？”我叫了起来，顿时睡意全消。

“嘘——别响！不是真的死了——当然。不过可以安排这么一个假象。是的，可以安排她去世二十四个小时。我和医生护士们全说妥啦。你懂吗，黑斯廷斯？谋杀成功了。他干了四次，四次都失败了，而第五次，他终于大功告成！这样一来，我们就可以看到下一步将发生什么事情了……

“这将是十分有趣味的。”