Chapter 19 – Poirot Produces a Play

It was a curious gathering that met that night at End House.

I had hardly seen Poirot all day. He had been out for dinner but had left me a message that I was to be at End House at nine o'clock. Evening dress, he had added, was not necessary.

The whole thing was like a rather ridiculous dream.

On arrival I was ushered into the dining-room and when I looked round I realized that every person on Poirot's list from A. to I. (J. was necessarily excluded, being in the Mrs Harris-like position of 'there ain't no such person') was present.

Even Mrs Croft was there in a kind of invalid chair. She smiled and nodded at me.

'This is a surprise, isn't it?' she said, cheerfully. 'It makes a change for me, I must say. I think I shall try and get out now and again. All M. Poirot's idea. Come and sit by me, Captain Hastings. Somehow I feel this is rather a gruesome business-but Mr Vyse made a point of it.'

'Mr Vyse?' I said, rather surprised.

Charles Vyse was standing by the mantelpiece. Poirot was beside him talking earnestly to him in an under-tone.

I looked round the room. Yes, they were all there. After showing me in (I had been a minute or two late) Ellen had taken her place on a chair just beside the door. On another chair, sitting painfully straight and breathing hard, was her husband. The child, Alfred, squirmed uneasily between his father and mother.

The rest sat round the dining-table. Frederica in her black dress, Lazarus beside her, George Challenger and Croft on the other side of the table. I sat a little away from it near Mrs Croft. And now Charles Vyse, a final nod of the head, took his place at the head of the table, and Poirot slipped unobtrusively into a seat next to Lazarus.

Clearly the producer, as Poirot had styled himself, did not propose to take a prominent part in the play. Charles Vyse was apparently in charge of the proceedings. I wondered what surprises Poirot had in store for him.

The young lawyer cleared his throat and stood up. He looked just the same as ever, impassive, formal and unemotional.

'This is rather an unconventional gathering we have here tonight,' he said. 'But the circumstances are very peculiar. I refer, of course, to the circumstances surrounding the death of my cousin, Miss Buckley. There will have, of course, to be an autopsy-there seems to be no doubt that she met her death by poison, and that that poison was administered with the intent to kill. This is police business and I need not go into it. The police would doubtless prefer me not to do so.'

'In an ordinary case, the will of a deceased person is read after the funeral, but in deference to M. Poirot's special wish, I am proposing to read it before the funeral takes place. In fact, I am proposing to read it here and now. That is why everyone has been asked to come here. As I said just now, the circumstances are unusual and justify a departure from precedent.'

'The will itself came into my possession in a somewhat unusual manner. Although dated last February, it only reached me by post this morning. However, it is undoubtedly in the handwriting of my cousin-I have no doubt on that point, and though a most informal document, it is properly attested.'

He paused and cleared his throat once more. Every eye was upon his face.

From a long envelope in his hand, he drew out an enclosure. It was, as we could see, an ordinary piece of End House notepaper with writing on it.

'It is quite short,' said Vyse. He made a suitable pause, then began to read:

'This is the last Will and Testament of Magdala Buckley. I direct that all my funeral expenses should be paid and I appoint my cousin Charles Vyse as my executor. I leave everything of which I die possessed to Mildred Croft in grateful recognition of the services rendered by her to my father, Philip Buckley, which services nothing can ever repay.'

'Signed-Magdala Buckley, 'Witnesses-Ellen Wilson, William Wilson.'

I was dumbfounded! So I think was everyone else. Only Mrs Croft nodded her head in quiet understanding.

'It's true,' she said, quietly. 'Not that I ever meant to let on about it. Philip Buckley was out in Australia, and if it hadn't been for me-well, I'm not going into that. A secret it's been and a secret it had better remain. She knew about it, though. Nick did, I mean. Her father must have told her. We came down here because we wanted to have a look at the place. I'd always been curious about this End House Philip Buckley talked of. And that dear girl knew all about it, and couldn't do enough for us. Wanted us to come and live with her, she did. But we wouldn't do that. And so she insisted on our having the lodge-and not a penny of rent would she take. We pretended to pay it, of course, so as not to cause talk, but she handed it back to us. And now-this! Well, if anyone says there is no gratitude in the world, I'll tell them they're wrong! This proves it.'

There was still an amazed silence. Poirot looked at Vyse. 'Had you any idea of this?' Vyse shook his head.

'I knew Philip Buckley had been in Australia. But I never heard any rumours of a scandal there.'

He looked inquiringly at Mrs Croft. She shook her head.

'No, you won't get a word out of me. I never have said a word and I never shall. The secret goes to the grave with me.'

Vyse said nothing. He sat quietly tapping the table with a pencil.

'I presume, M. Vyse'-Poirot leaned forward-'that as next of kin you could contest that will? There is, I understand, a vast fortune at stake which was not the case when the will was made.'

Vyse looked at him coldly.

'The will is perfectly valid. I should not dream of contesting my cousin's disposal of her property.'

'You're an honest fellow,' said Mrs Croft, approvingly. 'And I'll see you don't lose by it.'

Charles sank a little from this well-meant but slightly embarrassing remark.

'Well, Mother,' said Mr Croft, with an elation he could not quite keep out of his voice. 'This is a surprise! Nick didn't tell me what she was doing.'

'The dear sweet girl,' murmured Mrs Croft, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. 'I wish she could look down and see us now. Perhaps she does-who knows?'

'Perhaps,' agreed Poirot.

Suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. He looked round.

'An idea! We are all here seated round a table. Let us hold a seance.'

'A seance?' said Mrs Croft, somewhat shocked. 'But surely-'

'Yes, yes, it will be most interesting. Hastings, here, has pronounced mediumistic powers.' (Why fix on me, I thought.) 'To get through a message from the other world-the opportunity is unique! I feel the conditions are propitious. You feel the same, Hastings.'

'Yes,' I said resolutely, playing up. 'Good. I knew it. Quick, the lights.'

In another minute he had risen and switched them off. The whole thing had been rushed on the company before they had had the energy to protest had

they wanted to do so. As a matter of fact they were, I think, still dazed with astonishment over the will.

The room was not quite dark. The curtains were drawn back and the window was open for it was a hot night, and through those windows came a faint light. After a minute or two, as we sat in silence, I began to be able to make out the faint outlines of the furniture. I wondered very much what I was supposed to do and cursed Poirot heartily for not having given me my instructions beforehand.

However, I closed my eyes and breathed in a rather stertorous manner.

Presently Poirot rose and tiptoed to my chair. Then returning to his own, he murmured.

'Yes, he is already in a trance. Soon-things will begin to happen.'

There is something about sitting in the dark, waiting, that fills one with unbearable apprehension. I know that I myself was a prey to nerves and so, I was sure, was everyone else. And yet I had at least an idea of what was about to happen. I knew the one vital fact that no one else knew.

And yet, in spite of all that, my heart leapt into my mouth as I saw the dining-room door slowly opening.

It did so quite soundlessly (it must have been oiled) and the effect was horribly grisly. It swung slowly open and for a minute or two that was all. With its opening a cold blast of air seemed to enter the room. It was, I suppose, a common or garden draught owing to the open window, but it felt like the icy chill mentioned in all the ghost stories I have ever read.

And then we all saw it! Framed in the doorway was a white shadowy figure. Nick Buckley...

She advanced slowly and noiselessly-with a kind of floating ethereal motion that certainly conveyed the impression of nothing human...

I realized then what an actress the world had missed. Nick had wanted to play a part at End House. Now she was playing it, and I felt convinced that she was enjoying herself to the core. She did it perfectly.

She floated forward into the room-and the silence was broken.

There was a gasping cry from the invalid chair beside me. A kind of gurgle from Mr Croft. A startled oath from Challenger. Charles Vyse drew back his chair, I think. Lazarus leaned forward. Frederica alone made no sound or movement.

And then a scream rent the room. Ellen sprang up from her chair.

'It's her!' she shrieked. 'She's come back. She's walking! Them that's murdered always walks. It's her! It's her!'

And then, with a click the lights went on.

I saw Poirot standing by them, the smile of the ringmaster on his face. Nick stood in the middle of the room in her white draperies.

It was Frederica who spoke first. She stretched out an unbelieving hand-touched her friend.

'Nick,' she said. 'You're-you're real!' It was almost a whisper. Nick laughed. She advanced.

'Yes,' she said. 'I'm real enough. Thank you so much for what you did for my father, Mrs Croft. But I'm afraid you won't be able to enjoy the benefit of that will just yet.'

'Oh, my God,' gasped Mrs Croft. 'Oh, my God.' She twisted to and fro in her chair. 'Take me away, Bert. Take me away. It was all a joke, my dear-all a joke, that's all it was. Honest.'

'A queer sort of joke,' said Nick.

The door had opened again and a man had entered so quietly that I had not heard him. To my surprise I saw that it was Japp. He exchanged a quick nod with Poirot as though satisfying him of something. Then his face suddenly lit up and he took a step forward towards the squirming figure in the invalid chair.

'Hello-ello-ello,' he said. 'What's this? An old friend! Milly Merton, I declare! And at your old tricks again, my dear.'

He turned round in an explanatory way to the company disregarding Mrs Croft's shrill protests.

'Cleverest forger we've ever had, Milly Merton. We knew there had been an accident to the car they made their last getaway in. But there! Even an injury to the spine wouldn't keep Milly from her tricks. She's an artist, she is!'

'Was that will a forgery?' said Vyse. He spoke in tones of amazement.

'Of course it was a forgery,' said Nick scornfully. 'You don't think I'd make a silly will like that, do you? I left you End House, Charles, and everything else to Frederica.'

She crossed as she spoke and stood by her friend, and just at that moment it happened!

A spurt of flame from the window and the hiss of a bullet. Then another and the sound of a groan and a fall outside...

And Frederica on her feet with a thin trickle of blood running down her arm...

第十九章　波洛导演的戏

那天晚上在悬崖山庄的聚会是相当奇怪的。

我几乎一整天没有见到波洛，他出去吃晚饭时给我留了个字条，叫我在九点到悬崖山庄去。他在字条上还特地加了一句，叫我不必穿晚礼服。

整个经过都像一幕精心导演的荒唐闹剧。

我到达悬崖山庄后，被让进客厅。我环顾了一下，注意到波洛那张从一到十的嫌疑人物表上的每个人都在场（第十位当然不在场，那本来就是一位乌有先生）。甚至克罗夫特太太都来了，她坐在一张残废人用的手推椅里，朝我笑着点点头。

“想不到我也会来吧？”她欢快地说，“这对我来说可真够换口味的，我想我应当多出来活动，这也是波洛先生的想法。过来坐在我身边吧，黑斯廷斯上尉，不知怎地我总觉得今天晚上的事有点叫人头皮发麻，这都是维斯先生想出来的。”

“维斯先生？”我感到相当意外。

查尔斯·维斯正站在壁炉架旁，波洛在他身边很严肃地跟他低声交谈。我又朝整个房间看了看，是的，这些人全在这儿，我被引进来之后（我迟到了一两分钟），埃伦就在门边一张椅子上坐了下来，另一张椅子上笔直地坐着她那喘气如牛的丈夫，那孩子，艾尔弗雷德，很不自在地扭来扭去，坐在他父母当中。

其余的人围绕餐桌坐着，弗雷德里卡穿着她黑色的礼服，旁边是拉扎勒斯，桌子另一边是乔治·查林杰和克罗夫特，我坐得离桌子稍远一些，在克罗夫特太太身边。现在查尔斯·维斯最后点了点头，坐到桌子顶端主人的位置上。波洛则悄没声儿地坐到拉扎勒斯旁边。

年轻的律师咳嗽了一声站起来，看上去依然一本正经，毫无表情。

“今天晚上我们的聚会是很不平常的，”他说，“地点也很特别，我指的当然是，这是我已故表妹巴克利小姐住的地方。当然，要进行验尸。她无疑是中毒死的。那毒药的目的也正是为了毒死她。不过这是警察们的事，我不打算多谈，而且警察也不希望我这样做。

“一般情形之下，死者的遗嘱总是在葬礼举行之后才宣读的，但由于波洛先生的要求，我将在葬礼之前宣读遗嘱。事实上，我就在此时此地当众宣读。这就是诸位被请来的原因，就如我刚才所说的，在不寻常的情形之下，我认为我这样做是有充分理由的。

“这份遗嘱有点不寻常，签署日期是去年二月，但直至今天上午才由邮局送来，遗嘱是我表妹亲笔写的——对这一点我毫不怀疑，虽然格式不对，但它有正式的见证人，因些它是完全有效的。”

他停了停，又清了清嗓子，每双眼睛都注视着他。

他从手中的一只长信封里抽出一张纸，我们都看见那是一张普通的悬崖山庄便笺。

“相当短，”维斯说着，恰如其分地顿了顿，就开始读道：

这是我——玛格黛勒·巴克利最后的遗嘱，我指定我葬礼的一切费用必须全部付清，并且指定我的表哥查尔斯·维斯为遗嘱执行人，为了报答米尔德里德·克罗夫特对我父亲菲利普·巴克利的无法报答的恩情，我把我死时所拥有的一切财产留给米尔德里德·克罗夫特。

签名：玛格黛勒·巴克利

见证：埃伦·威尔逊

威廉·威尔逊

我怔住了，我猜大家也全怔住了，只有克罗夫特太太深知就里地点了点头。

“是的，这是真的，”她平静地说，“我并不是想提起往事，但当时菲利普·巴克利在澳大利亚，要不是我——算了。我不说了，那是一个秘密，没有必要揭示出来，但显然她知道了这段往事秘密，我指的当然是尼克，一定是她父亲告诉了她。我们从澳大利亚到这儿来为的是看看这块地方。我以前时常听菲利普·巴克利说起这个悬崖山庄，心里充满了好奇，那亲爱的好姑娘知道一切，总觉得怎么做也表达不了她的谢意，她要我们跟她住在一起，但我们不愿意这么做，后来她坚持要我们住进门房小屋，一个便士的租金都不肯收，当然啰，为了防止飞短流长的闲话议论，我们假装付给她租金，然而她暗地里又还给我们。现在呢——又是这么个遗嘱！好吧，如果有人认为世人都是忘恩负义的，我就要告诉他们想错了！这就是证明。”

在一片充满了惊诧的静默中，波洛看看维斯，说：

“你知道这件事吗？”

维斯摇了摇头。

“我知道菲利普·巴克利到过澳大利亚，但没有听说过关于他在那里的任何传闻。”

他疑问地看看克罗夫特太太。

她摇摇头：

“不，从我这儿你是一个字也不会得到的。我从未对别人说起过这件事，将来也决不会说的。这个秘密将同我一起埋进坟墓。”

维斯不做声了。他静静地坐在那里，用一枝铅笔敲着桌子。

“我认为，维斯先生，”波洛向前凑了凑说道，“你是死者最近的亲属，你可以对这份遗嘱提出抗议，因为，我知道立这份遗嘱的时候，立遗嘱人不知道这份遗嘱现有的价值，由于塞顿的死，财产一下子增加了数千倍！”

维斯冷冷地看着他。

“这份遗嘱是完全有效的。我绝不会对我表妹处理她财产的方式表示异议。”

“你是个忠厚的人，”克罗夫特太太赞赏地说，“你将知道你这样做是值得的。”

这种评价和这番好意使查尔斯不自在地往后缩了缩。

“啊，妈妈，”克罗夫特先生用一种掩盖不住的兴奋声音说，“真想不到！尼克没告诉过我她是这么办的。”

“亲爱的小姑娘，”克罗夫特太太喃喃地说道，用手帕擦了擦眼角，“我但愿她现在能从天上俯视我们，也许她确实能看见我们的——谁知道呢？”

“可能的。”波洛表示同意。

他好像突然想起了什么似的前后左右看了看。

“我有个想法！既然我们都坐在桌子旁边，就来一次招魂术怎样？”

“招魂术！”克罗夫特不知为何一惊，“但无疑地——”

“啊，啊，肯定会十分有趣。黑斯廷斯有一种沟通两个世界的法术（为什么扯到我头上来了），能够从另一个世界里招回幽魂——机会难得，我觉得地点也正好，你也这样想吗，黑斯廷斯？”

“是的。”我毅然答道，准备豁出去了。

“好，我知道了，快，熄灯！”

说着他自己站了起来把灯全关掉了，他的动作是如此之快，谁也来不及提出异议，事实上他们——我想——还没有从那个遗嘱所造成的惊异中清醒过来。

房间里并非漆黑一片，窗帘拉开着，而且由于天气暖和，窗子也开在那里。窗外映进一片昏暗的光，我们无声地坐着，一两分钟后，我已经能够辨认出家具模糊的轮廓。我真急死了，一点也不知道下一步该怎么做，因为事前波洛根本没关照过我。

我闭上了双眼，假装打起鼾来。

这时波洛站了起来，踮起脚尖走到我的椅子旁，然后又折回他自己的座位，自言自语地说：

“啊，她已经出了元神，我们马上就要看到……”

坐在黑暗当中等待一种不可知的神秘事件是会叫人心胆俱裂的，我的神经紧张极了，我想别人也一样，这时我终于猜出了将会发生什么事，因为我知道一个别人都不知道的重要事实。

即使是这样，当我看见餐厅的门被无声地推开时，我的心也还是跳到了喉咙口。那扇门想必上过了油，因此造成了一种恐怖到极点的鬼气，随着那扇门被缓缓推开，房间里像吹进了一股阴森森的冷风。我想，这是窗外流进来的花园里的夜气，但此时它就像我所看过的鬼怪小说里的阴风一样，令人毛骨悚然。

我们都看见了！门口有一个白色的人影，是尼克·巴克利……

她无声无息地移动着，那种飘忽的步态真像个幽灵。

这时我才真正意识到我们这个世界损失了一个多么了不起的女演员，尼克早就想在悬崖山庄演一出戏，现在她如愿以偿了。而且我可以肯定她陶醉于自己扮演的角色，她演得不能再好了。

她慢慢地往房间里飘了进来。

我旁边那张残废人的椅子里发出一声恐怖的低呼，那是克罗夫特太太的声音。查林杰因为非常惊骇而呼起“我的天”来。查尔斯·维斯呢，我觉得，他把椅子往后挪了一挪。拉扎勒斯向前弯着身子，瞪大了双眼。只有弗雷德里卡静静地坐着没动也没响。

这时候一声尖叫，埃伦跳了起来。

“是她！”她叫道，“她还魂了！她在走路！枉死鬼走起路来就是这种样子的呀，是她，是她啊！”

就在这时，“啪嗒”一声，灯光复明。

我看见波洛站在那儿，满脸是马戏团主导演了得意杰作以后等待观众鼓掌的那种微笑。尼克穿着白色长衫站在房间当中。

弗雷德里卡第一个说话，她半信半疑地伸出手去碰碰她的朋友。

“尼克，”她说，“你是，你真的是人吗？”

这句话轻得像是耳语。

尼克笑了起来，她走上前来说道：

“是的，我是实实在在的。”然后转向克罗夫特太太，说，“对于你为我父亲所做的事我这辈子感激不尽，克罗夫特太太，但我怕你还不能享受那份遗嘱所提供的利益。”

“哦，我的上帝，”克罗夫特太太喘吁吁地说道，“我的上帝！”她在椅子里扭动着身子直摇晃，“带我走吧，帕特，带我回去。他们开了个大玩笑，我亲爱的——大玩笑呀，真的，就是这么回事。”

“很古怪的一种玩笑。”尼克说。

门又开了，进来一个人，他走路是如此之轻，以致我都没有听见。我吃惊地发现那是贾普，他很快地跟波洛点了点头，他点头时脸上的神情好像知道这一点头波洛一定会觉得满意似的。

接着他脸色豁然开朗，快步走向残废椅里的那位不自在的太太。

“你好哇，好哇，好哇！”他说，“这是谁呀？一位老朋友！告诉诸位，这是米利·默顿，而且还在干她的老勾当，我亲爱的。”

他不理会克罗夫特太太的阻挠，对大家解释说：

“这是我们碰到过的最有才干的证件伪造者，米利·默顿。上回是由于一次交通事故才被他们逃走的，瞧啊，即使断了脊梁骨她也不肯改邪归正。她是个艺术家，货真价实的。”

“这个遗嘱是伪造的吗？”维斯问道。他的声音充满了惊讶。

“当然是伪造的，”尼克嘲弄地说，“你总不至于认为我会立这样荒唐的一个遗嘱吧，我把山庄留给你，查尔斯，其它的统统给了弗雷德里卡。”

她说着走到她那位女朋友身边。就在这时出事了。

窗口火光一闪，一颗子弹呼啸而入，接着又是一枪，我们听见窗外有人呻吟了一声摔倒在地上。

弗雷德里卡呆呆地站着，臂上流下一股殷红的血……