Chapter Ten

After supper that evening, Poirot asked that everyone gather in the drawing room. A thrill ran through me as I realised that this meant that, finally, all was to be revealed. I have always been amazed at the way my friend manages to put together all the information that means so little to everyone else and construct a solution to any case. Now, as I waited with the rest for him to start his explanation, I felt an inexplicable surge of pride and had to work hard to quash it to focus on what he was saying.

"Mesdames et messieurs," Poirot started, bowing to the occupants of the room. "The time has come for me to reveal all. I know who killed Mr Smithson, and very soon all will be clear.

"Let us go over it again. Marcus Smithson was killed just before midnight, a time when everybody had already retired to bed and so the crime was not noted until the next morning. He was stabbed through the back with a ski pole stolen from the wall of this chalet and died from loss of blood. Nobody saw or heard anything, except for Mr Havelock who thought he heard a thump, but was half asleep at the time." I caught Charlie's eye and nodded at him with a reassuring smile; he seemed rather alarmed at having his name brought into it. Poirot turned to Mr and Mrs Tavistock.

"On the room on the other side of Mr Smithson, however, nobody heard anything. I found this curious until I realised that you take sleeping tablets, do you not, Mrs Tavistock?"

"Why yes, I do!" Mrs Tavistock agreed, slightly taken aback. "John had mixed mine up for me as usual before I came up, so I took that as normal and didn't hear a thing all night. I slept unusually well, even accounting for the medicine!" Poirot smiled.

"And you, Mr Tavistock, have already told us of the benefits of the fresh mountain air. Bon." He straightened up and turned to the room at large again. "We now need to think of motive. Who wanted to kill Mr Smithson?" My friend now turned to look at the Carters, who were sitting holding hands and looking more distressed than any of the other occupants of the room. "I discount you, Mr and Mrs Carter, from my investigation. You were obviously fond of your nephew, despite his faults, and you also both have an alibi for the time in question. I do not believe that either of you killed him." Mrs Carter sniffed slightly and her husband tightened his grip on her hand.

"Everyone else in this room had reasons to dislike Mr Smithson. Therefore, any one of you may have killed him. Miss Masters," Poirot rounded on her, "When I asked you if the fatal blow could have been delivered by a woman, you said it could not have been. And yet, when the doctor arrived to take away the body, he disagreed. Why did you lie?" Miss Masters stared at him for a few seconds, then lowered her gaze.

"I was worried," she began in a low voice, "I'd seen how much he was getting on Elsa's nerves.. I thought she might have.."

"Lucy!" exclaimed Mrs Tavistock, her eyes wide. "You thought I'd done it?!" Miss Masters turned to her sister.

"I didn't really! But I thought if there was a chance you might have got annoyed with him and struck out in anger it was best if Mr Poirot didn't think it would have been possible." She turned back to Poirot. "I didn't really think it through, I'm afraid. Your question took me by surprise and all I could think was that you suspected Elsa and I had to protect her!" Poirot smiled.

"An admirable sentiment, mon petit, and luckily unnecessary, thanks to the sleeping pills." Poirot paused for a moment, seeming to collect his ideas.

"And now, we turn to a different question. To whom does this tie belong?" He put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a tie. I recognised it as the one we had found amongst Mr Smithson's belongings, and was about to speak up when Poirot caught my eye and give an almost imperceptible shake of his head. As I leant back into my seat, someone else spoke up.

"It could be John's," said Charlie from across the room. "That's a Trinity College tie – I bought one before I decided to postpone my studies for a while but I haven't brought it with me. Did you bring yours, old chap?" John Tavistock looked a little startled.

"I did bring it with me," he ventured, looking confused, "But I haven't worn it so I haven't had a chance to mislay it – it should still be in my room upstairs."

"You are quite correct, Mr Tavistock," Poirot turned to him. "This is not your tie. This tie belonged to Mr Smithson, who also went to Trinity College, Cambridge. Perhaps you knew him? You were there at the same time, were you not?"

"I really wouldn't know, Mr Poirot, it is a rather large college." Poirot's eyes narrowed slightly.

"You are lying to me, Mr Tavistock. I think you did know Mr Smithson. You certainly had a mutual friend – a young lady by the name of Marie?" John Tavistock went white.

"What do you know about Marie?" he whispered fearfully.

"A little," replied my friend, "But not everything. Perhaps you would care to fill me in on the rest?" Mr Tavistock glanced at his wife, then looked down at the floor and began to speak.

"Marie was my girlfriend. We were very much in love – at least, I thought we were. She met Smithson through a mutual friend of ours and not long after she told me she was leaving me. She said she'd fallen in love with someone else. Shortly after I got my first job, I heard they were getting married. I threw myself into my work and tried to forget about her, met Elsa and fell in love again. Then I heard the news. A year and a half after their marriage, Marie had killed herself. A friend of hers told me she had been unhappy almost from the start, and when she finally got up the courage to ask him for a divorce he had laughed and told her no. She overdosed on sleeping pills." Mrs Tavistock reached over and took her husband's hand.

"That's why John always mixes my medicine up for me. He can't stand the thought that it might happen again, even by accident." Poirot regarded Mr Tavistock for a moment.

"So that is why you have a picture of her with you." Mr Tavistock nodded.

"Yes."

"And that is why you killed Mr Smithson." After a pause, he nodded again.

"Yes."

For a moment we all sat, too stunned to speak. Then, Mrs Tavistock broke the silence.

"John!" she exclaimed. "Tell me this isn't true!" John Tavistock rounded on her.

"I did it for you! Don't you see, he was trying it again? On you or Lucy, or any other woman he met. Marie couldn't stand him at first, just like you couldn't, and then he gradually wormed his way into her life and ate away at her until there was nothing left. He was trying to entice you away from me, to make your life as miserable as he made Marie's! And if you didn't fall for it, somebody else was bound to eventually and then he'd ruin the life of another young lady. I couldn't let it happen, not again." Mrs Tavistock dropped her husband's hand and leaned away from him, a look of horror and disbelief on her face. Poirot intervened.

"So, Mr Tavistock, on the night in question, you went up to bed early." Mr Tavistock nodded.

"Yes. I went up and mixed Elsa her sleeping tablets as usual, except I put a small amount more than I usually would in, just to make sure she wouldn't wake up. When everyone had gone to bed and Elsa was fast asleep, I crept back downstairs to pick up the ski pole I had noticed earlier. I made my way back up and towards his room. He was leaning out of the window having a last cigarette before he went to bed. He never even noticed me." A wry smile crept over his face.

"I'm not really sorry, you know. It had to be done, to protect my wife. He can never touch her now."