Suddenly, at the last moment, he swung round.

‘Of course,’ he said. He came quickly back to Poirot. ‘You are Hercule Poirot! I don’t know where my wits have been. I should have realized at once.’

He spoke quickly, in a low, excited voice.

‘It’s an absolute godsend your being here! You must find out the truth, M. Poirot. Spare no expense! I will be responsible for any expense.But find out…My poor father-killed by someone-killed with the utmost brutality! Youmust find out, M. Poirot. My father has got to be avenged.’

Poirot answered quietly:

‘I can assure you, M. Lee, that I am prepared to do my utmost to assist Colonel Johnson and Superintendent Sugden.’

Alfred Lee said:

‘I want you to work forme. My father has got to be avenged.’

He began to tremble violently. Lydia had come back. She went up to him and drew his arm through hers.

‘Come, Alfred,’ she said. ‘We must get the others.’

Her eyes met Poirot’s. They were eyes that kept their own secrets. They did not waver.

Poirot said softly:

‘Who would have thought the old man-’

She interrupted him:

‘Stop! Don’t say that!’

Poirot murmured:

‘Yousaid it, madame.’

She breathed softly:

‘I know…I remember…It was-so horrible.’

Then she went abruptly out of the room, her husband beside her.

George Lee was solemn and correct.

‘A terrible business,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘A terrible, terrible business. I can only believe that it must-er-have been the work of alunatic!’

Colonel Johnson said politely:

‘That is your theory?’

‘Yes. Yes, indeed. A homicidal maniac. Escaped, perhaps, from some mental home in the vicinity.’

Superintendent Sugden put in:

‘And how do you suggest this-er-lunatic gained admittance to the house, Mr Lee? And how did he leave it?’

George shook his head.

‘That,’ he said firmly, ‘is for the police to discover.’

Sugden said:

‘We made the round of the house at once. All windows were closed and barred. The side door was locked, so was the front door. Nobody could have left by the kitchen premises without being seen by the kitchen staff.’

George Lee cried:

‘But that’s absurd! You’ll be saying next that my father was never murdered at all!’ 

‘He was murdered all right,’ said Superintendent Sugden. ‘There’s no doubt about that.’

The chief constable cleared his throat and took up the questioning.

‘Just where were you, Mr Lee, at the time of the crime?’

‘I was in the dining-room. It was just after dinner. No, I was, I think, in this room. I had just finished telephoning.’

‘You had been telephoning?’

‘Yes. I had put a call through to the Conservative agent in Westeringham-my constituency. Some urgent matters.’

‘And it was after that that you heard the scream?’

George Lee gave a slight shiver.

‘Yes, very unpleasant. It-er-froze my marrow. It died away in a kind of choke or gurgle.’

He took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead where the perspiration had broken out.

‘Terrible business,’ he muttered.

‘And then you hurried upstairs?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you see your brothers, Mr Alfred and Mr Harry Lee?’

‘No, they must have gone up just ahead of me, I think.’

‘When did you last see your father, Mr Lee?’ 

‘This afternoon. We were all up there.’

‘You did not see him after that?’

‘No.’

The chief constable paused, then he said:

‘Were you aware that your father kept a quantity of valuable uncut diamonds in the safe in his bedroom?’

George Lee nodded.

‘A most unwise procedure,’ he said pompously. ‘I often told him so. He might have been murdered for them-I mean-that is to say-’

Colonel Johnson cut in: ‘Are you aware that these stones have disappeared?’

George’s jaw dropped. His protuberant eyes stared.

‘Then hewas murdered for them?’

The chief constable said slowly:

‘He was aware of their loss and reported it to the police some hours before his death.’

George said:

‘But, then-I don’t understand-I-…’

Hercule Poirot said gently:

‘We, too, do not understand…’

Harry Lee came into the room with a swagger. For a moment Poirot stared at him, frowning. He had a feeling that somewhere he had seen this man before. He noted the features: the high-bridged nose, the arrogant poise of the head, the line of the jaw; and he realized that though Harry was a big man and his father had been a man of merely middle height, yet there had been a good deal of resemblance between them.

He noted something else, too. For all his swagger, Harry Lee was nervous. He was carrying it off with a swing, but the anxiety underneath was real enough.

‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘What can I tell you?’

Colonel Johnson said:

‘We shall be glad of any light you can throw on the events of this evening.’

Harry Lee shook his head.

‘I don’t know anything at all. It’s all pretty horrible and utterly unexpected.’

Poirot said:

‘You have recently returned from abroad, I think, Mr Lee?’

Harry turned to him quickly.

‘Yes. Landed in England a week ago.’

Poirot said: 

‘You had been away a long time?’

Harry Lee lifted up his chin and laughed.

‘You might as well hear straight away-someone will soon tell you! I’m the prodigal son, gentlemen! It’s nearly twenty years since I last set foot in this house.’

‘But you returned-now. Will you tell us why?’ asked Poirot.

With the same appearance of frankness Harry answered readily enough.

‘It’s the good old parable still. I got tired of the husks that the swine do eat-or don’t eat, I forget which. I thought to myself that the fatted calf would be a welcome exchange. I had a letter from my father suggesting that I come home. I obeyed the summons and came. That’s all.’

Poirot said:

‘You came for a short visit-or a long one?’

Harry said: ‘I came home-for good!’

‘Your father was willing?’

‘The old man was delighted.’ He laughed again. The corners of his eyes crinkled engagingly. ‘Pretty boring for the old man living here with Alfred! Alfred’s a dull stick-very worthy and all that, but poor company. My father had been a bit of a rip in his time. He was looking forward to my company.’

‘And your brother and his wife, were they pleased that you were to live here?’ 

Poirot asked the question with a slight lifting of his eyebrows.

‘Alfred? Alfred was livid with rage. Don’t know about Lydia. She was probably annoyed on Alfred’s behalf. But I’ve no doubt she’d be quite pleased in the end. I like Lydia. She’s a delightful woman. I should have got on with Lydia. But Alfred was quite another pair of shoes.’ He laughed again. ‘Alfred’s always been as jealous as hell of me. He’s always been the good dutiful stay-at-home stick-in-the-mud son. And what was he going to get for it in the end?-what the good boy of the family always gets-a kick in the pants. Take it from me, gentlemen, virtue doesn’t pay.’ He looked from one face to another.

‘Hope you’re not shocked by my frankness. But after all, it’s the truth you’re after. You’ll drag out all the family dirty linen into the light of day in the end. I might as well display mine straight away. I’m not particularly broken-hearted by my father’s death-after all, I hadn’t seen the old devil since I was a boy-but nevertheless he was my father and he was murdered. I’m all out for revenge on the murderer.’ He stroked his jawbone, watching them. ‘We’re rather hot on revenge in our family. None of the Lees forget easily. I mean to make sure that my father’s murderer is caught and hanged.’

‘I think you can trust us to do our best in that line, Mr Lee,’ said Sugden. 

‘If you don’t I shall take the law into my own hands,’ said Harry Lee.

The chief constable said sharply:

‘Have you any ideas on the subject of the murderer’s identity, then, Mr Lee?’

Harry shook his head.

‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘No-I haven’t. You know it’s rather a jolt. Because I’ve been thinking about it-and I don’t see that it can have been an outside job…’

‘Ah,’ said Sugden, nodding his head.

‘And if so,’ said Harry Lee, ‘then someone here in the house killed him…But who the devil could have done it? Can’t suspect the servants. Tressilian has been here since the year one. The half-witted footman? Not on your life. Horbury, now, he’s a cool customer, but Tressilian tells me he was out at the pictures. So what do you come to? Passing over Stephen Farr (and why the devil should Stephen Farr come all the way from South Africa and murder a total stranger?) there’s only the family. And for the life of me I can’t see one of us doing it. Alfred? He adored Father. George? He hasn’t got the guts. David? David’s always been a moon dreamer. He’d faint if he saw his own finger bleed. The wives? Women don’t go and slit a man’s throat in cold blood. So who did? Blessed if I know. But it’s damned disturbing.’ 

Colonel Johnson cleared his throat-an official habit of his-and said:

‘When did you last see your father this evening?’

‘After tea. He’d just had a row with Alfred-about your humble servant. The old man was no end bucked with himself. He always liked stirring up trouble. In my opinion, that’s why he kept my arrival dark from the others. Wanted to see the fur fly when I blew in unexpectedly! That’s why he talked about altering his will, too.’

Poirot stirred softly. He murmured:

‘So your father mentioned his will?’

‘Yes-in front of the whole lot of us, watching us like a cat to see how we reacted. Just told the lawyer chap to come over and see him about it after Christmas.’

Poirot asked:

‘What changes did he contemplate making?’

Harry Lee grinned:

‘He didn’t tell us that! Trust the old fox! I imagine-or shall we say I hoped-that the change was to the advantage of your humble servant! I should imagine I’d been cut out of any former wills. Now, I rather fancy, I was to go back. Nasty blow for the others. Pilar, too-he’d taken a fancy to her. She was in for something good, I should imagine. You haven’t seen her yet? My Spanish niece. She’s a beautiful creature, Pilar-with the lovely warmth of the South-and its cruelty. Wish I wasn’t a mere uncle!’