‘Another extraordinary point was the turning of the key in the lock from the outside. Again, there seemed noreason for such a proceeding. It could not suggest suicide, since nothing in the death itself accorded with suicide. It was not to suggest escape through the windows-for those windows were so arranged that escape that way was impossible! Moreover, once again, it involvedtime. Time whichmust be precious to the murderer!

‘There was one other incomprehensible thing-a piece of rubber cut from Simeon Lee’s spongebag and a small wooden peg shown to me by Superintendent Sugden. These had been picked up from the floor by one of the persons who first entered the room. There again-these things did not make sense! They meant exactly nothing at all! Yet they had been there.

‘The crime, you perceive, is becoming increasingly incomprehensible. It has no order, no method-enfin, it is notreasonable.

‘And now we come to a further difficulty. Superintendent Sugden was sent for by the dead man; a robbery was reported to him, and he was asked to return an hour and a half later.Why? If it is because Simeon Lee suspected his granddaughter or some other member of the family, why does he not ask Superintendent Sugden to wait downstairs while he has his interview straight away with the suspected party? With the superintendent actually in the house, his lever over the guilty person would have been much stronger. 

‘So now we arrive at the point where not only the behaviour of the murderer is extraordinary, but the behaviour of Simeon Lee also is extraordinary!

‘And I say to myself: “This thing is all wrong!” Why? Because we are looking at itfrom the wrong angle. We are looking at itfrom the angle that the murderer wants us to look at it…

‘We have three things that do not make sense: the struggle, the turned key, and the snip of rubber. But theremust be some way of looking at those three things whichwould make sense! And I empty my mind blank and forget the circumstances of the crime and take these thingson their own merits. I say-astruggle. What doesthat suggest? Violence-breakage-noise…Thekey? Why does one turn a key? So that no one shall enter? But the key did not prevent that, since the door was broken down almost immediately. To keep someonein? To keep someoneout? A snip of rubber? I say to myself: “A little piece of a spongebag is a little piece of a spongebag, and that is all!”

‘So you would say there is nothing there-and yet that is not strictly true, for three impressions remain: noise-seclusion-blankness…

‘Do they fit with either of my two possibles? No, they do not. To both Alfred Lee and Hilda Lee aquiet murder would have been infinitely preferable, to have wasted time in locking the door from the outside is absurd, and the little piece of spongebag means yet once more-nothing at all!

‘And yet I have very strongly the feeling that there is nothing absurd about this crime-that it is on the contrary, very well planned and admirably executed. That is has, in fact,succeeded! Therefore that everything that has happened wasmeant…

‘And then, going over it again, I got my first glimmer of light…

‘Blood-so much blood-blood everywhere…An insistence on blood-fresh, wet, gleaming blood…So much blood-too much blood…

‘And a second thought comes with that. This is a crime ofblood -it isin the blood.It is Simeon Lee’s own blood that rises up against him…’

Hercule Poirot leaned forward.

‘The two most valuable clues in this case were uttered quite unconsciously by two different people. The first was when Mrs Alfred Lee quoted a line fromMacbeth: “Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?”The other was a phrase uttered by Tressilian, the butler. He described how he felt dazed and things seemed to be happening that had happened before. It was a very simple occurrence that gave him that strange feeling. He heard a ring at the bell and went to open the door to Harry Lee, and the next day he did the same thing to Stephen Farr. 

‘Nowwhy did he have that feeling? Look at Harry Lee and Stephen Farrand you will see why. They are astoundingly alike!That was whyopening the door to Stephen Farr was just like opening the door to Harry Lee. It might almost have been the same man standing there. And then, only today, Tressilian mentioned that he was always getting muddled between people. No wonder! Stephen Farr has a high-bridged nose, a habit of throwing his head back when he laughs, and a trick of stroking his jaw with his forefinger. Look long and earnestly at the portrait of Simeon Lee as a young man and you seenot only Harry Lee, but Stephen Farr…’

Stephen moved. His chair creaked. Poirot said:

‘Remember that outburst of Simeon Lee, his tirade against his family. He said, you remember it, that he would swear he had better sonsborn the wrong side of the blanket. We are back again at the character of Simeon Lee. Simeon Lee, who was successful with women and who broke his wife’s heart! Simeon Lee, who boasted to Pilar that he might have a bodyguard of sons almost the same age! So I came to this conclusion: Simeon Lee had not only his legitimate family in the house,but an unacknowledged and unrecognized son of his own blood.’

Stephen got to his feet. Poirot said:

‘That was your real reason, wasn’t it? Not that pretty romance of the girl you met in the train! You were coming herebefore you met her. Coming to seewhat kind of a man your father was…’

Stephen had gone dead white. He said, and his voice was broken and husky:

‘Yes, I’ve always wondered…Mother spoke about him sometimes. It grew into a kind of obsession with me-to see what he was like! I made a bit of money and I came to England. I wasn’t going to let him know who I was. I pretended to be old Eb’s son. I came here for one reason only-to see the man who was my father…’

Superintendent Sugden said in almost a whisper:

‘Lord, I’ve been blind…I can see it now. Twice I’ve taken you for Mr Harry Lee and then seen my mistake, and yet I never guessed!’

He turned on Pilar.

‘That was it, wasn’t it? It was Stephen Farr you saw standing outside that door? You hesitated, I remember, and looked at him before you said it was a woman. It was Farr you saw,and you weren’t going to give him away.’

There was a gentle rustle. Hilda Lee’s deep voice spoke:

‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re wrong. It wasI whom Pilar saw…’

Poirot said:

‘You, madame? Yes, I thought so…’

Hilda said quietly: 

‘Self-preservation is a curious thing. I wouldn’t believe I could be such a coward. To keep silence just because I was afraid!’

Poirot said:

‘You will tell us now?’

She nodded.

‘I was with David in the music-room. He was playing. He was in a very queer mood. I was a little frightened and I felt my responsibility very keenly because it was I who had insisted on coming here. David began to play the “Dead March”, and suddenly I made up my mind. However odd it might seem, I determined that we would both leave at once-that night. I went quietly out of the music-room and upstairs. I meant to go to old Mr Lee and tell him quite plainly why we were going. I went along the corridor to his room and knocked on the door. There was no answer. I knocked again a little louder. There was still no answer. Then I tried the door handle. The door was locked. And then, as I stood hesitating,I heard a sound inside the room -’

She stopped.

‘You won’t believe me, but it’s true!Someone was in there -assaulting Mr Lee. I heard tables and chairs overturned and the crash of glass and china, and then I heard that one last horrible cry that died away to nothing-and then silence.

‘I stood there paralysed! I couldn’t move! And then Mr Farr came running along and Magdalene and all the others and Mr Farr and Harry began to batter on the door. It went down and we saw the room,and there was no one in it -except Mr Lee lying dead in all that blood.’

Her quiet voice rose higher. She cried:

‘There was no one else there-no one, you understand! Andno one had come out of the room…’

Superintendent Sugden drew a deep breath. He said:

‘Either I’m going mad or everybody else is! What you’ve said, Mrs Lee, is just plumb impossible. It’s crazy!’

Hilda Lee cried:

‘I tell you I heard them fighting in there, and I heard the old man scream when his throat was cut-and no one came out and no one was in the room!’

Hercule Poirot said:

‘And all this time you have said nothing.’

Hilda Lee’s face was white, but she said steadily:

‘No, because if I told you what had happened, there’s only one thing you could say or think-that it wasI who killed him…’ 

Poirot shook his head.

‘No,’ he said. ‘You did not kill him. His son killed him.’

Stephen Farr said:

‘I swear before God I never touched him!’

‘Not you,’ said Poirot. ‘He had other sons!’

Harry said:

‘What the hell-’

George stared. David drew his hand across his eyes. Alfred blinked twice.

Poirot said:

‘The very first night I was here-the night of the murder-I saw a ghost.It was the ghost of the dead man. When I first saw Harry Lee I was puzzled. I felt I had seen him before. Then I noted his features carefully and I realized how like his father he was, and I told myself that that was what caused the feeling of familiarity.

‘But yesterday a man sitting opposite me threw back his head and laughed-and I knew who it was Harry Lee reminded me of. And I traced again, in another face, the features of the dead man.

‘No wonder poor old Tressilian felt confused when he had answered the door not to two, but tothree men who resembled each other closely. No wonder he confessed to getting muddled about people when there were three men in the house who, at a little distance, could pass for each other! The same build, the same gestures (one in particular, a trick of stroking the jaw), the same habit of laughing with the head thrown back, the same distinctive high-bridged nose. Yet the similarity was not always easy to see-for the third man had a moustache.’

He leaned forward.

‘One forgets sometimes that police officers are men, that they have wives and children, mothers’-he paused-‘andfathers…Remember Simeon Lee’s local reputation: a man who broke his wife’s heart because of his affairs with women. A son born the wrong side of the blanket may inherit many things. He may inherit his father’s features and even his gestures. He may inherit his pride and his patience and his revengeful spirit!’