Chapter Thirty-Five Finale


         I am sorry to relate that as the door closed behind Franklin
     Clarke I
     laughed hysterically.
         Poirot looked at me in mild surprise.
         "It's because you told him his crime was not sporting，"I gasped.
         "It was quite true.It was abominable-not so much the murder of his
     brother-but the cruelty that condemned an unfortunate man to a living
     death.To catch a fox and put him in a box and never let him go!That is
     not
     le sport!"
         Megan Barnard gave a deep sigh.
         "I can't believe it-I can't.Is it true?"
         "Yes，mademoiselle.The nightmare is over."
         She looked at him and her colour deepened.
         Poirot turned to Fraser.
         "A Mademoiselle Megan，all along，was haunted by a fear that it
     was you
     who had committed the second crime."
         Donald Fraser said quietly:
         "I fancied so myself at one time."
         "Because of your dream?"He drew a little nearer to the young man
     and
     dropped his voice confidentially."Your dream has a very natural
     explanation.It is that you find that already the image of one sister
     fades
     in your memory and that its place is taken by the other sister.
         Mademoiselle Megan replaces her sister in your heart，but since
     you
     cannot bear to think of yourself being unfaithful so soon to the
     dead，you
     strive to stifle the thought，to kill it!That is the explanation of
     the
     dream."
         Fraser's eyes went towards Megan.
         "Do not be afraid to forget，"said Poirot gently."She was not so
     well
     worth remembering.In Mademoiselle Megan you have one in a hundred-un
     coeur
     magnifique!"
         Donald Fraser's eyes lit up.
         "I believe you are right."
         We all crowded round Poirot asking questions，elucidating this
     point and
     that.
         "Those questions，Poirot?That you asked of everybody.Was there any
     point
     in them?"
         "Some of them were simplement une blague.But I learnt one thing
     that I
     wanted to know-that Franklin Clarke was in London when the first
     letter was
     posted-and also I wanted to see his face when I asked my question of
     Mademoiselle Thora.He was off his guard.I saw all the malice and anger
     in
     his eyes."
         "You hardly spared my feelings，"said Thora Grey.
         "I do not fancy you returned me a truthful answer，mademoiselle，
     "said
     Poirot dryly."And now your second expectation is disappointed.Franklin
     Clarke will not inherit his brother's money."
         She flung up her head.
         "Is there any need for me to stay here and be insulted?"
         "None whatever，"said Poirot and held the door open politely for
     her.
         "That fingerprint clinched things，Poirot，"I said
     thoughtfully."He went
     all to pieces when you mentioned that."
         "Yes，they are useful-fingerprints."
         He added thoughtfully:
         "I put that in to please you，my friend."
         "But，Poirot，"I cried，"wasn't it true?"
         "Not in the least，mon ami，"said Hercule Poirot.
         I must mention a visit we had from Mr Alexander Bonaparte Cust a
     few
     days later.After wringing Poirot's hand and endeavouring very
     incoherently
     and unsuccessfully to thank him，Mr Cust drew himself up and said:
         "Do you know，a newspaper has actually offered me a hundred
     pounds-a
     hundred pounds-for a brief account of my life and history-I-I really
     don't
     know what to do about it."
         "I should not accept a hundred，"said Poirot."Be firm.Say five
     hundred
     is your price.And do not confine yourself to one newspaper."
         "Do you really think-that I might-""You must realize，"said
     Poirot，
     smiling，"that you are a very famous man.Practically the most famous
     man in
     England today."
         Mr Cust drew himself up still further.A beam of delight irradiated
     his
     face.
         "Do you know，I believe you're right!Famous!In all the papers.I
     shall
     take your advice，M.Poirot.The money will be most agreeable-most
     agreeable.I
     shall have a little holiday......And then I want to give a nice
     wedding
     present to Lily Marbury-a dear girl-really a dear girl，M.Poirot."
         Poirot patted him encouragingly on the shoulder.
         "You are quite right.Enjoy yourself.And-just a little word-what
     about a
     bisit to an oculist?Those headaches，it is probably that you want new
     glasses."
         "You think that it may have been that all the time?"
         "I do."
         Mr Cust shook him warmly by the hand.
         "You're a very great man，MPoirot."
         Poirot，as usual，did not distain the compliment.He did not even
     succeed
     in looking modest.
         When Mr Cust had strutted importantly out，my old friend smiled
     across
     at me.
         "So，Hastings-we went hunting once more，did we not?Vive le
     sport."

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