mid-air, in a small enclosed space. There was no question of any outside person having committed the crime. The murderer or murderers must be of necessity one of the witnesses they had heard this morning. There was no getting away from that fact, and a very terrible and awful one it was. One of the persons present had been lying in a desperate and abandoned manner.
The manner of the crime was one of unparalleled audacity. In the full view of ten—or twelve, counting the stewards—witnesses, the murderer had placed a blowpipe to his lips and sent the fatal dart on its murderous course through the air and no one had observed the act. It seemed frankly incredible, but there was the evidence of the blowpipe, of the dart found on the floor, of the mark on the deceased’s neck and of the medical evidence to show that, incredible or not, it had happened.
In the absence of further evidence incriminating some particular person, he could only direct the jury to return a verdict of murder against a person or persons unknown. Everyone present had denied any knowledge of the deceased woman. It would be the work of the police to find out how and where a connection lay. In the absence of any motive for the crime he could only advise the verdict he had just mentioned. The jury would now consider the verdict.
A square-faced member of the jury with suspicious eyes leaned forward breathing heavily.
‘Can I ask a question, sir?’
‘Certainly.’
‘You say as how the blowpipe was found down a seat? Whose seat was it?’
The coroner consulted his notes. Sergeant Wilson stepped to his side and murmured:
‘Ah, yes. The seat in question was No. 9, a seat occupied by M. Hercule Poirot. M. Poirot, I may say, is a very well-known and respected private detective who has—er—collaborated several times with Scotland Yard.’
The square-faced man transferred his gaze to the face of M. Hercule Poirot. It rested with a far from satisfied expression on the little Belgian’s long moustaches.
‘Foreigners,’ said the eyes of the square-faced man, ‘you can’t trust foreigners, not even if they are hand-and-glove with the police.’
Out loud he said:
‘It was this Mr Poirot who picked up the dart, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
The jury retired. They returned after five minutes, and the foreman handed a piece of paper to the coroner.
‘What’s all this?’ The coroner frowned. ‘Nonsense, I can’t accept this verdict.’
A few minutes later the amended verdict was returned: ‘We find that the deceased came to her death by poison, there being insufficient evidence to show by whom the poison was administered.’
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