Free Black Coffee by Agatha Christie

library, from which the body of Sir Claud had been removed late the previous evening. While Hastings listened and observed from a comfortable position on the settee, the detective asked Richard Amory to recount in detail the events of the evening prior to his, Poirot's, arrival. When he had concluded his recital of events, Richard, sitting in the chair which his father had occupied the previous evening, added, “Well, that's about everything, I think. I hope I've made myself clear?”
    “But perfectly, Monsieur Amory, perfectly,” Poirot replied, leaning against an arm of the only arm-chair in the room. “I now have a clear tableau.” Shutting his eyes, he attempted to conjure up the scene. “There is Sir Claud in his chair, dominating the situation. Then the darkness, the knocking on the door. Yes, indeed, a dramatic little scene.”
    “Well,” said Richard, making as if to rise, “if that is all -”
    “Just one little minute,” said Poirot, with a gesture as though to detain him.
    Lowering himself to his chair again with an air of reluctance, Richard asked, “Yes?”
    “What about earlier in the evening, Monsieur Amory?”
    “Earlier in the evening?”
    “Yes,” Poirot reminded him. “After dinner.”
    “Oh, that!” said Richard. “There's really nothing more to tell. My father and his secretary, Raynor - Edward Raynor - went straight into my father's study. The rest of us were in here.”
    Poirot beamed at Richard encouragingly. “And you did - what?”
    “Oh, we just talked. We had the gramophone on for most of the time.”
    Poirot thought for a moment. Then, “Nothing took place that strikes you as worth recalling?” he asked.
    “Nothing whatever,” Richard affirmed very quickly.
    Watching him closely, Poirot pressed on. “When was the coffee served?”
    “Immediately after dinner,” was Richard's reply. Poirot made a circular motion with his hand. “Did the butler hand it around, or did he leave it here to be poured out?”
    “I really can't remember,” said Richard.
    Poirot gave a slight sigh. He thought for a moment, and then asked, “Did you all take coffee?”
    “Yes, I think so. All except Raynor, that is. He doesn't drink coffee.”
    “And Sir Claud's coffee was taken to him in the study?”
    “I suppose so,” replied Richard, with some irritation beginning to show in his voice. “Are all these details really necessary?”
    Poirot lifted his arms in a gesture of apology. “I am so sorry,” he said. “It is just that I am very anxious to get the whole picture straight in my mind's eye. And, after all, we do want to get this precious formula back, do we not?”
    “I suppose so,” was again Richard's rather sullen rejoinder, at which Poirot's eyebrows shot up exaggeratedly and he uttered an exclamation of surprise. “No, of course, of course, we do,” Richard hastened to add.
    Poirot, looking away from Richard Amory, asked, “Now, when did Sir Claud come from the study into this room?”
    “Just as they were trying to get that door open,” Amory told him.
    “They?” queried Poirot, rounding on him.
    “Yes. Raynor and the others.”
    “May I ask who wanted it opened?”
    “My wife, Lucia,” said Richard. “She hadn't been feeling well all the evening.”
    Poirot's tone was sympathetic as he replied, “La pauvre dame! I hope she finds herself better this morning? There are one or two things I urgently desire to ask her.”
    “I'm afraid that's quite impossible,” said Richard. “She's not up to seeing anyone, or answering any questions. In any case, there's nothing she could tell you that I couldn't.”
    “Quite so, quite so,” Poirot assured him. “But women, Monsieur Amory, have a great capacity for observing things in detail. Still, doubtless your aunt, Miss Amory, will do as well.”
    “She's in bed,” said Richard hastily. “My father's death was a great shock to her.”
    “Yes, I see,” murmured Poirot thoughtfully. There was a pause. Richard,