16 April 2012
Sir Rein gave a stare for a minute before giving a loud chuckle: 'Oh! M. Poirot! a detective or a comedian?!' Lara didn't look so convinced, her empty gaze rested upon him. 'Please excuse me everyone, I must retire now. And bonsoire M. Poirot.' Poirot murmured: 'I do not think so, Sir Rein, I think you stay and we talk.' His foreign accent was exaggerated. 'M. Poirot, I apologise, a dieing man must also rest.' 'Oh! but you have plenty time, in the after-life, that is.' Poirot's serious manner persuaded Rein to sit down. 'Now I give my---' Poirot started but was interrupted by Lara.
'Benjamin, this isn't true is it?' 'Of course it's not true! Be ashamed Lara! You don't believe this Frenchman do you?!' 'I AM NOT A FRENCHMAN!' he lowered his voice: 'I am Belgian, and I wish to give my verdict.' 'Go on, amuse me!' 'It is rather simple, the butler, Mr Carter, was hiding something in the study. No way was he going to let me anywhere near LE LIVRE. And that was because it held a darkening secret, you are in serious debt! Blackmail, I believe, from your affair with a certain Miss Sandra Burgess from Southampton?
'You're a man about to acquaint himself with death, from the cancer. We all know that, sir. And the debt would pass, first to your wife, then to your son. But DEATH, Monsieur, is not the only way out!' Poirot's face was red, he was exasperated.
'Oh! you upset me Mr Poirot, I miss them both dearly! Just how will you prove my being guilty?'
'The maid and the butler both said you rarely entered your wife's study. And she hated you smoking, the cigar found in a newly placed ash tray have you away, Monsieur.'
'You see Poirot, you were wrong. Death is the only way out.' With that, Sir Reid made a final salute, with his pistol. He pulled the trigger, and lay back in his wheelchair. A slight smile on his face.
M. Poirot Exposes The Murderer • Opuss № I