Hercule Poirot's Early Cases Part 11

Poirot nodded.

'But I want to know how you knew of the existence of thi letter?'

My friend smiled. 'Monsieur, I did not. But to track footmarlm and recognize cigarette-ash is not sufficient for a detective. He must also be a good psychologist! I knew that you disliked and mistrusted your son-in-law. He benefits by your daughter's death; the maid's description of the mysterious man bears a sufficient resemblance to him. Yet you are not keen on his trackl Why?

Surely because your suspicions lie in another direction. Therefore you were keeping something back.'

'You're right, Monsieur Poirot. I was sure of Rupert's guilt until I found this letter. It unsettled me horribly.'

'Yes. The Count says: "Before very long, and perhaps sooner than you think." Obviously he would not want to wait until you should get wind of his reappearance. Was it he who travelled down from London by the twelve-fourteen, and came along the corridor to your daughter's compartment? The Count de la Rochefour is also, if I remember rightly, tall and dark?

The millionaire nodded.

'Well, monsieur, I will wish you good day. Scotland Yard has, I presume, a list of the jewels?'

'Yes. I believe Inspector j.a.pp is here now if you would like to see him.'

j.a.pp was an old friend of ours, and greeted Poirot with a sort of affectionate contempt.

'And how are you, monsieur? No bad feeling between us, though we have got our different ways of looking at things. How are the "little grey cells", eh? Going strong?'

Poirot beamed upon him. 'They function, my good j.a.pp; a.s.suredly they do!'

'Then that's all right. Think it was the Honourable Rupert, or a crook? We're keeping an eye on all the regular places, of course.

We shall know if the shiners are disposed of, and of course whoever did it isn't going to keep them to admire their sparkle. Not likelyl I'm trying to find out where Rupert Carrington was yesterday.

Seems a bit of a mystery about it. I've got a man watching him.' 'A great precaution, but perhaps a day late,' suggested Poirot gently.

'You always will have your joke, Monsieur Poirot. Well, I'm off to Paddington. Bristol, Weston, Taunton, that's my beat. So long.' 'You will come round and see me this evening, and tell me the result?' 'Sure thing, if I'm back.' 'That good inspector believes in matter in motion,' murmured Poirot as our friend departed. 'He travels; he measures footprints; he collects mud and cigarette-ashl He is extremely busyl He is zealous beyond words! And if I mentioned psychology to him, do you know what he would do, my friend? He would smilel He would say to himself: "Poor old Poirotl He agesl He grows senile!" j.a.pp is the "younger generation knocking on the door". And ma 'ofI They are so busy knocking that they do not notice that the door is openl' 'And what are you going to do?' 'As we have carte blanche, I shall expend threepence in ringing up the Ritz - where you may have noticed our Count is staying.

After that, as my feet are a little damp, and I have sneezed twice, I shall return to my rooms and make myself a tisane over the spirit lampl'

I did not see Poirot again until the following morning. I found him placidly finishing his breakfast.

'Well?' I inquired eagerly. 'What has happened?' 'Nothing.' 'But j.a.pp?' 'I have not seen him.' 'The Count?' 'He left the Ritz the day before yesterday.' 'The day of the murder?' 'Yes.'

'Then that settles it[ Rupert Carrington is cleared.' 'Because the Count de h Rochefour has left the Ritz? You go too fast, my friend.' 'Anyway, he must be followed, a 'restedl But what could be his motive?' 'One hundred thousand dollars' worth of jewellery is a very good motive for anyone. No, the question to my mind is: why kill her? Why not simply steal the jewels? She would not prosecute.' 'Why not?' 'Because she is a woman, mon ami. She once loved this man.

Therefore she would suffer her loss in silence. And the Count, who is an extremely good psychologist where women are concerned - hence his successes - would know that perfectly well!

On the other hand, if Rupert Carrington killed her, why take the jewels, which would incriminate him fatally?' 'As a blind.' 'Perhaps you are right, my friend. Ah, here is lapp[ I recognize his knock.' The inspector was beaming good-humouredly.

'Morning, Poirot. Only just got back. I've done some good workl And you?' The, I have arranged my ideas,' replied Poirot placidly.

j.a.pp laughed heartily.

'Old chap's getting on in years,' he observed beneath his breath to me. 'That won't do for us young folk,' he said aloud.

'Quel dommage?' Poirot inquired.

'Well, do you want to hear what I've done?' 'You permit me to make a guess? You have found the knife with which the crime was committed, by the side of the line between Weston and Taunton, and you have interviewed the paperboy who spoke to Mrs Carrington at Weston!' j.a.pp's jaw fell. 'How on earth did you know? Don't tell me it was those almighty "little grey cells" of yoursI' 'I am glad you admit for once that they are all mightyl Tell me, did she give the paper-boy a shilling for himself?' 'No, it was half a crownl' j.a.pp had recovered his temper, and grinned. 'Pretty extravagant, these rich Americans!'

'And in consequence the boy did not forget her?'

'Not he. Half-crowns dgn't come his way every day. She haile him and bought two magazines. One had a picture of a girl it blue on the cover. "That'll match me," she said. Oh, he remem. bered her perfectly. Well, that was enough for me. By the doctor' evidence, the crime must have been committed before Taunton I guessed they'd throw the knife away at once, and I walked dom the line looking for it; and sure enough, there it was. I mad inquiries at Taunton about our man, but of course it's a bi! station, and it wasn't likely they'd notice him. He probably got back to London by a later train.'

Poirot nodded. 'Very likely.'

'But I found another bit of news when I got back. They're pa.s.sing the jewels, all righfi That large emerald was p.a.w.ned last night - by one of the regular lot. Who do you think it was?' 'I don't know - except that he was a short man.' lapp stared. 'Well, you're right there. He's short enough. It was Red Narky.'

'Who is Red Narky?' I asked.

'A particularly sharp jewel-thief, sir. And not one to stick at murder. Usually works with a woman - Gracie Kidd; but she doesn't seem to be in it this time - unless she's got off to Holland with the rest of the swag.'

'You've arrested Narky?'

'Sure thing. But mind you, it's the other man we want - the man who went down with Mrs Carrington in the train. He was the one who planned the job, right enough. But Narky won't squeal on a pal.'

I noticed that Poirot's eyes had become very green.

'I think,' he said gently, 'that I can find Narky's pal for you, all right.'

'One of your little ideas, eh?' lapp eyed Poirot sharply. 'Wonder-ul how you manage to deliver the goods sometimes, at your ae and all. Devil's own luck, of course.'

'Perhaps, perhaps,' murmured my friend. 'Hastings, my hat.

And the brush. Sol My galoshes, if it still rainsl We must not undo the good work of that tisane./lu rm/r, j.a.ppl'

'Good luck to you, Poirot.'

Poirot hailed the first taxi we met, and directed the driver to Park Lane.

When we drew up before Halliday's house, he skipped out nimbly, paid the driver and rang the bell. To the footman who opened the door he made a request in a low voice, and we were immediately taken upstairs. We went up to the top of the house, and were shown into a small neat bedroom.

Poirot's eyes roved round the room and fastened themselves on a small black trunk. He knelt in front of it, scrutinized the labels on it, and took a small twist of wire from his pocket.

'Ask Mr Halliday if he will be so kind as to mount to me here,' he said over his shoulder to the footman.

The man departed, and Poirot gently coaxed the lock of the trunk with a practised hand. In a few minutes the lock gave, and he raised the lid of the trunk. Swiftly he began rummaging among the clothes it contained, flinging them out on the floor.

There was a heavy step on the stairs, and Halliday entered the room.

'What in h.e.l.l are you doing here?' he demanded, staring.

'I was looking,. monsieur, for this.' Poirot withdrew from the trunk a coat and skirt of bright blue frieze, and a small toque of white fox fur.

'What are you doing with my trunk?' I turned to see that the maid, Jane Mason, had entered the room.

'If you will just shut the door, Hastings. Thank you. Yes, and stand with your back against it. Now, Mr Halliday, let me intro-duce you to Gracie Kidd, otherwise Jane Mason, who will shortly rejoin her accomplice, Red Narky, under the kind escort of Inspector j.a.pp.'

Poirot waved a deprecating hand. 'It was of the most simplel' He helped himself to more caviar.

'It was the maid's insistence on the clothes that her mistre was wearing that first struck me. Why was she so anxious that our attention should be directed to them? I reflected that we had only the maid's word for the mysterious man in the carriage at Bristol.

As far as the doctor's evidence went, Mrs Carrington might easily have been murdered before reaching Bristol. But if so, then the maid must be an accomplice. And if she were an accomplice, she would not vish this point to rest on her evidence alone. The clothes Mrs Carrington was wearing were of a striking nature. A maid usually has a good deal of choice as to what her mistress shall wear. Now if, after Bristol, anyone saw a lady in a bright blue coat and skirt, and a fur toque, he will be quite ready to swear he had seen Mrs Carrington.

'I began to reconstruct. The maid would provide herself with duplicate clothes. She and her accomplice, chloroform and stab Mrs Carrington between London and Bristol, probably taking advantage of a tunnel. Her body is rolled under the seat; and the maid takes her place. At Weston she must make herself noticed.

How? In all probability, a nevspaper-boy will be selected. She will insure his remembering her by giving him a large tip. She also drew his attention to the colour of her dress by a remark about one of the magazines. After leaving Weston, she throws the knife out of the window to mark the place where the crime pre-sumably occurred, and changes her clothes, or b.u.t.tons a long mackintosh over them. At Taunton she leaves the train and returns to Bristol as soon as possible, where her accomplice has duly left the luggage in the cloakroom. He hands over the ticket and himself returns to London. She waits on the platform, carrying out her role, goes to a hotel for the night and returns to town in the morning, exactly as she said.

'When j.a.pp returned from this expedition, he confirmed all my deductions. He also told me that a well-known crook was pa.s.sing the jewels. I knew that whoever it was would be the exact opposite of the man Jane Mason described. When I heard that it was Red Narky, who always worked with Graeie Kidd - well, I knew just where to find her.'

'And the Count?'

'The more I thought of it, the more I was convinced that he had nothing to do with it. That gentleman is much too careful of his own skin to risk murder. It would be out of keeping with his character.'

'Well, Monsieur Poirot,' said Halliday, 'I owe you a big debt.

And the cheque I write after lunch won't go near to settling it.' Poirot smiled modestly, and murmured to me: 'The good j.a.pp, he shall get the official credit, all right, but though he has got his Gracie Kidd, I think that I, as the Americans say, have got his goat!'

CHAPTER X

THE CHOCOI. ATE BOX.

It was a wild night. Outside, the wind howled malevolently, and the rain beat against the windows in great gusts.

Poirot and I sat facing the hearth, our legs stretched out to the cheerful blaze. Between us was a small table. On my side of it stood some carefully brewed hot toddy; on Poirot's was a cup of thick, rich chocolate which I would not have drunk for a hundred poundsl Poirot sipped the thick brown mess in the pink china cup, and sighed with contentment.

'Quelle belle v/e!' he murmured.

'Yes, it's a good old world,' I agreed. 'Here am I with a job, and a good job tool And here are you, famous - '

'Oh, mon ami!' protested Poirot.

'But you are. And rightly sol When I think back on your long line of successes, I am positively amazed. I don't believe you know what failure isl'

'He would be a droll kind of original who could say thaw 'No, but seriously, have you ever failed?'

'Innumerable times, my friend. What would you? La bonne chance, it cannot always be on your side. I have been called in too late. Very often another, working towards the same goal, has arrived there first. Twice have I been stricken down with illness just as I was on the point of success. One must take the downs with the ups, my friend.'

'I didn't quite mean that,' I said. 'I meant, had you ever been completely down and out over a case through your own fault?'

'Ah, I comprehend! You ask if I have ever made the complete prize a.s.s of myself, as you say over here? Once, my friend - ' A slow, reflective smile hovered over his face. 'Yes, once I made a fool of myself.'

He sat up suddenly in his chair.

'See here, my friend, you have, I know, kept a record of my little successes. You shall add one more story to the collection, the story of a failure!' He leaned forward and placed a log on the fire. Then, after carefully wiping his hands on a little duster that hung on a nail by the fireplace, he leaned back and commenced his story.

That of which I tell you (said M. Poirot) took place in Belgium many years ago. It was at the time of the terrible struggle in France between church and state. M. Paul Droulard was a French deputy of note. It was an open secret that the portfolio of a Minister awaited him. He was among the bitterest of the anti-Catholic party, and it was certain that on his accession to power, he would have to face violent enmity. He was in many ways a peculiar man.

Though he neither drank nor smoked, he was nevertheless not so scrupulous in other ways. You comprehend, Hastings, cYtait des femrnes - toujours des femmesl He had married some years earlier a young lady from Brussels who had brought him a substantial dot. Undoubtedly the money was useful to him in his career, as his family was not rich, though on the other hand he was ent.i.tled to call himself M. le Baron if he chose. There were no children of the marriage, and his wife died after two years - the result of a fall downstairs. Among the property which she bequeathed to him was a house on the Avenue Louise in Brussels.

It was in this house that his sudden death took place, the event coinciding with the resignation of the Minister whose portfolio he was to inherit. All the papers printed long notices of his career.

His death, which had taken place quite suddenly in the evening after dinner, was attributed to heart-failure.

At that time, rnon ami, I was, as you know, a member of the Belgian detective force. The death of M. Paul Droulard was not particularly interesting to me. I am, as you also know, bon catholique, and his demise seemed to me fortunate.

It was some three days afterwards, when my vacation had just begun, that I received a visitor at my own apartments - a lady, heavily veiled, but evidently quite young; and I perceived at once that she was a jeune fille tout d fait cornme il faut.

'You are Monsieur Hercule Poirot?' she asked in a low sweet voice.

I bowed.

'Of the detective service?'

Again I bowed. 'Be seated, I pray of you, mademoiselle,' I said.

She accepted a chair and drew aside her veil. Her face was charming, though marred with tears, and haunted as though with some poignant anxiety.

'Monsieur,' she said, 'I understand that you are now taking a vacation. Therefore you will be free to take up a private case.

You understand that I do not wish to call in the police.'

I shook my head. 'I fear what you ask is impossible, mademois-elle.

Even though on vacation, I am still of the police.'

She leaned forward. 'Ecoutez, monsieur. All that I ask of you is to investigate. The result of your investigations you are at perfect liberty to report to the police. If what I believe to be true/s true, we shall need all the machinery of the law.'

That placed a somewhat different complexion on the matter, and I placed myself at her service without more ado.

A slight colour rose in her cheeks. 'I thank you, monsieur. It is the death of M. Paul Droulard that I ask you to investi-gate.'

'Comment?' I exclaimed, surprised.

'Monsieur, I have nothing to go upon - nothing but my woman's instinct, but I am convinced - convinced, I tell you - that M.

Droulard did not die a natural death!'