Hercule Poirot's Early Cases Part 16

'A compromising doc.u.ment to leave behind,' commented Poirot, as he handed it back.

'Well, he didn't know she'd got it in her pocket,' said the inspector. 'He probably thought she'd destroyed it. We've evidence that he was a careful man, though. The pistol she was shot with we found under the body - and there again no fingerprints.

They'd been wiped off very carefully with a silk handkerchief.'

'How do you know,' said Poirot, 'that it was a silk handker-chief?'

'Because we found it,' said the inspector triumphantly. 'At the last, as he was drawing the curtains, he must have let it fall unnoticed.'

He handed across a big white silk handkerchief - a good-quality handkerchief. It did not need the inspector's finger to draw Poirot's attention to the mark on it in the centre. It was neatly marked and quite legible. Poirot read the name out.

'John Fraser.' 'That's it,' said the inspector. 'John Fraser - J.F. in the note.

We know the name of the man we have to look for, and I dare say when we find out a little about the dead woman, and her relations come forward, we shall soon get a line on him.' 'I wonder,' said Poirot. 'No, mon cher, somehow I do not think he will be easy to find, your John Fraser. He is a strange man-careful, since he marks his handkerchiefs and wipes the pistol with which he has committed the crime - yet careless since he loses his handkerchief and does not search for a letter that might incriminate him.' 'Flurried, that's what he was,' said the inspector.

'It is possible,' said Poirot. 'Yes, it is possible. And he was not seen entering the building?' 'There are all sorts of people going in and out at the time. These are big blocks. I suppose none of you - ' he addressed the four collectively - 'saw anyone coming out of the flat?' Pat shook her head. 'We went out earlier - about seven o'clock.' 'I see.' The inspector rose. Poirot accompanied him to the door.

'As a little favour, may I examine the flat below?' 'Why, certainly, M. Poirot. I know what they think of you at headquarters. I'll leave you a key. I've got two. It will be empty.

The maid cleared out to some relatives, too scared to stay there 'I thank you,' said M. Poirot. He went back into the flat, thoughtful.

'You're not satisfied, M. Poirot?' said Jimmy.

'No,' said Poirot. 'I am not satisfied.' Donovan looked at him curiously. 'What is it that - well, worries you?' Poirot did not answer. He remained silent for a minute or two, frowning, as though in thought, then he made a sudden impatient movement of shoulders.

'I will say good night to you, mademoiselle. You must be tired You have had much cooking to do - eh?' Pat laughed. 'Only the omelette. I didn't do dinner. Donova and Jimmy came and called for us, and we went out to a littl place in Soho.' 'And then without doubt, you went to a theatre?' 'Yes. The Brown Eyes of Caroline.' 'Ahl' said Poirot. 'It should have been blue eyes - the blue eye: of mademoiselle.' He made a sentimental gesture, and then once more wished Pa good night, also Mildred, who was staying the night by special request, as Pat admitted frankly that she would get the horrors, if left alone on this particular night.

The two young men accompanied Poirot. When the door wa., shut, and they were preparing to say goodbye to him on th{ landing, Poirot forestalled them.

'My young friends, you heard me say that I was not satisfiedl Eh bien, it is true - I am not. I go now to make some little investiga. tions of my own. You would like to accompany me - yes?' An eager a.s.sent greeted this proposal. Poirot led the way to th flat below and inserted the key the inspector had given him in th4 lock. On entering, he did not, as the others had expected, ente the sitting-room. Instead he went straight to the kitchen. In a litth recess which served as a scullery a big iron bin was standing.

Poirot uncovered this and, doubling himself up, began to rootk in it with the energy of a ferocious terrier.

Both Jimmy and Donovan stared at him in amazement.

Suddenly with a cry of triumph he emerged. In his hand he held aloft a small stoppered bottle.

'Voild!' he said. 'I find what I seek.' He sniffed at it delicately.

'Alas! I am enrhurad - I have the cold in the head.' Donovan took the bottle from him and sniffed in his turn, bm could smell nothing. He took out the stopper and held the bottk to his nose before Poirot's warning cry could stop him.

Immediately he fell like a log. Poirot, by springing forward: partly broke his fall.

'Imbecile!' he cried. 'The idea. To remove the stopper in that foolhardy mannerl Did he not observe how delicately I handled it? Monsieur - Faulkener - is it not? Will you be so good as to get me a little brandy? I observed a decanter in the sitting-room.'

Jimmy hurried off, but by the time he returned, Donovan was sitting up and declaring himself quite all right again. He had to listen to a short lecture from Poirot on the necessity of caution in sniffmg at possibly poisonous substances.

'I think I'll be off home,' said Donovan, rising shakily to his feet. 'That is, if I can't be any more use here. I feel a bit wonky still.'

'a.s.suredly,' said Poirot. 'That is the best thing you can do.

M. Faulkener, attend me here a little minute. I will return on the instant.'

He accompanied Donovan to the door and beyond. They remained outside on the landing talking for some minutes When Poirot at last re-entered the flat he found Jimmy standing in the sitting-rom gazing round him with puzzled eyes.

'Well, M. Poirot,' he said, 'what next?' 'There is nothing next. The case is finished.' 'What?'

'I know everything - now.'

Jimmy stared at him. 'That little bottle you found?'

'Exactly. That little bottle.'

Jimmy shook his head. 'I can't make head or tail of it. For some reason or other I can see you are dissatisfied with the evidence against this John Fraser, whoever he may be.'

'Whoever he may be,' repeated Poirot softly. 'If he is anyone at all - well, I shall be surprised.'

'I don't understand.'

'He is a name - that is all - a name carefully marked on a handkerchiefl'

'And the letter?'

'Did you notice that it was printed? Now, why? I will tell you.

Handwriting might be recognized, and a typewritten letter ia more easily traced than you would imagine - but if a real John Fraser wrote that letter those two points would not have appealed to himl No, it was written on purpose, and put in the dead woman's pocket for us to find. There is no such person as John Fraser.' Jimmy looked at him inquiringly.

'And so,' went on Poirot, 'I went back to the point that first struck me. You heard me say that certain things in a room were always in the same place under given circ.u.mstances. I gave three instances. I might have mentioned a fourth - the electric-light switch, my friend.' Jinuny still stared uncomprehendingly. Poirot went on.

'Your friend Donovan did not go near the window - it was by resting his hand on this table that he got it covered in bloodl But I asked myself at once - why did he rest it there? What was he doing groping about this room in darkness? For remember, my friend, the electric-light switch is always in the same place - by the door. Why, when he came to this room, did he not at once feel for the light and turn it on? That was the natural, the normal thing to do. According to him, he tried to turn on the light in the kitchen, but failed. Yet when I tried the switch it was in perfect working order. Did he, then, not wish the light to go on just then? If it had gone on you would both have seen at once that you were in the wrong flat. There would have been no reason to come into this room.' 'What are you driving at, M. Poirot? I don't understand. What do you mean?' 'I mean - this.' Poirot held up a Yale door key.

'The key of this flat?' 'N0, mon ami, the key of the flat above. Mademoiselle Patricia's key, which M. Donovan Bailey abstracted from her bag some time during the evening.' 'But why - why?' 'Parbleul So that he could do what he wanted to do - gain admission to this flat in a perfectly unsuspicious manner. He made sure that the lift door was unbolted earlier in the evening.' 'Where did you get the key?' P0irot's smile broadened. 'I found it just now - where I looked for it- in M. Donovan's pocket. See you, that little bottle I pretended to find was a ruse. M. Donovan is taken in. He doe what I knew he would do - unstoppers it and sniffs. And in that little bottle is ethyl chloride, a very powerful instant anaesthetic.

It gives me just the moment or two of unconsciousness I need. I take from his pocket the two things that I knew would be there.

This key was one of them - the other ' He stopped and then went on.

'I questioned at the time the reason the inspector gave for the body being concealed behind the curtain. To gain time? No, there was more than that. And so I thought of just one thing the post, my friend. The evening post that comes at half past nine or thereabouts. Say the murderer does not find something he expects to find, but that something may be delivered by post later.

Clearly, then, he must come back. But the crime must not be discovered by the maid when she comes in, or the police would take possession of the flat, so he hides the body behind the curtain.

And the maid suspects nothing and lays the letters on the table as usual.' 'The letters?' 'Yes, the letters.' Poirot drew something from his pocket. 'This is the second article I took from M. Donovan when he was unconscious.' He showed the superscription - a typewritten envelope addressed to Mrs Ernestine Grant. 'But I will ask you one thing first, M. Faulkener, before we look at the contents of this letter. Are you or are you not in love with Mademoiselle Patricia?' 'I care for Pat d.a.m.nably - but I've never thought I had a chance.' 'You thought that she cared for M. Donovan? It may be that she had begun to care for him - but it was only a beginning, my friend. It is for you to make her forget - to stand by her in her trouble.' 'Trouble?' said Jimmy sharply.

'Yes, trouble. We will do all we can to keep her name out of it, but it will be impossible to do so entirely. She was, you see, the motive.' He ripped open the envelope that he held. An enclosure fell out. The covering letter was brief, and was from a firm of solicitors.

Dear Madam, The doc.u.ment you enclose is quite in order, and the fact of the marriage having taken place in a foreign country does not invalidate it in any way.

Yours truly, etc.

Poirot spread out the enclosure. It was a certificate of marriage Ietween Donovan Bailey and Ernestine Grant, dated eight years go.

'Oh, my G.o.d!' said Jimmy. 'Pat said she'd had a letter from the Xtoman asking to see her, but she never dreamed it was anything i mp0rtant.' poirot nodded. 'M. Donovan knew - he went to see his wife t:his evening before going to the flat above - a strange irony, by the ray, that led the unfortunate woman to come to this building where her rival lived - he murdered her in cold blood, and then vent on to his evening's amus.e.m.e.nt. His wife must have told him tzhat she had sent the marriage certificate to her solicitors and was expecting to hear from them. Doubtless he himself had tried to nake her believe that there was a flaw in the marriage.' 'Ie seemed in quite good spirits, too, all the evening. M. oir0t, you haven't let him escape?' Jimmy shuddered.

'There is no escape for him,' said Poirot gravely. 'You need not Ileear.' 'It's Pat I'm thinking about mostly,' said Jimmy. 'You don't tthin - she really cared.' '3fon ami, that is your part,' said Poirot gently. 'To make her tturnto you and forget. I do not think you will find it very difficult!'

what I knew he would do - unstoppers it and sniffs. And in that little bottle is ethyl chloride, a very powerful instant anaesthetic.

It gives me just the moment or two of unconsciousness I need. I take from his pocket the two things that I knew would be there.

This key was one of them - the other ' He stopped and then went on.

'I questioned at the time the reason the inspector gave for the body being concealed behind the curtain. To gain time? No, there was more than that. And so I thought of just one thing the post, my friend. The evening post that comes at half past nine or thereabouts. Say the murderer does not find something he expects to find, but that something may be delivered by post later.

Clearly, then, he must come back. But the crime must not be discovered by the maid when she comes in, or the police would take possession of the flat, so he hides the body behind the curtain.

And the maid suspects nothing and lays the letters on the table as usual.' 'The letters?' 'Yes, the letters.' Poirot drew something from his pocket. 'This is the second article I took from M. Donovan when he was unconscious.' He showed the superscription - a typewritten envelope addressed to Mrs Ernestine Grant. 'But I will ask you one thing first, M. Faulkener, before we look at the contents of this letter. Are you or are you not in love with Mademoiselle Patricia?' 'I care for Pat d.a.m.nably - but I've never thought I had a chance.' 'You thought that she cared for M. Donovan? It may be that she had begun to care for him - but it was only a beginning, my friend. It is for you to make her forget - to stand by her in her trouble.' 'Trouble?' said Jimmy sharply.

'Yes, trouble. We will do all we can to keep her name out of it, but it will be impossible to do so entirely. She was, you see, the motive.' He ripped open the envelope that he held. An enclosure fell out. The covering letter was brief, and was from a firm of solicitors.

Dear Madam, The doc.u.ment you enclose is quite in order, and the fact of the marriage having taken place in a foreign country does not invalidate it in any way.

Yours truly, etc.

Poirot spread out the enclosure. It was a certificate of marriage between Donovan Bailey and Ernestine Grant, dated eight years ago.

'Oh, my G.o.dl' said Jimmy. 'Pat said she'd had a letter from the woman asking to see her, but she never dreamed it was anything important.'

Poirot nodded. 'M. Donovan knew - he went to see his wife this evening before going to the flat above - a strange irony, by the way, that led the unfortunate woman to come to this building where her rival lived - he murdered her in cold blood, and then went on to his evening's amus.e.m.e.nt. His wife must have told him that she had sent the marriage certificate to her solicitors and wa expecting to hear from them. Doubtless he himself had tried to make her believe that there was a flaw in the marriage.'

'He seemed in quite good spirits, too, all the evening. M.

Poirot, you haven't let him escape?' Jimmy shuddered.

'There is no escape for him,' said Poirot gravely. 'You need not fear.'

'It's Pat I'm thinking about mostly,' said Jimmy. 'You don't think - she really cared.'

'Mort ami, that is your part,' said Poirot gently. 'To make her turn to you and forget. I do not think you will find it very diflicult!'

CHAPTER XIII

DOUBLE SIN.

I had called in at my friend Poirot's rooms to find him sadly overworked. So much had he become the rage that every rich woman who had mislaid a bracelet or lost a pet kitten rushed to ecure the services of the great Hercule Poirot. My little friend was a strange mixture of Flemish thrift and artistic fervour. He accepted many cases in which he had little interest owing to the first instinct being predominant.

He also undertook cases in which there was a little or no monet-m'y reward sheerly because the problem involved interested him.

The result was that, as I say, he was overworking himself. He admitted as much himself, and I found little difficulty in persuad-ing him to accompany me for a week's holiday to that well-known South Coast resort, Ebermouth.

We had spent four very agreeable days when Poirot came to me, an open letter in his hand.

'Mort ami, you remember my friend Joseph Aarons, the theatrical agent?'

I a.s.sented after a moment's thought. Poirot's friends are so many and so varied, and range from dustmen to dukes.

'Eh bien, Hastings, Joseph Aarons finds himself at Charlock Bay. He is far from well, and there is a little affair that it seems is worrying him. He begs me to go over and see him. I think, mon ami, that I must accede to his request. He is a faithful friend, the good Joseph Aarons, and has done much to a.s.sist me in the past.'

'Certainly, if you think so,' I said. 'I believe Charlock Bay is a beautiful spot, and as it happens I've never been there.'

'Then we combine business with pleasure,' said Poirot. 'You will inquire the trains, yes?'

'It will probably mean a change or two,' I said with a grimace.

'You know what these cross-country lines are. To go from the South Devon coast to the North Devon coast is sometimes a day's journey.' However, on inquiry, I found that the journey could be accomplished by only one change at Exeter and that the trains were good. I was hastening back to Poirot with the information when I happened to pa.s.s the offices of the Speedy cars and saw written up: Tomorrow. All-day excursion to Charlock Bay. Starting 8.3o through some of the most beautiful scenery in Devon.

I inquired a few particulars and returned to the hotel full of enthusiasm. Unfortunately, I found it hard to make Poirot share my feelings.

'My friend, why this pa.s.sion for the motor coach? The train, see you, it is sure? The tyres, they do not burst; the accidents, they do not happen. One is not incommoded by too much air. The windows can be shut and no draughts admitted.' I hinted delicately that the advantage of fresh air was what attracted me most to the motor-coach scheme.

'And if it rains? Your English climate is so uncertain.' 'There's a hood and all that. Besides, if it rains badly, the excursion doesn't take place.' 'Ahl' said Poirot. 'Then let us hope that it rainS.' 'Of course, if you feel like that and...' 'No, no, mon ami. I see that you have set your heart on the trip.

Fortunately, I have my greatcoat with me and two m.u.f.flers.' He sighed. 'But shall we have sufficient time at Charlock Bay?' 'Well, I'm afraid it means staying the night there. You see, the tour goes round by Dartmoor. We have lunch at Monkhampton.

We arrive at Charlock Bay about four o'clock, and the coach tarts back at five, arriving here at ten o'clock.' 'Sol' said Po[rot. 'And there are people who do this for pleasure!

We shall, of course, get a reduction of the fare since we do not make the return journey?' 'I hardly think that's likely.' 'You must insist.'

'Come now, Poirot, don't be mean. You know you're coining money.' 'My friend, it is not the meanness. It is the business sense. If I were a millionaire, I would pay only what was just and right.' As I had foreseen, however, Poirot was doomed to fail in this respect. The gentleman who issued tickets at the Speedy office was calm and unimpa.s.sioned but adamant. His point was that we ought to return. He even implied that we ought to pay extra for the privilege of leaving the coach at Charlock Bay.

Defeated, Poirot paid over the required sum and left the office.

'The English, they have no sense of money,' he grumbled.

'Did you observe a young man, Hastings, who paid over the full fare and yet mentioned his intention of leaving the coach at Monkhampton?' 'I don't think I did. As a matter of fact...' 'You were observing the pretty young lady who booked No. 5, the next seat to ours. Ah! Yes, my friend, I saw you. And that is why when I was on the point of taking seats No. 13 and 4 which are in the middle and as well sheltered as it is possible to be - you rudely pushed yourself forward and said that 3 and 4 would be better.' 'Really, Poirot,' I said, blushing.

'Auburn hair - always the auburn hair!' 'At any rate, she was more worth looking at than an odd young man.' 'That depends upon the point of view. To me, the young man was interesting.' Something rather significant in Poirot's tone made me look at him quickly. 'Why? What do you mean?' 'Oh, do not excite yourself. Shall I say that he interested me because he was trying to grow a moustache and as yet the result is poor.' Poirot stroked his own magnificent moustache tenderly. 'It i an art,' he murmured, 'the growing of the moustachel I have sympathy for all who attempt it.' It is always difficult with Poirot to know when he is serious and when he is merely amusing hirnseff at one's expense. I judged it safest to say no more.

The following morning dawned bright and sunny. A really glorious dayl Poirot, however, was taking no chances. He wore a woolly waistcoat, a mackintosh, a heavy overcoat, and two m.u.f.flers, in addition to wearing his thickest suit. He also swallowed two tablets of 'Anti-grippe' before starting and packed a further supply.

We took a couple of small suitcases with us. The pretty girl we had noticed the day before had a small suitcase, and so did the young man whom I gathered to have been the object of Poirot's sympathy. Otherwise, there was no luggage. The four pieces were stowed away by the driver, and we all took our places.