‘There, there,’ said Pointz awkwardly.
Sir George turned to Leo Stein.
‘Mr Stein,’ he said, ‘just now you murmured something under your breath. When I asked you to repeat it, you said it was nothing. But as a matter of fact I heard what you said. Miss Eve had just said that none of us noticed the place where she had put the diamond. The words you murmured were, ‘I wonder.’ What we have to face is the probability that one person did notice—and that that person is in this room now. I suggest that the only fair and honourable thing is for everyone present to submit to a search. The diamond cannot have left the room.’
When Sir George played the part of the old English gentleman, none could play it better. His voice rang with sincerity and indignation.
‘Bit unpleasant, all this,’ said Mr Pointz unhappily.
‘It’s all my fault,’ sobbed Eve. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Buck up, kiddo,’ said Mr Stein kindly. ‘Nobody’s blaming you.’
Mr Leathern said in his slow pedantic manner:—
‘Why, certainly, I think that Sir George’s suggestion will meet with the fullest approval from all of us. It does from me.’
‘I agree,’ said Evan Llewellyn.
Mrs Rustington looked at Lady Marroway, who nodded a brief assent. The two of them went back behind the screen and the sobbing Eve accompanied them.
A waiter knocked on the door and was told to go away. Five minutes later eight people looked at each other incredulously.
The Morning Star had vanished into space …
Hercule Poirot looked thoughtfully at the dark tragic face of the young man opposite him.
‘Eh bien?’ he said. ‘What is it you want of me?’
Evan Llewellyn did not pause for a moment. His reply came like lightning.
‘The truth.’
Poirot caressed his magnificent moustaches thoughtfully.
‘You are sure of that—eh?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘I ask,’ explained Poirot, ‘because it is a stock reply, that, of—oh, so many people. And when I produce the truth for them they are sometimes not pleased at all. They are sometimes dismayed and sometimes embarrassed and sometimes completely—ah yes, I have it—flabbergasted. What a word, that! A word that pleases me greatly.’
‘It’s the truth I want,’ repeated Evan.
‘But—pardon me—it was not your diamond that was stolen, M. Llewellyn. You wish to employ me to recover the property of somebody else—and that somebody not, I fancy, a person wholly sympathetic to you.’
‘It’s not old Pointz I’m worrying about.’
Poirot looked at him inquiringly. Evan went on:
‘I’ve come to you because of a remark you once made—or were said to have made. Someone repeated it to me.’
‘And what was that remark?’
‘That it was not the guilty who mattered—but the innocent. That made me feel there might be—hope.’
Poirot nodded his head gently.
‘Ah yes, I begin to see … I begin to see …’
‘I’m innocent! But unless the real truth gets out nobody is ever going to think so.’
Poirot was silent a moment. Then he said quietly:
‘Are you quite certain that the facts are exactly as you have recounted them. There is nothing that you have omitted?’
Evan considered a moment.
‘I don’t think I’ve left out anything. Pointz brought out the diamond and passed it round—that wretched American child stuck it on her ridiculous bag and when she came to look at the bag, the diamond was gone. It wasn’t on anyone—old Pointz himself even was searched—he insisted upon it—and I’ll swear it was nowhere in that room! And nobody went out of the room.’
‘The waiters? The maître d’hôtel?’ suggested Poirot.
Llewellyn shook his head.
‘They went out before the girl began messing about with the diamond, and afterwards Pointz locked the door so as to keep them out. No, it lies between one of us.’
‘It would certainly seem so,’ said Poirot. ‘A pretty little problem.’
‘That damned evening paper!’ said Evan Llewellyn bitterly. ‘I saw it come into their minds—that that was the only way—’
‘Repeat me that again very exactly.’
‘It was perfectly simple. I threw open the window, whistled to the man, threw down a copper and he tossed me up the paper. And there it is, you see—the only possible way the diamond could have left that room—thrown by me to an accomplice waiting in the street below.’
Poirot shook his head.
‘Not the only possible way.’
‘What other way can you suggest?’
‘Since you say you did not throw it out, there must have been some other way!’
‘Oh, I see. I hoped you meant something more definite than that. Well, I can only say that I didn’t throw it out. I can’t expect you to believe me—or anyone else to either!’
‘Oh, yes, I believe you,’ said Poirot, smiling a little.
‘You do? Why?’
‘It is a matter of the psychology,’ said Poirot. ‘You are not of the type that steals jewellery. There are crimes, of course, that you might commit—but we will not enter into that subject. At any rate I do not see you as the purloiner of the Morning Star.’
‘Everyone else does, though,’ said Llewellyn bitterly.
‘Everyone?’
‘They looked at me in a queer sort of way at the time. Marroway picked up the paper and just glanced over at the window. He didn’t say anything. But Pointz cottoned on to it quick enough! I could see what they all thought. There hasn’t been any open accusation. That’s the devil of it.’
Poirot nodded sympathetically.
‘It is worse than that,’ he said.
‘Yes. It’s just suspicion. I’ve had a fellow round asking questions—routine inquiries, he called it. One of the new dress-shirted lot of police, I suppose. Very tactful—nothing at all hinted. Just interested in the fact that I’d been hard up and was suddenly cutting a bit of a splash.’
‘And were you?’
‘Yes—some luck with a horse or two. Unluckily my bets were made on the course—there’s nothing to show that that’s how the money came in. They can’t disprove it, of course—but that’s just the sort of easy lie a fellow would invent if he didn’t want to show where the money came from.’
‘I agree. Still, they will have to have a good deal more than that to go upon.’
‘Oh, I’m not afraid of actually being arrested and charged with the theft. In a way that would be easier—one would know where one was. It’s the ghastly fact that all those people believe I took it.’
‘All those people? Are you sure that it is all these people you mean?’
Llewellyn stared. ‘I don’t understand you.’
‘I have a little idea that it is not all these people, but one person in particular.’
Evan Llewellyn flushed. He said again:—
‘I don’t understand you.’
Poirot leaned forward in a confidential manner.
‘But yes, it is so, is it not? There was one person in particular? And I think—I rather think that it was Mrs Rustington?’
Llewellyn’s dark face flushed deeper still.
‘Why pitch on her?’
Poirot flung up his hands.
‘There is obviously someone whose opinion matters to you greatly—probably a lady. What ladies were there? An American flapper? Lady Marroway? But you would probably rise not fall in Lady Marroway’s estimation if you had brought off such a coup! I have heard something of that lady! Clearly, then, Mrs Rustington.’
Llewellyn said with something of an effort:
‘She—she’s had rather an unfortunate experience. Her husband was a down and out rotter. It’s made her unwilling to trust anyone. She—if she thinks—’
He found it difficult to go on.
‘Quite so,’ said Poirot. ‘Therefor
e she must no longer think what she may be drinking. The matter must be cleared up.’
Evan gave a short laugh. ‘That’s easy to say.’
‘And quite easy to do,’ said Poirot confidently.
Evan stared incredulously.
‘You think so?’
‘Mais oui—this problem is so clear cut! So many possibilities are ruled out. The answer must really be extremely simple. Indeed already I have a kind of glimmering—’
Llewellyn continued to stare.
Poirot drew a pad of paper towards him and picked up a pen.
‘Perhaps you would give me a brief description of the party?’
‘Haven’t I already done so?’
‘I mean their personal appearance—the colour of their hair and so on.’
‘But, M. Poirot, what can that have to do with it?’
‘A good deal, mon ami, a good deal. Have you not heard the fortune tellers—a dark man crosses your path, etc.’
Somewhat unbelievingly, Evan described the personal appearance of the members of the yachting party.
Poirot made a note or two, pushed away the pad and said:
‘Excellent. By the way, did you say a wine-glass was broken?’
Evan stared again.
‘Yes, it was knocked off the table and then it got stepped on.’
‘Very unpleasant, the splinters of glass,’ said Poirot. ‘Whose wine-glass was it?’
‘I think it was the child’s—Eve.’
‘Ah! And who sat next to her on that side?’
‘Sir George Marroway.’
‘You didn’t sec which of them knocked it off the table?’
‘Afraid I didn’t. Does it matter?’
‘Not really. No. That was a superfluous question. Eh bien!’ He stood up. ‘Good morning, Mr Llewellyn. Will you call again in three days’ time? I think the whole thing will be quite satisfactorily cleared up by then.’
‘Are you joking, M. Poirot?’
‘I never joke on professional matters,’ said Poirot with dignity. ‘This matter is serious. Shall we say Friday at 11.30? Thank you.’
Evan arrived on the Friday morning in a considerable turmoil of feeling. Hope and scepticism fought for mastery.
Poirot rose to meet him with a beaming smile.
‘Good morning, Mr Llewellyn. Sit down. Have a cigarette?’
Llewellyn waved aside the proffered box.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘Very well, indeed,’ said Poirot beaming. ‘The police arrested the gang last night.’
‘The gang? What gang?’
‘The Amalfi gang. I thought of them at once when you told me your story. I recognized their methods, and once you had described the guests, eh bien, there was no doubt at all in my mind!’
‘But—well—who are the Amalfi gang?’
‘Father, son and daughter-in-law—that is if Pietro and Maria are really married—entre nous, there is some doubt on the point.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Evan puzzled.
‘But it is so simple! The name is Italian, and no doubt the origin is Italian, but old Amalfi was born in America. His methods are usually the same. He impersonates a real business man whose name is well known in the trade, introduces himself to a prominent figure in the jewel business in some European country and then plays his little trick. In this case he was deliberately on the track of the Morning Star. Pointz’s idiosyncrasy was well known in the trade. Maria Amalfi played the part of the daughter (amazing creature, twenty-seven at least, and nearly always plays a part of sixteen).’
‘Not Eve!’ gasped Llewellyn.
‘Précisément. The little Eve. The American ingénue. C’est épatant, n’est ce pas? The third member of the gang got himself taken on as an extra waiter at the Royal George—it was holiday time, remember, and they would need extra staff. He may even have bribed a regular man to stay away. The scene is set. Eve challenges old Pointz in her ingenuous schoolgirlish manner, and he takes on the bet. He passes round the diamond as he has done the night before. The waiters enter the room to remove the plates, and Leathern retains the stone until they have gone out of the room. When they do leave, the diamond leaves also, neatly attached with a morsel of chewing gum to the underside of the plate that Pietro bears away. So simple!’
‘But I saw it after that.’
‘No, no, you saw a paste replica, good enough to deceive a casual glance. Stein, the only man to have spotted a fraud, you told me hardly looked at it. Eve drops it, sweeps off a glass, too, and steps firmly on stone and glass together. Miraculous disappearance of diamond! Both Eve and Leathern can then submit to as much searching as anyone pleases!’
‘Well—I’m—’
Evan shook his head at a loss for words.
‘You say you recognized the gang from my description? Had they worked this trick before?’
‘Not exactly—but it was their kind of business. Naturally my attention was at once directed to the girl Eve.’
‘Why? I didn’t suspect her—nobody did. She seemed such a—such a child.’
‘That is the peculiar genius of Maria Amalfi. She is more like a child than any child could possibly be! But remember the plasticine! This bet was supposed to have arisen quite spontaneously—yet the little lady had some plasticine with her all handy. That spoke of premeditation. My suspicions fastened on her at once.’
Llewellyn rose to his feet.
‘M. Poirot I—I—can’t tell you how grateful I am to you. It’s—it’s wonderful.’
Poirot made a deprecating gesture.
‘A bagatelle,’ he murmured. ‘A mere bagatelle.’
‘You’ll let me know how much—er—’ Llewellyn stammered a little.
‘My fee will be most moderate,’ said Poirot with a twinkle. ‘It will not make too big a hole in the—er—horse-racing profits. All the same, young man, I should, I think, leave the horses alone in future. An animal a little uncertain, the horse.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Evan. ‘You bet I will.’
He shook Poirot by the hand and strode from the office.
He hailed a taxi and gave the address of Janet Rustington’s flat.
He felt in a mood to carry all before him.
Footnote
* The character Mr Mayherne from the short story was renamed Mr Mayhew for the stage production, which became John Mayhew in the BBC drama.
ALSO BY AGATHA CHRISTIE
Mysteries
The Man in the Brown Suit
The Secret of Chimneys
The Seven Dials Mystery
The Mysterious Mr Quin
The Sittaford Mystery
The Hound of Death
The Listerdale Mystery
Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?
Parker Pyne Investigates
Murder Is Easy
And Then There Were None
Towards Zero
Death Comes as the End
Sparkling Cyanide
Crooked House
They Came to Baghdad
Destination Unknown
Spider’s Web *
The Unexpected Guest *
Ordeal by Innocence
The Pale Horse
Endless Night
Passenger To Frankfurt
Problem at Pollensa Bay
While the Light Lasts
Poirot
The Mysterious Affair at Styles
The Murder on the Links
Poirot Investigates
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd
The Big Four
The Mystery of the Blue Train
Black Coffee *
Peril at End House
Lord Edgware Dies
Murder on the Orient Express
Three-Act Tragedy
Death in the Clouds
The ABC Murders
Murder in Mesopotamia
Cards on the Table
Murder in the Mews
Dumb Witness
Deat
h on the Nile
Appointment with Death
Hercule Poirot’s Christmas
Sad Cypress
One, Two, Buckle My Shoe
Evil Under the Sun
Five Little Pigs
The Hollow
The Labours of Hercules
Taken at the Flood
Mrs McGinty’s Dead
After the Funeral
Hickory Dickory Dock
Dead Man’s Folly
Cat Among the Pigeons
The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding
The Clocks
Third Girl
Hallowe’en Party
Elephants Can Remember
Poirot’s Early Cases
Curtain: Poirot’s Last Case
Marple
The Murder at the Vicarage
The Thirteen Problems
The Body in the Library
The Moving Finger
A Murder Is Announced
They Do It with Mirrors
A Pocket Full of Rye
4.50 from Paddington
The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side
A Caribbean Mystery
At Bertram’s Hotel
Nemesis
Sleeping Murder
Miss Marple’s Final Cases
Tommy & Tuppence
The Secret Adversary
Partners in Crime
N or M?
By the Pricking of My Thumbs
Postern of Fate
Published as Mary Westmacott
Giant’s Bread
Unfinished Portrait
Absent in the Spring
The Rose and the Yew Tree
A Daughter’s a Daughter
The Burden
Memoirs
An Autobiography
Come, Tell Me How You Live
The Grand Tour
Play and Stories
Akhnaton
The Mousetrap and Other Plays
The Floating Admiral †
Star Over Bethlehem
Hercule Poirot and the Greenshore Folly
* novelized by Charles Osborne
† contributor
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