Poirot's Early Cases: 18 Hercule Poirot Mysteries

  ‘ “Got everything out we are likely to need, Fitzroy?” I asked.

  ‘ “I think so, Lord Alloway. The papers are all on your desk,” he answered. And then he wished us both good night.

  ‘ “Just wait a minute,” I said, going to the desk. “I may want something I haven’t mentioned.”

  ‘I looked quickly through the papers that were lying there.

  ‘ “You’ve forgotten the most important of the lot, Fitzroy,” I said. “The actual plans of the submarine!”

  ‘ “The plans are right on top, Lord Alloway.”

  ‘ “Oh no, they’re not,” I said, turning over the papers.

  ‘ “But I put them there not a minute ago!”

  ‘ “Well, they’re not here now,” I said.

  ‘Fitzroy advanced with a bewildered expression on his face. The thing seemed incredible. We turned over the papers on the desk; we hunted through the safe; but at last we had to make up our minds to it that the papers were gone—and gone within the short space of about three minutes while Fitzroy was absent from the room.’

  ‘Why did he leave the room?’ asked Poirot quickly.

  ‘Just what I asked him,’ exclaimed Sir Harry.

  ‘It appears,’ said Lord Alloway, ‘that just when he had finished arranging the papers on my desk, he was startled by hearing a woman scream. He dashed out into the hall. On the stairs he discovered Mrs Conrad’s French maid. The girl looked very white and upset, and declared that she had seen a ghost—a tall figure dressed all in white that moved without a sound. Fitzroy laughed at her fears and told her, in more or less polite language, not to be a fool. Then he returned to this room just as we entered from the window.’

  ‘It all seems very clear,’ said Poirot thoughtfully. ‘The only question is, was the maid an accomplice? Did she scream by arrangement with her confederate lurking outside, or was he merely waiting there in the hope of an opportunity presenting itself? It was a man, I suppose—not a woman you saw?’

  ‘I can’t tell you, M. Poirot. It was just a—shadow.’

  The admiral gave such a peculiar snort that it could not fail to attract attention.

  ‘M. l’Amiral has something to say, I think,’ said Poirot quietly, with a slight smile. ‘You saw this shadow, Sir Harry?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ returned the other. ‘And neither did Alloway. The branch of a tree flapped, or something, and then afterwards, when we discovered the theft, he leaped to the conclusion that he had seen someone pass across the terrace. His imagination played a trick on him; that’s all.’

  ‘I am not usually credited with having much imagination,’ said Lord Alloway with a slight smile.

  ‘Nonsense, we’ve all got imagination. We can all work ourselves up to believe that we’ve seen more than we have. I’ve had a lifetime of experience at sea, and I’ll back my eyes against those of any landsman. I was looking right down the terrace, and I’d have seen the same if there was anything to see.’

  He was quite excited over the matter. Poirot rose and stepped quickly to the window.

  ‘You permit?’ he asked. ‘We must settle this point if possible.’

  He went out upon the terrace, and we followed him. He had taken an electric torch from his pocket, and was playing the light along the edge of the grass that bordered the terrace.

  ‘Where did he cross the terrace, milor’?’ he asked.

  ‘About opposite the window, I should say.’

  Poirot continued to play the torch for some minutes longer, walking the entire length of the terrace and back. Then he shut it off and straightened himself up.

  ‘Sir Harry is right—and you are wrong, milor’, he said quietly. ‘It rained heavily earlier this evening. Anyone who passed over that grass could not avoid leaving footmarks. But there are none—none at all.’

  His eyes went from one man’s face to the other’s. Lord Alloway looked bewildered and unconvinced; the Admiral expressed a noisy gratification.

  ‘Knew I couldn’t be wrong,’ he declared. ‘Trust my eyes anywhere.’

  He was such a picture of an honest old sea-dog that I could not help smiling.

  ‘So that brings us to the people in the house,’ said Poirot smoothly. ‘Let us come inside again. Now, milor’, while Mr Fitzroy was speaking to the maid on the stairs, could anyone have seized the opportunity to enter the study from the hall?’

  Lord Alloway shook his head.

  ‘Quite impossible—they would have had to pass him in order to do so.’

  ‘And Mr Fitzroy himself—you are sure of him, eh?’

  Lord Alloway flushed.

  ‘Absolutely, M. Poirot. I will answer confidently for my secretary. It is quite impossible that he should be concerned in the matter in any way.’

  ‘Everything seems to be impossible,’ remarked Poirot rather drily. ‘Possibly the plans attached to themselves a little pair of wings, and flew away—comme ça!’ He blew his lips out like a comical cherub.

  ‘The whole thing is impossible,’ declared Lord Alloway impatiently. ‘But I beg, M. Poirot, that you will not dream of suspecting Fitzroy. Consider for one moment—had he wished to take the plans, what could have been easier for him than to take a tracing of them without going to the trouble of stealing them?’

  ‘There, milor’,’ said Poirot with approval, ‘you make a remark bien juste—I see that you have a mind orderly and methodical. L’Angleterre is happy in possessing you.’

  Lord Alloway looked rather embarrassed by this sudden burst of praise. Poirot returned to the matter in hand.

  ‘The room in which you had been sitting all the evening—’

  ‘The drawing-room? Yes?’

  ‘That also has a window on the terrace, since I remember your saying you went out that way. Would it not be possible for someone to come out by the drawing-room window and in by this one while Mr Fitzroy was out of the room, and return the same way?’

  ‘But we’d have seen them,’ objected the Admiral.

  ‘Not if you had your backs turned, walking the other way.’

  ‘Fitzroy was only out of the room a few minutes, the time it would take us to walk to the end and back.’

  ‘No matter—it is a possibility—in fact, the only one as things stand.’

  ‘But there was no one in the drawing-room when we went out,’ said the Admiral.

  ‘They may have come there afterwards.’

  ‘You mean,’ said Lord Alloway slowly, ‘that when Fitzroy heard the maid scream and went out, someone was already concealed in the drawing-room, and that they darted in and out through the windows, and only left the drawing-room when Fitzroy had returned to this room?’

  ‘The methodical mind again,’ said Poirot, bowing.

  ‘You express the matter perfectly.’

  ‘One of the servants, perhaps?’

  ‘Or a guest. It was Mrs Conrad’s maid who screamed. What exactly can you tell me of Mrs Conrad?’

  Lord Alloway considered for a minute.

  ‘I told you that she is a lady well known in society. That is true in the sense that she gives large parties, and goes everywhere. But very little is known as to where she really comes from, and what her past life has been. She is a lady who frequents diplomatic and Foreign Office circles as much as possible. The Secret Service is inclined to ask—why?’

  ‘I see,’ said Poirot. ‘And she was asked here this week-end—’

  ‘So that—shall we say?—we might observe her at close quarters.’

  ‘Parfaitement! It is possible that she has turned the tables on you rather neatly.’

  Lord Alloway looked discomfited, and Poirot continued: ‘Tell me, milor’, was any reference made in her hearing to the subjects you and the Admiral were going to discuss together?’

  ‘Yes,’ admitted the other. ‘Sir Harry said: “And now for our submarine! To work!” or something of that sort. The others had left the room, but she had come back for a book.’

  ‘I see,’ said Poirot th
oughtfully. ‘Milor’, it is very late—but this is an urgent affair. I would like to question the members of this house-party at once if it is possible.’

  ‘It can be managed, of course,’ said Lord Alloway. ‘The awkward thing is, we don’t want to let it get about more than can be helped. Of course, Lady Juliet Weardale and young Leonard are all right—but Mrs Conrad, if she is not guilty, is rather a different proposition. Perhaps you could just state that an important paper is missing, without specifying what it is, or going into any of the circumstances of the disappearance?’

  ‘Exactly what I was about to propose myself,’ said Poirot, beaming. ‘In fact, in all three cases. Monsieur the Admiral will pardon me, but even the best of wives—’

  ‘No offence,’ said Sir Harry. ‘All women talk, bless ’em! I wish Juliet would talk a little more and play bridge a little less. But women are like that nowadays, never happy unless they’re dancing or gambling. I’ll get Juliet and Leonard up, shall I, Alloway?’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll call the French maid. M. Poirot will want to see her, and she can rouse her mistress. I’ll attend to it now. In the meantime, I’ll send Fitzroy along.’

  II

  Mr Fitzroy was a pale, thin young man with pince-nez and a frigid expression. His statement was practically word for word what Lord Alloway had already told us.

  ‘What is your own theory, Mr Fitzroy?’

  Mr Fitzroy shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Undoubtedly someone who knew the hang of things was waiting his chance outside. He could see what went on through the window, and he slipped in when I left the room. It’s a pity Lord Alloway didn’t give chase then and there when he saw the fellow leave.’

  Poirot did not undeceive him. Instead he asked: ‘Do you believe the story of the French maid—that she had seen a ghost?’

  ‘Well, hardly, M. Poirot!’

  ‘I mean—that she really thought so?’

  ‘Oh, as to that, I can’t say. She certainly seemed rather upset. She had her hands to her head.’

  ‘Aha!’ cried Poirot with the air of one who has made a discovery. ‘Is that so indeed—and she was without doubt a pretty girl?’

  ‘I didn’t notice particularly,’ said Mr Fitzroy in a repressive voice.

  ‘You did not see her mistress, I suppose?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did. She was in the gallery at the top of the steps and was calling her—“Léonie!” Then she saw me—and of course retired.’

  ‘Upstairs,’ said Poirot, frowning.

  ‘Of course, I realize that all this is very unpleasant for me—or rather would have been, if Lord Alloway had not chanced to see the man actually leaving. In any case, I should be glad if you would make a point of searching my room—and myself.’

  ‘You really wish that?’

  ‘Certainly I do.’

  What Poirot would have replied I do not know, but at that moment Lord Alloway reappeared and informed us that the two ladies and Mr Leonard Weardale were in the drawing-room.

  The women were in becoming negligees. Mrs Conrad was a beautiful woman of thirty-five, with golden hair and a slight tendency to embonpoint. Lady Juliet Weardale must have been forty, tall and dark, very thin, still beautiful, with exquisite hands and feet, and a restless, haggard manner. Her son was rather an effeminate-looking young man, as great a contrast to his bluff, hearty father as could well be imagined.

  Poirot gave forth the little rigmarole we had agreed upon, and then explained that he was anxious to know if anyone had heard or seen anything that night which might assist us.

  Turning to Mrs Conrad first, he asked her if she would be so kind as to inform him exactly what her movements had been.

  ‘Let me see…I went upstairs. I rang for my maid. Then, as she did not put in an appearance, I came out and called her. I could hear her talking on the stairs. After she had brushed my hair, I sent her away—she was in a very curious nervous state. I read awhile and then went to bed.’

  ‘And you, Lady Juliet?’

  ‘I went straight upstairs and to bed. I was very tired.’

  ‘What about your book, dear?’ asked Mrs Conrad with a sweet smile.

  ‘My book?’ Lady Juliet flushed.

  ‘Yes, you know, when I sent Léonie away, you were coming up the stairs. You had been down to the drawing-room for a book, you said.’

  ‘Oh yes, I did go down. I—I forgot.’

  Lady Juliet clasped her hands nervously together.

  ‘Did you hear Mrs Conrad’s maid scream, milady?’

  ‘No—no, I didn’t.’

  ‘How curious—because you must have been in the drawing-room at the time.’

  ‘I heard nothing,’ said Lady Juliet in a firmer voice.

  Poirot turned to young Leonard.

  ‘Monsieur?’

  ‘Nothing doing. I went straight upstairs and turned in.’

  Poirot stroked his chin.

  ‘Alas, I fear there is nothing to help me here. Mesdames and monsieur, I regret—I regret infinitely to have deranged you from your slumbers for so little. Accept my apologies, I pray of you.’

  Gesticulating and apologizing, he marshalled them out. He returned with the French maid, a pretty, impudent-looking girl. Alloway and Weardale had gone out with the ladies.

  ‘Now, mademoiselle,’ said Poirot in a brisk tone, ‘let us have the truth. Recount to me no histories. Why did you scream on the stairs?’

  ‘Ah, monsieur, I saw a tall figure—all in white—’

  Poirot arrested her with an energetic shake of his forefinger.

  ‘Did I not say, recount to me no histories? I will make a guess. He kissed you, did he not? M. Leonard Weardale, I mean?’

  ‘Eh bien, monsieur, and after all, what is a kiss?’

  ‘Under the circumstances, it is most natural,’ replied Poirot gallantly. ‘I myself, or Hastings here—but tell me just what occurred.’

  ‘He came up behind me, and caught me. I was startled, and I screamed. If I had known, I would not have screamed—but he came upon me like a cat. Then came M. le secrêtaire. M. Leonard flew up the stairs. And what could I say? Especially to a jeune homme comme ça—tellement comme il faut? Ma foi, I invent a ghost.’

  ‘And all is explained,’ cried Poirot genially. ‘You then mounted to the chamber of Madame your mistress. Which is her room, by the way?’

  ‘It is at the end, monsieur. That way.’

  ‘Directly over the study, then. Bien, mademoiselle, I will detain you no longer. And la prochaine fois, do not scream.’

  Handing her out, he came back to me with a smile.

  ‘An interesting case, is it not, Hastings? I begin to have a few little ideas. Et vous?’

  ‘What was Leonard Weardale doing on the stairs? I don’t like that young man, Poirot. He’s a thorough young rake, I should say.’

  ‘I agree with you, mon ami.’

  ‘Fitzroy seems an honest fellow.’

  ‘Lord Alloway is certainly insistent on that point.’

  ‘And yet there is something in his manner—’

  ‘That is almost too good to be true? I felt it myself. On the other hand, our friend Mrs Conrad is certainly no good at all.’

  ‘And her room is over the study,’ I said musingly, and keeping a sharp eye on Poirot.

  He shook his head with a slight smile.

  ‘No, mon ami, I cannot bring myself seriously to believe that that immaculate lady swarmed down the chimney, or let herself down from the balcony.’

  As he spoke, the door opened, and to my great surprise, Lady Juliet Weardale flitted in.

  ‘M. Poirot,’ she said somewhat breathlessly, ‘Can I speak to you alone?’

  ‘Milady, Captain Hastings is as my other self. You can speak before him as though he were a thing of no account, not there at all. Be seated, I pray you.’

  She sat down, still keeping her eyes fixed on Poirot.

  ‘What I have to say is—rather difficult. You are in charge of this case.
If the—papers were to be returned, would that end the matter? I mean, could it be done without questions being asked?’

  Poirot stared hard at her.

  ‘Let me understand you, madame. They are to be placed in my hand—is that right? And I am to return them to Lord Alloway on the condition that he asks no questions as to where I got them?’

  She bowed her head. ‘That is what I mean. But I must be sure there will be no—publicity.’

  ‘I do not think Lord Alloway is particularly anxious for publicity,’ said Poirot grimly.

  ‘You accept then?’ she cried eagerly in response.

  ‘A little moment, milady. It depends on how soon you can place those papers in my hands.’

  ‘Almost immediately.’

  Poirot glanced up at the clock.

  ‘How soon, exactly?’

  ‘Say—ten minutes,’ she whispered.

  ‘I accept, milady.’

  She hurried from the room. I pursed my mouth up for a whistle.

  ‘Can you sum up the situation for me, Hastings?’

  ‘Bridge,’ I replied succinctly.

  ‘Ah, you remember the careless words of Monsieur the Admiral! What a memory! I felicitate you, Hastings.’

  We said no more, for Lord Alloway came in, and looked inquiringly at Poirot.

  ‘Have you any further ideas, M. Poirot? I am afraid the answers to your questions have been rather disappointing.’

  ‘Not at all, milor’. They have been quite sufficiently illuminating. It will be unnecessary for me to stay here any longer, and so, with your permission, I will return at once to London.’