Hercule Poirot's Early Cases Part 14

'What about your book, dear?' asked Mrs Conrad with a swe smile.

'My book?' Lady Juliet flushed.

'Yes, you know, when I sent Ldonie away, you were coming up the stairs. You had been down to the drawing-room for a books 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 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 b/n, mom'/eur, and after all, what is a kiss?'

'Under the circ.u.mstances, it is most natural,' replied Poiro 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./e secrtaire. M. Leonard flew up the stairs. And what could I say? Especially to a jeune homme comme fa - 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. B/eh, mademoiselle, I will detain you no longer. And la prochainefois, 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 am' '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 not 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, mort 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 hands - 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 Admirall What a memoryl 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 answer to your questions have been rather disappointing.'

'Not at all, milor'. They have been quite sufficiently illuminat-ing.

It will be unnecessary for me to stay here any longer, and o, with your permission, I will return at once to London.'

Lord Alloway seemed dumbfounded.

'But - but what have you discovered? Do you know who took the plans?'

'Yes, milor', I do. Tell me - in the case of the papers being returned to you anonymously, you would prosecute no further inquiry?' Lord Alloway stared at him.

'Do you mean on payment of a sum of money?' 'No, milor', returned unconditionally.' 'Of course, the recovery of the plans is the great thing,' said Lord Alloway slowly. He still looked puzzled and uncomprehending.

'Then I should seriously recommend you to adopt that course.

Only you, the Admiral and your secretary know of the loss. Only they need know of the rest.i.tution. And you may count on me to support you in every way - lay the mystery on my shoulders.

You asked me to restore the papers - I have done so. You know no more.' He rose and held out his hand. 'Milor', I am glad to have met you. I have faith in you - and your devotion to England.

You will guide her destinies with a strong, sure hand.' 'M. Poirot - I swear to you that I will do my best. It may be a fauk, or it may be a virtue - but I believe in myself.' 'So does every great man. Me, I am the same!' said Poirot grandiloquently.

The car came round to the door in a few minutes, and Lord Alloway bade us farewell on the steps with renewed cordiality.

'That is a great man, Hastings,' said Poirot as we drove off.

'He has brains, resource, power. He is the strong man that England needs to guide her through these difficult days of reconstruction.' 'I'm quite ready to agree with all you say, Poirot - but what about Lady Juliet? Ishe to return the papers straight to Alloway?

What will she think when she finds you have gone off without a word?' 'Hastings, I will ask you a little question. Why, when she was talking with me, did she not hand me the plans then and there?' 'She hadn't got them with her.' 'Perfectly. How long would it take her to fetch them from her room? Or from any hiding-place in the house? You need not answer. I will tell you. Probably about two minutes and a haiti Yet she asks for ten minutes. Why? Clearly she has to obtain them from some other person, and to reason or argue with that person before they give them up. Now, what person could that be? Not Mrs Conrad, clearly, but a member of her own family, her husband or son. Which is it likely to be? Leonard Weardale said he went straight to bed. We know that to be untrue. Supposing his mother went to his room and found it empty; supposing she came down filled with a nameless dread - he is no beauty that son of hers[ She does not find him, but later she hears him deny that he ever left his room. She leaps to the conclusion that he is the thief.

Hence her interview with me.

'But, mon ami, we know sometling that Lady Juliet does not.

We know that her son could not have been in the study, because he was on the stairs, making love to the pretty French maid.

Although she does not know it, Leonard Weardale has an alibi.' 'Well, then, who did steal the papers? We seem to have eliminated everybody - Lady Juliet, her son, Mrs Conrad, the French maid ' 'Exactly. Use your little grey cells, my friend. The solution stares you in the face.' I shook my head blankly.

'But yes! If you would only persevere! See, then, Fitzroy goes out of the study; he leaves the papers on the desk. A few minutes later Lord Alloway enters the room, goes to the desk, and the papers are gone. Only two things are possible: either Fitzroy did not leave the papers on the desk, but put them in his pocket - and that is not reasonable, because, as Alloway pointed out, he could have taken a tracing at his own convenience any time - or else the papers were still on the desk when Lord Alloway went to it - in which case they went into his pocket.' 'Lord Alloway the thief,' I said, dumbfounded. 'But why?

Why?' 'Did you not tell me of some scandal in the past? He was exonerated, you said. But suppose, after all, it had been true? In English public life there must be no scandal. If this were raked up and proved against him now - goodbye to his political career.

We will suppose that he was being blackmailed, and the price asked was the submarine plans.'

'But the man's a black traitorl' I cried.

'Oh no, he is not. He is clever and resourceful. Supposing, my friend, that he copied those plans, making - for he is a clever engineer - a slight alteration in each part which will render them quite impracticable. He hands the faked plans to the enemy's agent - Mrs Conrad, I fancy; but in order that no suspicion of their genuineness may arise, the plans must seem to be stolen.

He does his best to throw no suspicion on anyone in the house, by pretending to see a man leaving the window. But there he ran up against the obstinacy of the Admiral. So his next anxiety is that no suspicion shall fall on Fitzroy.'

'This is all guesswork on your part, Poirot,' I objected.

'It is psychology, mon ami. A man who had handed over the real plans would not be overscrupulous as to who was likely to fall under suspicion. And why was he so anxious that no details of the robbery should be given to Mrs Conrad? Because he had handed over the faked plans earlier in the evening, and did not want her to know that the theft could only have taken place later.' 'I wonder if you are right,' I said.

'Of course, I am right. I spoke to Alloway as one great man to another - and he understood perfectly. You will see.'

One thing is quite certain. On the day when Lord Alloway became Prime Minister, a cheque and a signed photograph arrived; on the photograph were the words: ' To my discreet friend, Hercule Poirot-from Alhnoay.'

I believe that the Z type of submarine is causing great exultation in naval circles. They say it will revolutionize modern naval warfare. I have heard that a certain foreign power essayed to construct something of the same kind and the result was a dismal failure. But I still consider that Poirot was guessing. He will do it once too often one of these days.

CHAPTER XII

THE THIRD-FLOOR FLAT.

'Bother!' said Pat.

With a deepening frown she rummaged wildly in the silken trifle she called an evening bag. Two young men and another girl watched her anxiously. They were all standing outside the closed door of Patricia Garnett's flat.

'It's no good,' said Pat. 'It's not there. And now what shall we do?'

'What is life without a latchkey?' murmured Jimmy Faulkener.

He was a short, broad-shouldered young man, with good-tempered blue eyes.

Pat turned on him angrily. 'Don't make jokes, Jimmy. This is serious.'

'Look again, Pat,' said Donovan Bailey. 'It must be there somewhere.'

He had a lazy, pleasant voice that matched his lean, dark figure.

'If you ever brought it out,' said the other girl, Mildred Hope.

'Of course I brought it out,' said Pat. 'I believe I gave it to one of you two.' She turned on the man accusingly. 'I told Donovan to take it for me.'

But she was not to find a scapegoat so easily. Donovan put in a firm disclaimer, and Jimmy backed him up.

'I saw you put it in your bag, myself,' said Jimmy.

'Well, then, one of you dropped it out when you picked up my bag. I've dropped it once or twice.'

'Once or twice[' said Donovan. 'You've dropped it a dozen times at least, besides leaving it behind on every possible oc-casion.'

'I can't see why everything on earth doesn't drop out of it the whole time,' said Jimmy.

'The point is - how are we going to get in?' said Mildred.

She was a sensible girl, who kept to the point, but she was not nearly so attractive as the impulsive and troublesome Pat.

All four of them regarded the closed door blankly.

'Couldn't the porter help?' suggested Jimmy. 'Hasn't he got a master key or something of that kind?' Pat shook her head. There were only two keys. One was inside the flat hung up in the kitchen and the other was - or should be in the maligned bag.

'If only the flat were on the ground floor,' wailed Pat. 'We could have broken open a window or something. Donovan, you wouldn't like to be a cat burglar, would you?' Donovan declined firmly but politely to be a cat burglar.

'A flat on the fourth floor is a bit of an undertaking,' said Jimmy.

'How about a fire-escape?' suggested Donovan.

'There isn't one.' 'There should be,' said Jimmy. 'A building five storeys high ought to have a fire escape.' 'I dare say,' said Pat. 'But what should be doesn't help us. How am I ever to get into my flat?' 'Isn't there a sort of thingummybob?' said Donovan. 'A thing the tradesmen send up chops and brussels sprouts in?' 'The service lift,' said Pat. 'Oh yes, but it's only a sort of wire- basket thing. Oh wait - I know. What about the coal lift?' 'Now that,' said Donovan, 'is an idea.' Mildred made a discouraging suggestion. 'It'll be bolted,' she said. 'In Pat's kitchen, I mean, on the inside.' But the idea was instantly negatived.

'Don't you believe it,' said Donovan.

'Not in Pat's kitchen,' said Jimmy. 'Pat never locks and bolts things.' 'I don't think it's bolted,' said Pat. 'I took the dustbin off this morning, and I'm sure I never bolted it afterwards, and I don't think I've been near it since.' 'Well,' said Donovan, 'that fact's going to be very useful to us tonight, but, all the same, young Pat, let me point out to you that these slack habits are leaving you at the mercy of burglars -non-feline - every night.'