'But what an extraordinary place!' I expostulated. 'Anyone might have used the log.'
'In July, Hastings? And it was at the bottom of the pile – a very ingenious hiding-place. Ah, here is a taxi! Now for home, a wash, and a refreshing sleep.'
After the excitement of the night, I slept late. When I finally strolled into our sitting-room just before one o'clock, I was surprised to see Poirot, leaning back in an armchair, the Chinese box open beside him, calmly reading the letter he had taken from it.
He smiled at me affectionately, and tapped the sheet he held.
'She was right, the Lady Millicent; never would the Duke have pardoned this letter! It contains some of the most extravagant terms of affection I have ever come across.'
'Really, Poirot,' I said, rather disgustedly, 'I don't think you should really have read the letter. That's the sort of thing that isn't done.'
'It is done by Hercule Poirot,' replied my friend imperturbably.
'And another thing,' I said. 'I don't think using Japp's official card yesterday was quite playing the game.'
'But I was not playing a game, Hastings. I was conducting a case.'
I shrugged my shoulders. One can't argue with a point of view.
'A step on the stairs,' said Poirot. 'That will be Lady Millicent.'
Our fair client came in with an anxious expression on her face which changed to one of delight on seeing the letter and box which Poirot held up.
'Oh, M. Poirot. How wonderful of you! How did you do it?'
'By rather reprehensible methods, milady. But Mr Lavington will not prosecute. This is your letter, is it not?'
She glanced through it.
'Yes. Oh, how can I ever thank you! You are a wonderful, wonderful man. Where was it hidden?'
Poirot told her.
'How very clever of you!' She took up the small box from the table. 'I shall keep this as a souvenir.'
'I had hoped, milady, that you would permit me to keep it – also as a souvenir.'
'I hope to send you a better souvenir than that – on my wedding day. You shall not find me ungrateful, M. Poirot.'
'The pleasure of doing you a service will be more to me than a cheque – so you permit that I retain the box.'
'Oh no, M. Poirot, I simply must have that,' she cried laughingly.
She stretched out her hand, but Poirot was before her. His hand closed over it.
'I think not.' His voice had changed.
'What do you mean?' Her voice seemed to have grown sharper.
'At any rate, permit me to abstract its further contents. You observe that the original cavity has been reduced by half. In the top half, the compromising letter; in the bottom -'
He made a nimble gesture, then held out his hand. On the palm were four large glittering stones, and two big milky white pearls.
'The jewels stolen in Bond Street the other day, I rather fancy,' murmured Poirot. 'Japp will tell us.'
To my utter amazement, Japp himself stepped out from Poirot's bedroom.
'An old friend of yours, I believe,' said Poirot politely to Lady Millicent.
'Nabbed, by the Lord!' said Lady Millicent, with a complete change of manner. 'You nippy old devil!' She looked at Poirot with almost affectionate awe.
'Well, Gertie, my dear,' said Japp, 'the game's up this time, I fancy. Fancy seeing you again so soon! We've got your pal, too, the gentleman who called here the other day calling himself Lavington. As for Lavington himself, alias Croker, alias Reed, I wonder which of the gang it was who stuck a knife into him the other day in Holland? Thought he'd got the goods with him, didn't you? And he hadn't. He double-crossed you properly – hid 'em in his own house. You had two fellows looking for them, and then you tackled M. Poirot here, and by a piece of amazing luck he found them.'
'You do like talking, don't you?' said the late Lady Millicent. 'Easy there, now. I'll go quietly. You can't say that I'm not the perfect lady. Ta-ta, all!'
'The shoes were wrong,' said Poirot dreamily, while I was still too stupefied to speak. 'I have made my little observations of your English nation, and a lady, a born lady, is always particular about her shoes. She may have shabby clothes, but she will be well shod. Now, this Lady Millicent had smart, expensive clothes, and cheap shoes. It was not likely that either you or I should have seen the real Lady Millicent; she has been very little in London, and this girl had a certain superficial resemblance which would pass well enough. As I say, the shoes first awakened my suspicions, and then her story – and her veil – were a little melodramatic, eh? The Chinese box with a bogus compromising letter in the top must have been known to all the gang, but the log of wood was the late Mr Lavington's own idea. Eh, par exemple, Hastings, I hope you will not again wound my feelings as you did yesterday by saying that I am unknown to the criminal classes. Ma foi, they even employ me when they themselves fail!'
THE LOST MINE
I laid down my bank book with a sigh.
'It is a curious thing,' I observed, 'but my overdraft never seems to grow any less.'
'And it perturbs you not? Me, if I had an overdraft, never should I close my eyes all night,' declared Poirot.
'You deal in comfortable balances, I suppose!' I retorted.
'Four hundred and forty-four pounds, four and fourpence,' said Poirot with some complacency. 'A neat figure, is it not?'
'It must be tact on the part of your bank manager. He is evidently acquainted with your passion for symmetrical details. What about investing, say three hundred of it, in the Porcupine oil-fields? Their prospectus, which is advertised in the papers today, says that they will pay one hundred per cent in dividends next year.'
'Not for me,' said Poirot, shaking his head. 'I like not the sensational. For me the safe, the prudent investment – les rentes, the consols, the – how do you call it? – the conversion.'
'Have you never made a speculative investment?'
'No, mon ami,' replied Poirot severely. 'I have not. And the only shares I own which have not what you call the gilded edge are fourteen thousand shares in the Burma Mines, Ltd.'
Poirot paused with an air of waiting to be encouraged to go on.
'Yes?' I prompted.
'And for them I paid no cash – no, they were the reward of the exercise of my little grey cells. You would like to hear the story? Yes?'
'Of course I would.'
'These mines are situated in the interior of Burma about two hundred miles inland from Rangoon. They were discovered by the Chinese in the fifteenth century and worked down to the time of the Mohammedan Rebellion, being finally abandoned in the year 1868. The Chinese extracted the rich lead-silver ore from the upper part of the ore body, smelting it for the silver alone, and leaving large quantities of rich lead-bearing slag. This, of course, was soon discovered when prospecting work was carried out in Burma, but owing to the fact that the old workings had become full of loose filling and water, all attempts to find the source of the ore proved fruitless. Many parties were sent out by syndicates, and they dug over a large area, but this rich prize still eluded them. But a representative of one of the syndicates got on the track of a Chinese family who were supposed to have still kept a record of the situation of the mine. The present head of the family was one Wu Ling.'
'What a fascinating page of commercial romance,' I exclaimed.
'Is it not? Ah, mon ami, one can have romance without golden-haired girls of matchless beauty – no, I am wrong; it is auburn hair that so excites you always. You remember -'
'Go on with the story,' I said hastily.
'Eh bien, my friend, this Wu Ling was approached. He was an estimable merchant, much respected in the province where he lived. He admitted at once that he owned the documents in question, and was perfectly prepared to negotiate for this sale, but he objected to dealing with anyone other than principals. Finally it was arranged that he should journey to England and meet the directors of an important company.
'Wu Ling made the journey to England in the S. S. Assunta, and th
e Assunta docked at Southampton on a cold, foggy morning in November. One of the directors, Mr Pearson, went down to Southampton to meet the boat, but owing to the fog, the train down was very much delayed, and by the time he arrived, Wu Ling had disembarked and left by special train for London. Mr Pearson returned to town somewhat annoyed, as he had no idea where the Chinaman proposed to stay. Later in the day, however, the offices of the company were rung up on the telephone. Wu Ling was staying at the Russell Square Hotel. He was feeling somewhat unwell after the voyage, but declared himself perfectly able to attend the board meeting on the following day.
'The meeting of the board took place at eleven o'clock. When half past eleven came, and Wu Ling had not put in an appearance, the secretary rang up the Russell Hotel. In answer to his enquiries, he was told that the Chinaman had gone out with a friend about half past ten. It seemed clear that he had started out with the intention of coming to the meeting, but the morning wore away, and he did not appear. It was, of course, possible that he had lost his way, being unacquainted with London, but at a late hour that night he had not returned to the hotel. Thoroughly alarmed now, Mr Pearson put matters in the hands of the police. On the following day, there was still no trace of the missing man, but towards evening of the day after that again, a body was found in the Thames which proved to be that of the ill-fated Chinaman. Neither on the body, nor in the luggage at the hotel, was there any trace of the papers relating to the mine.
'At this juncture, mon ami, I was brought into the affair. Mr Pearson called upon me. While profoundly shocked by the death of Wu Ling, his chief anxiety was to recover the papers which were the object of the Chinaman's visit to England. The main anxiety of the police, of course, would be to track down the murderer – the recovery of the papers would be a secondary consideration. What he wanted me to do was to co-operate with the police while acting in the interests of the company.
'I consented readily enough. It was clear that there were two fields of search open to me. On the one hand, I might look among the employees of the company who knew of the Chinaman's coming; on the other, among the passengers on the boat who might have been acquainted with his mission. I started with the second, as being a narrower field of search. In this I coincided with Inspector Miller, who was in charge of the case – a man altogether different from our friend Japp, conceited, ill-mannered and quite insufferable. Together we interviewed the officers of the ship. They had little to tell us. Wu Ling had kept much to himself on the voyage. He had been intimate with but two of the other passengers – one a broken-down European named Dyer who appeared to bear a somewhat unsavoury reputation, the other a young bank clerk named Charles Lester, who was returning from Hong Kong. We were lucky enough to obtain snapshots of both these men. At the moment there seemed little doubt that if either of the two was implicated, Dyer was the man. He was known to be mixed up with a gang of Chinese crooks, and was altogether a most likely suspect.
'Our next step was to visit the Russell Square Hotel. Shown a snapshot of Wu Ling, they recognised him at once. We then showed them the snapshot of Dyer, but to our disappointment, the hall porter declared positively that that was not the man who had come to the hotel on the fatal morning. Almost as an afterthought, I produced the photograph, of Lester, and to my surprise the man at once recognised it.
'"Yes, sir," he asserted, "that's the gentleman who came in at half past ten and asked for Mr Wu Ling, and afterwards went out with him."
'The affair was progressing. Our next move was to interview Mr Charles Lester. He met us with the utmost frankness, was desolated to hear of the Chinaman's untimely death, and put himself at our disposal in every way. His story was as follows: By arrangement with Wu Ling, he called for him at the hotel at ten-thirty. Wu Ling, however, did not appear. Instead, his servant came, explained that his master had had to go out, and offered to conduct the young man to where his master now was. Suspecting nothing, Lester agreed, and the Chinaman procured a taxi. They drove for some time in the direction of the docks. Suddenly becoming mistrustful, Lester stopped the taxi and got out, disregarding the servant's protests. That, he assured us, was all he knew.
'Apparently satisfied, we thanked him and took our leave. His story was soon proved to be a somewhat inaccurate one. To begin with, Wu Ling had had no servant with him, either on the boat or at the hotel. In the second place, the taxi-driver who had driven the two men on that morning came forward. Far from Lester's having left the taxi en route, he and the Chinese gentleman had driven to a certain unsavoury dwelling-place in Limehouse, right in the heart of Chinatown. The place in question was more or less well known as an opium-den of the lowest description. The two gentlemen had gone in – about an hour later the English gentleman, whom he identified from the photograph, came out alone. He looked very pale and ill, and directed the taxi-man to take him to the nearest underground station.
'Enquiries were made about Charles Lester's standing, and it was found that, though bearing an excellent character, he was heavily in debt, and had a secret passion for gambling. Dyer, of course, was not lost sight of. It seemed just faintly possible that he might have impersonated the other man, but that idea was proved utterly groundless. His alibi for the whole of the day in question was absolutely unimpeachable. Of course, the proprietor of the opium-den denied everything with Oriental stolidity. He had never seen Wu Ling; he had never seen Charles Lester. No two gentlemen had been to the place that morning. In any case, the police were wrong: no opium was ever smoked there.
'His denials, however well meant, did little to help Charles Lester. He was arrested for the murder of Wu Ling. A search of his effects was made, but no papers relating to the mine were discovered. The proprietor of the opium-den was also taken into custody, but a cursory raid of his premises yielded nothing. Not even a stick of opium rewarded the zeal of the police.
'In the meantime my friend Mr Pearson was in a great state of agitation. He strode up and down my room, uttering great lamentations.
'"But you must have some ideas, M. Poirot!" he kept urging. "Surely you must have some ideas?"
'"Certainly I have ideas," I replied cautiously. "That is the trouble – one has too many; therefore they all lead in different directions."
'"For instance?" he suggested.
'"For instance – the taxi-driver. We have only his word for it that he drove the two men to that house. That is one idea. Then was it really that house they went to? Supposing that they left the taxi there, passed through the house and out by another entrance and went elsewhere?"
'Mr Pearson seemed struck by that.
'"But you do nothing but sit and think? Can't we do something?"
'He was of an impatient temperament, you comprehend.
'"Monsieur," I said with dignity, "it is not for Hercule Poirot to run up and down the evil-smelling streets of Limehouse like a little dog of no breeding. Be calm. My agents are at work."
'On the following day I had news for him. The two men had indeed passed through the house in question, but their real objective was a small eating-house close to the river. They were seen to pass in there, and Lester came out alone.
'And then, figure to yourself, Hastings, an idea of the most unreasonable seized this Mr Pearson! Nothing would suit him but that we should go ourselves to this eating-house and make investigations. I argued and prayed, but he would not listen. He talked of disguising himself – he even suggested that I – I should – I hesitate to say it – should shave off my moustache! Yes, rien que ça! I pointed out to him that that was an idea ridiculous and absurd. One destroys not a thing of beauty wantonly. Besides, shall not a Belgian gentleman with a moustache desire to see life and smoke the opium just as readily as one without a moustache?
'Eh bien, he gave in on that, but he still insisted on his project. He turned up that evening – Mon Dieu, what a figure! He wore what he called the "pea-jacket", his chin, it was dirty and unshaved; he had a scarf of the vilest that offended the nose. And figure to yourself, he was
enjoying himself! Truly, the English are mad! He made some changes in my own appearance. I permitted it. Can one argue with a maniac? We started out – after all, could I let him go alone, a child dressed up to act the charades?'
'Of course you couldn't,' I replied.
'To continue – we arrived. Mr Pearson talked English of the strangest. He represented himself to be a man of the sea. He talked of "lubbers" and "focselles" and I know not what. It was a low little room with many Chinese in it. We ate of peculiar dishes. Ah, Dieu, mon estomac!' Poirot clasped that portion of his anatomy tenderly before continuing. 'Then there came to us the proprietor, a Chinaman with a face of evil smiles.
'"You gentlemen no likee food here," he said. "You come for what you likee better. Piecee pipe, eh?"
'Mr Pearson, he gave me the great kick under the table. (He had on the boots of the sea, too!) And he said: "I don't mind if I do, John. Lead ahead."
'The Chinaman smiled, and he took us through a door and to a cellar and through a trapdoor, and down some steps and up again into a room all full of divans and cushions of the most comfortable. We lay down and a Chinese boy took off our boots. It was the best moment of the evening. Then they brought us the opium-pipes and cooked the opium-pills, and we pretended to smoke and then to sleep and dream. But when we were alone, Mr Pearson called softly to me, and immediately he began crawling along the floor. We went into another room where other people were asleep, and so on, until we heard two men talking. We stayed behind a curtain and listened. They were speaking of Wu Ling.
'"What about the papers?" said one.
'"Mr Lester, he takee those," answered the other, who was a Chinaman. "He say, puttee them all in safee place – where pleeceman no lookee."
'"Ah, but he's nabbed," said the first one.
'"He gettee free. Pleeceman not sure he done it."
'There was more of the same kind of thing, then apparently the two men were coming our way, and we scuttled back to our beds.
'"We'd better get out of here," said Pearson, after a few minutes had elapsed. "This place isn't healthy."
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