by Mark Place
‘You see now how everything fits in? The improbable struggle, which is necessary to establish a false time of death; the locked door…so that nobody shall find the body too soon; the dying man’s scream. The crime is now logical and reasonable.
‘But from the moment that Pilar Estravados cried aloud her discovery about the balloon, she was a source of danger to the murderer. And if that remark had been heard by him from the house (which it well might, for her voice was high and clear and the windows were open), she herself was in considerable danger. Already she had given the murderer one very nasty moment. She had said, speaking of old Mr Lee, “He must have been very good-looking when he was young.” And had added, speaking directly to Sugden: “Like you.” She meant that literally, and Sugden knew it. No wonder Sugden went purple in the face and nearly choked. It was so unexpected and so deadly dangerous. He hoped, after that, to fix the guilt on her, but it proved unexpectedly difficult, since, as the old man’s portionless granddaughter, she had obviously no motive for the crime. Later, when he overheard from the house her clear, high voice calling out its remark about the balloon, he decided on desperate measures. He set that booby trap when we were at lunch. Luckily, almost by a miracle, it failed…’
There was dead silence. Then Sugden said quietly: ‘When were you sure?’
Poirot said: ‘I was not quite sure till I brought home a false moustache and tried it on Simeon Lee’s picture. Then—the face that looked at me was yours.’ Sugden said: ‘God rot his soul in hell! I’m glad I did it!’
Part 7 December 28th
Lydia Lee said: Pilar, I think you had better stay with us until we can arrange something definite for you.’
Pilar said meekly: ‘You are very good, Lydia. You are nice. You forgive people quite easily without making a fuss about it.’
Lydia said, smiling: ‘I still call you Pilar, though I suppose your name is something else.’
‘Yes, I am really Conchita Lopez.’
‘Conchita is a pretty name too.’
‘You are really almost too nice, Lydia. But you don’t need to be bothered by me. I am going to marry Stephen, and we are going to South Africa.’
Lydia said, smiling: ‘Well, that rounds off things very nicely.’
Pilar said timidly: ‘Since you have been so kind, do you think, Lydia, that one day we might come back and stay with you—perhaps for Christmas—and then we could have the crackers and the burning raisins and those shiny things on a tree and the little snowmen?’
‘Certainly, you shall come and have a real English Christmas.’
‘That will be lovely. You see, Lydia, I feel that this year it was not a nice Christmas at all.’
Lydia caught her breath. She said: ‘No, it was not a nice Christmas…’
II
Harry said: ‘Well, goodbye, Alfred. Don’t suppose you’ll be troubled by seeing much of me. I’m off to Hawaii.
Always meant to live there if I had a bit of money.’
Alfred said: ‘Goodbye, Harry. I expect you’ll enjoy yourself. I hope so.’ Harry said rather awkwardly: ‘Sorry I riled you so much, old man. Rotten sense of humour I’ve got. Can’t help trying to pull a fellow’s leg.’
Alfred said with an effort: ‘Suppose I must learn to take a joke.’ Harry said with relief: ‘Well—so-long.’
III
Alfred said: ‘David, Lydia and I have decided to sell up this place. I thought perhaps you’d like some of the things that were our mother’s…her chair and that footstool. You were always her favourite.’ David hesitated a minute. Then he said slowly: ‘Thanks for the thought, Alfred, but do you know, I don’t think I will. I don’t want anything out of the house. I feel it’s better to break with the past altogether.’ Alfred said: ‘Yes, I understand. Maybe you’re right.’
IV
George said: ‘Well, goodbye, Alfred. Goodbye, Lydia. What a terrible time we have been through. There’s the trial coming on, too. I suppose the whole disgraceful story is bound to come out…Sugden being…er…my father’s son. One couldn’t arrange for it to be put to him, I suppose, that it would be better if he pleaded advanced Communist views and dislike of my father as a capitalist…something of that kind?’ Lydia said: ‘My dear George, do you really imagine that a man like Sugden would tell lies to soothe our feelings?’
George said: ‘Er—perhaps not. No, I see your point. All the same, the man must be mad. Well, goodbye again.’
Magdalene said: ‘Goodbye. Next year do let’s all go to the Riviera or somewhere for Christmas and be really gay.’
George said: ‘Depends on the Exchange.’
Magdalene said: ‘Darling, don’t be mean.’
V
Alfred came out on the terrace. Lydia was bending over a stone sink. She straightened up when she saw him. He said with a sigh: ‘Well they’ve all gone.’
Lydia said: ‘Yes what a blessing.’
‘It is, rather.’
Alfred said: ‘You’ll be glad to leave here.’
She asked: ‘Will you mind very much?’
‘No, I shall be glad. There are so many interesting things we can do together. To live on here would be to be constantly reminded of that nightmare. Thank God it’s all over!’
Lydia said: ‘Thanks to Hercule Poirot.’
‘Yes. You know, it was really amazing the way everything fell into place when he explained it.’
‘I know. Like when you finish a jig-saw puzzle and all the queer-shaped bits you swear won’t fit in anywhere find their places quite naturally.’
Alfred said: ‘There’s one little thing that never fitted in. What was George doing after he telephoned? Why wouldn’t he say?’
‘Don’t you know? I knew all the time. He was having a look through your papers on your desk.’
‘Oh! No, Lydia, no one would do a thing like that!’
‘George would. He’s frightfully curious about money matters. But of course he couldn’t say so. He’d have had to be actually in the dock before he’d have owned up to that.’
Alfred said: ‘Are you making another garden?’
‘Yes.’
‘What is it this time?’
‘I think,’ said Lydia, ‘it’s an attempt at the Garden of Eden. A new version—without any serpent—and Adam and Eve are definitely middle-aged.’
Alfred said gently: ‘Dear Lydia, how patient you have been all these years. You have been very good to me.’
Lydia said: ‘But, you see, Alfred, I love you…’
VI
Colonel Johnson said: God bless my soul!’ Then he said: ‘Upon my word!’ And finally, once more: ‘God bless my soul!
He leaned back in his chair and stared at Poirot. He said plaintively: ‘My best man! What’s the police coming to?’
Poirot said: ‘Even policemen have private lives! Sugden was a very proud man.’
Colonel Johnson shook his head.
To relieve his feelings he kicked at the logs in the grate. He said jerkily: ‘I always say—nothing like a wood fire.’
Hercule Poirot, conscious of the draughts round his neck, thought to himself: ‘Pour moi, every time the central heating…’
The Jewel Robbery At The Grand Metropolitan
BY
AGATHA CHRISTIE
THE JEWEL ROBBERY AT THE GRAND METROPOLITAN
"Poirot," I said, "a change of air would do you good."
"You think so, mon ami?"
"I am sure of it."
"Eh -eh?" said my friend, smiling. "It is all arranged, then?"
"You will come?"
"Where do you propose to take me?"
"Brighton As a matter of fact, a friend of mine in the City put me on to a very good thing, and well, I have money to burn, as the saying goes. I think a weekend at the Grand Metropolitan would do us all the good in the world."
"Thank you, I accept most gratefully. You have the good heart to think of an old man. And the good heart, it is in the end worth all the little grey cell
s. Yes, yes, I who speak to you am in danger of forgetting that sometimes."
I did not quite relish the implication. I fancy that Poirot is sometimes a little inclined to underestimate my mental capacities. But his pleasure was so evident that I put my slight annoyance aside.
"Then, that's all right," I said hastily.
Saturday evening saw us dining at the Grand Metropolitan in the midst of a gay throng. All the world and his wife seemed to be at Brighton. The dresses were marvellous, and the jewels -worn sometimes with more love of display than good taste -were something magnificent. "Hein, it is a sight this!" murmured Poirot. "This is the home of the Profiteer, is it not so, Hastings?"
"Supposed to be," I replied. "But we'll hope they aren't all tarred with the profiteering brush."
Poirot gazed round him placidly. "The sight of so many jewels makes me wish I had turned my brains to crime, instead of to its detection. What a magnificent opportunity for some thief of distinction! Regard, Hastings, that stout woman by the pillar. She is, as you would say, plastered with gems." I followed his eyes. "Why," I exclaimed, "it's Mrs Opalsen."
"You know her?"
"Slightly. Her husband is a rich stockbroker who made a fortune in the recent Oil boom."
After dinner we ran across the Opalsens in the lounge, and I introduced Poirot to them. We chatted for a few minutes, and ended by having our coffee together. Poirot said a few words in praise of some of the costlier gems displayed on the lady's ample bosom, and she brightened up at once. “It's a perfect hobby of mine, Mr Poirot. I just love jewellery. Ed knows my weakness, and every time things go well he brings me something new. You are interested in precious stones?"
"I have had a good deal to do with them one time and another, madame. My profession has brought me into contact with some of the most famous jewels in the world."
He went on to narrate, with discreet pseudonyms, the story of the historic jewels of a reigning house, and Mrs Opalsen listened with bated breath. "There now!" she exclaimed, as he ended. "If it isn't just like a play! You know, I've got some pearls of my own that have a history attached to them. I believe it's supposed to be one of the finest necklaces in the world -pearls so beautifully matched and so perfect in color. I declare I really must run up and get it!"
"Oh, madame," protested Poirot, "you are too amiable. Pray do not derange yourself!"
"Oh, but I'd like to show it to you." The buxom dame waddled across to the lift briskly enough. Her husband, who had been talking to me, looked at Poirot inquiringly. "Madame your wife is so amiable as to insist on showing me her pearl necklace," explained the latter.
"Oh, the pearls!" Opalsen smiled in a satisfied fashion. "Well, they are worth seeing. Cost a pretty penny too! Still, the money's there all right; I could get what I paid for them any day-perhaps more. May have to, too if things go on as they are now. Money's confoundedly tight in the City. All this infernal E.P.D." He rambled on, launching into technicalities where I could not follow him. He was interrupted by a small page-boy who approached and murmured something in his ear.
"Eh -what? I'll come at once. Not taken ill, is she? Excuse me, gentlemen."
He left us abruptly. Poirot leaned back and lit one of his tiny Russian cigarettes. Then, carefully and meticulously, he arranged the empty coffee-cups in a neat row, and beamed happily on the result. The minutes passed. The Opalsens did not return.
"Curious," I remarked, at length. "I wonder when they will come back."
Poirot watched the ascending spirals of smoke, and then said thoughtfully: "They will not come back."
"Why?"
"Because, my friend, something has happened."
"What sort of thing? How do you know?" I asked curiously.
Poirot smiled. "A few moments ago the manager came hurriedly out of his office and ran upstairs. He was much agitated. The lift-boy is deep in talk with one of the pages. The lift-bell has rung three times, but he heeds it not. Thirdly, even the waiters are distrait; and to make a waiter distrait" Poirot shook his head with an air of finality. "The affair must indeed be of the first magnitude. Ah, it is as I thought! Here come the police."
Two men had just entered the hotel -one in uniform, the other in plain clothes. They spoke to a page, and were immediately ushered upstairs. A few minutes later, the same boy descended and came up to where we were sitting. "Mr Opalsen's compliments, and would you step upstairs."
Poirot sprang nimbly to his feet. One would have said that he awaited the summons. I followed with no less alacrity. The Opalsens' apartments were situated on the first floor. After knocking on the door, the pageboy retired, and we answered the summons, "Come in!" A strange scene met our eyes. The room was Mrs Opalsen's bedroom, and in the center of it, lying back in an armchair, was the lady herself, weeping violently. She presented an extraordinary spectacle, with tears making great furrows in the powder with which her complexion was liberally coated. Mr Opalsen was striding up and down angrily. The two police officials stood in the middle of the room one with a notebook in hand. A hotel chambermaid, looking frightened to death, stood by the fireplace; and on the other side of the room a Frenchwoman, obviously Mrs Opalsen's maid, was weeping and wringing her hands, with an intensity of grief that rivaled that of her mistress. Into this pandemonium stepped Poirot, neat and smiling. Immediately, with an energy surprising in one of her bulk, Mrs Opalsen sprang from her chair towards him. "There now; Ed may say what he likes, but I believe in luck, I do. It was fated I should meet you the way I did this evening, and I've a feeling that if you can't get my pearls back for me nobody can."
"Calm yourself, I pray of you, madame." Poirot patted her hand soothingly. "Reassure yourself. All will be well. Hercule Poirot will aid you!" Mr Opalsen turned to the police inspector. "There will be no objection to my -er -calling in this gentleman, I suppose?"
"None at all, sir," replied the man civilly, but with complete indifference. "Perhaps now your lady's feeling better she'll just let us have the facts!"
Mrs Opalsen looked helplessly at Poirot. He led her back to her chair. "Seat yourself, madame, and recount to us the whole history without agitating yourself." Thus abjured, Mrs Opalsen dried her eyes gingerly, and began. "I came upstairs after dinner to fetch my pearls for Mr Poirot here to see. The chambermaid and Célestine were both in the room as usual"
"Excuse me, madame, but what do you mean by 'as usual'?"
Mr Opalsen explained. "I make it a rule that no one is to come into this room unless Célestine, the maid, is there also. The chambermaid does the room in the morning while Célestine is present, and comes in after dinner to turn down the beds under the same conditions; otherwise she never enters the room."
"Well, as I was saying," continued Mrs Opalsen, "I came up. I went to the drawer here -" she indicated the bottom right-hand drawer of the knee-hole dressing-table -"took out my jewel-case and unlocked it. It seemed quite as usual -but the pearls were not there!"
The inspector had been busy with his notebook.
"When had you last seen them?" he asked.
"They were there when I went down to dinner."
"You are sure?"
"Quite sure. I was uncertain whether to wear them or not, but in the end I decided on the emeralds, and put them back in the jewel-case."
"Who locked up the jewel-case?"
"I did. I wear the key on a chain round my neck."
She held it up as she spoke. The inspector examined it, and shrugged his shoulders. "The thief must have had a duplicate key. No difficult matter. The lock is quite a simple one. What did you do after you'd locked the jewel-case?"
"I put it back in the bottom drawer where I always keep it."
"You didn't lock the drawer?"
"No, I never do. My maid remains in the room till I come up, so there's no need."
The inspector's face grew graver. "Am I to understand that the jewels were there when you went down to dinner, and that since then the maid has not left the room?"
Suddenly, as
though the horror of her own situation for the first time burst upon her, Célestine uttered a piercing shriek, and, flinging herself upon Poirot, poured out a torrent of incoherent French. The suggestion was infamous! That she should be suspected of robbing Madame! The police were well known to be of a stupidity incredible! But Monsieur, who was a Frenchman" A Belgian," interjected Poirot, but Célestine paid no attention to the correction. Monsieur would not stand by and see her falsely accused, while that infamous chambermaid was allowed to go scot-free. She had never liked her -a bold, red-faced thing -a born thief. She had said from the first that she was not honest. And had kept a sharp watch over her too, when she was doing Madame's room! Let those idiots of policemen search her, and if they did not find Madame's pearls on her it would be very surprising! Although this harangue was uttered in rapid and virulent French, Célestine had interlarded it with a wealth of gesture, and the chambermaid realized at least a part of her meaning. She reddened angrily. "If that foreign woman's saying I took the pearls, it's a lie!" she declared heatedly. "I never so much as saw them."
"Search her!" screamed the other. "You will find it as I say."
"You're a liar -do you hear?" said the chambermaid, advancing upon her. "Stole 'em yourself, and want to put it on me. Why, I was only in the room about three minutes before the lady come up, and then you were sitting here the whole time, as you always do, like a cat watching a mouse."
The inspector looked across inquiringly at Célestine.
"Is that true? Didn't you leave the room at all?"
"I did not actually leave her alone," admitted Célestine reluctantly, "but I went into my own room through the door here twice -once to fetch a reel of cotton, and once for my scissors. She must have done it then."
"You wasn't gone a minute," retorted the chambermaid angrily. "Just popped out and in again. I'd be glad if the police would search me. I've nothing to be afraid of."
At this moment there was a tap at the door. The inspector went to it. His face brightened when he saw who it was. "Ah!" he said. "That's rather fortunate. I sent for one of our female searchers, and she's just arrived. Perhaps if you wouldn't mind going into the room next door."
