Death in the Clouds

by Agatha Christie

‘Which makes one pause, perhaps.’

  ‘Sheer artfulness,’ said Japp. ‘And as to this blowpipe he produced today, who is to say that it’s the one he bought two years ago? The whole thing looks very fishy to me. I don’t think it’s healthy for a man to be always brooding over crime and detective stories, reading up all sorts of cases. It puts ideas into his head.’

  ‘It is certainly necessary for a writer to have ideas in his head,’ agreed Poirot.

  Japp returned to his plan of the plane.

  ‘No. 4 was Ryder—the seat slap in front of the dead woman. Don’t think he did it. But we can’t leave him out. He went to the toilet. He could have taken a pot shot on the way back from fairly close quarters; the only thing is he’d be right up against the archaeologist fellows when he did so. They’d notice it—couldn’t help it.’

  Poirot shook his head thoughtfully.

  ‘You are not, perhaps, acquainted with many archaeologists? If these two were having a really absorbing discussion on some point at issue—eh bien, my friend, their concentration would be such that they would be quite blind and deaf to the outside world. They would be existing, you see, in five thousand or so BC. Nineteen hundred and thirty-five AD would have been non-existent for them.’

  Japp looked a little sceptical.

  ‘Well, we’ll pass on to them. What can you tell us about the Duponts, Fournier?’

  ‘M. Armand Dupont is one of the most distinguished archaeologists in France.’

  ‘Then that doesn’t get us anywhere much. Their position in the car is pretty good from my point of view—across the gangway but slightly farther forward than Giselle. And I suppose that they’ve knocked about the world and dug things up in a lot of queer places; they might easily have got hold of some native snake poison.’

  ‘It is possible, yes,’ said Fournier.

  ‘But you don’t believe it’s likely?’

  Fournier shook his head doubtfully.

  ‘M. Dupont lives for his profession. He is an enthusiast. He was formerly an antique dealer. He gave up a flourishing business to devote himself to excavation. Both he and his son are devoted heart and soul to their profession. It seems to me unlikely—I will not say impossible, since the ramifications of the Stavisky business I will believe anything—unlikely that they are mixed up in this business.’

  ‘All right,’ said Japp.

  He picked up the sheet of paper on which he had been making notes and cleared his throat.

  ‘This is where we stand. Jane Grey. Probability—poor. Possibility—practically nil. Gale. Probability—poor. Possibility—again practically nil. Miss Kerr. Very improbable. Possibility—doubtful. Lady Horbury. Probability—good. Possibility—practically nil. M. Poirot—almost certainly the criminal; the only man on board who could create a psychological moment.’

  Japp enjoyed a good laugh over his little joke, and Poirot smiled indulgently and Fournier a trifle diffidently. Then the detective resumed:

  ‘Bryant. Probability and possibility—both good. Clancy. Motive doubtful—probability and possibility very good indeed. Ryder. Probability uncertain—possibility quite fair. The two Duponts. Probability poor as regards motive—good as to means of obtaining poison. Possibility—good.

  ‘That’s a pretty fair summary, I think, as far as we can go. We’ll have to do a lot of routine inquiry. I shall take on Clancy and Bryant first—find out what they’ve been up to—if they’ve been hard up at any time in the past—if they’ve seemed worried or upset lately—their movements in the last year—all that sort of stuff. I’ll do the same for Ryder. Then it won’t do to neglect the others entirely. I’ll get Wilson to nose round there. M. Fournier here will undertake the Duponts.’

  The man from the Sûreté nodded.

  ‘Be well assured—that will be attended to. I shall return to Paris tonight. There may be something to be got out of Elise, Giselle’s maid, now that we know a little more about the case. Also, I will check up Giselle’s movements very carefully. It will be well to know where she has been during the summer. She was, I know, at Le Pinet once or twice. We may get information as to her contacts with some of the English people involved. Ah, yes, there is much to do.’

  They both looked at Poirot, who was absorbed in thought.

  ‘You going to take a hand at all, M. Poirot?’ asked Japp.

  Poirot roused himself.

  ‘Yes, I think I should like to accompany M. Fournier to Paris.’

  ‘Enchanté,’ said the Frenchman.

  ‘What are you up to, I wonder?’ said Japp. He looked at Poirot curiously. ‘You’ve been very quiet over all this. Got some of your little ideas, eh?’

  ‘One or two, one or two; but it is very difficult.’

  ‘Let’s hear about it.’

  ‘One thing that worries me,’ said Poirot slowly, ‘is the place where the blowpipe was found.’

  ‘Naturally! It nearly got you locked up.’

  Poirot shook his head.

  ‘I do not mean that. It is not because it was found pushed down beside my seat that it worries me—it was its being pushed down behind any seat.’

  ‘I don’t see anything in that,’ said Japp. ‘Whoever did it had got to hide the thing somewhere. He couldn’t risk its being found on him.’

  ‘Evidemment. But you may have noticed, my friend, when you examined the plane, that although the windows cannot be opened, there is in each of them a ventilator—a circle of small round holes in the glass which can be opened or closed by turning a fan of glass. Those holes are of a sufficient circumference to admit of the passage of our blowpipe. What could be simpler than to get rid of the blowpipe that way? It falls to the earth beneath, and it is extremely unlikely that it will ever be found.’

  ‘I can think of an objection to that—the murderer was afraid of being seen. If he pushed the blowpipe through the ventilator someone might have noticed.’

  ‘I see,’ said Poirot. ‘He was not afraid of being seen placing the blowpipe to his lips and dispatching the fatal dart, but he was afraid of being seen trying to push the blowpipe through the window!’

  ‘Sounds absurd, I admit,’ said Japp; ‘but there it is. He did hide the blowpipe behind the cushion of a seat. We can’t get away from that.’

  Poirot did not answer, and Fournier asked curiously:

  ‘It gives you an idea, that?’

  Poirot bowed his head assentingly.

  ‘It gives rise to, say, a speculation in my mind.’

  With absent-minded fingers he straightened the unused inkstand that Japp’s impatient hand had set a little askew.

  Then lifting his head sharply, he asked:

  ‘A propos, have you that detailed list of the belongings of the passengers that I asked you to get me?’

  Chapter 8

  The List

  ‘I’m a man of my word, I am,’ said Japp.

  He grinned and dived his hand into his pocket, bringing out a mass of closely-typewritten paper.

  ‘Here you are. It’s all here—down to the minutest detail! And I’ll admit that there is one rather curious thing in it. I’ll talk to you about it when you’ve finished reading the stuff.’

  Poirot spread out the sheets on the table and began to read. Fournier moved up and read them over his shoulder:

  James Ryder.

  Pockets.—Linen handkerchief marked J. Pigskin notecase—seven £1 notes, three business cards. Letter from partner George Ebermann hoping ‘loan has been successfully negotiated…otherwise we’re in Queer Street’. Letter signed Maudie making appointment Trocadero following evening (cheap paper, illiterate handwriting). Silver cigarette-case. Match-folder. Fountain-pen. Bunch of keys. Yale door key. Loose change in French and English money.

  Attaché Case.—Mass of papers concerning dealings in cement. Copy of Bootless Cup (banned in this country). A box of ‘Immediate Cold Cures’.

  Dr Bryant.

  Pockets.—Two linen handkerchiefs. Notecase containing £20 and 500 francs. Loose ch
ange in French and English money. Engagement book. Cigarette-case. Lighter. Fountain-pen. Yale door key. Bunch of keys. Flute in case. Carrying Memoirs of Benvenuto Cellini and Les Maux de l’Oreille.

  Norman Gale.

  Pockets.—Silk handkerchief. Wallet containing £1 in English and 600 francs. Loose change. Business cards of two French firms—makers of dental instruments. Bryant & May matchbox—empty. Silver lighter. Briar pipe. Rubber tobacco pouch. Yale door key.

  Attaché Case.—White linen coat. Two small dental mirrors. Dental rolls of cottonwool. La Vie Parisienne. The Strand Magazine. The Autocar.

  Armand Dupont.

  Pockets.—Wallet containing 1000 francs and £10 in English. Spectacles in case. Loose change in French money. Cotton handkerchief. Packet of cigarettes, match-folder. Cards in case. Toothpick.

  AttachéCase.—Manuscript of proposed address to Royal Asiatic Society. Two German archaeological publications. Two sheets of rough sketches of pottery. Ornamented hollow tubes (said to be Kurdish pipe stems). Small basket-work tray. Nine unmounted photographs—all of pottery.

  Jean Dupont.

  Pockets.—Notecase containing £5 in English and 300 francs. Cigarette-case. Cigarette-holder (ivory). Lighter. Fountain-pen. Two pencils. Small notebook full of scribbled notes. Letter in English from L. Marriner giving invitation to lunch at restaurant near Tottenham Court Road. Loose change in French.

  Daniel Clancy.

  Pockets.—Handkerchief (ink-stained). Fountain-pen (leaking). Notecase containing £4 and 100 francs. Three newspaper cuttings dealing with recent crimes (one poisoning by arsenic and two embezzlement). Two letters from house agents with details of country properties. Engagement book. Four pencils. Pen-knife. Three receipted and four unpaid bills. Letter from ‘Gordon’ headed S.S. Minotaur. Half-done crossword puzzle cut from Times. Notebook containing suggestions for plots. Loose change in Italian, French, Swiss and English money. Receipted hotel bill, Naples. Large bunch of keys.

  In overcoat pocket.—Manuscript notes of Murder on Vesuvius. Continental Bradshaw. Golf ball. Pair of socks. Toothbrush. Receipted hotel bill, Paris.

  Miss Kerr.

  Vanity bag.—Lipstick. Two cigarette-holders (one ivory and one jade). Flapjack. Cigarette-case. Match-folder. Handkerchief. £2 English. Loose change. One half letter of credit. Keys.

  Dressing-case.—Shagreen fitted. Bottles, brushes, combs, etc. Manicure outfit. Washing bag containing toothbrush, sponge, toothpowder, soap. Two pairs of scissors. Five letters from family and friends in England. Two Tauchnitz novels. Photograph of two spaniels.

  Carried Vogue and Good Housekeeping.

  Miss Grey.

  Handbag.—Lipstick, rouge, flapjack. Yale key and one trunk key. Pencil. Cigarette-case. Holder. Match-folder. Two handkerchiefs. Receipted hotel bill, Le Pinet. Small book, French Phrases. Notecase, 100 francs and 10s. Loose French and English change. One Casino counter value 5 francs.

  In pocket of travelling coat.—Six postcards of Paris, two handkerchiefs and silk scarf. Letter signed ‘Gladys’. Tube of aspirin.

  Lady Horbury.

  Vanity bag.—Two lipsticks, rouge, flapjack. Handkerchief. Three mille notes. £6 English. Loose change (French). A diamond ring. Five French stamps. Two cigarette-holders. Lighter with case.

  Dressing-case.—Complete makeup outfit. Elaborate manicure set (gold). Small bottle labelled (in ink) Boracic Powder.

  As Poirot came to the end of the list, Japp laid his finger on the last item.

  ‘Rather smart of our man. He thought that didn’t seem quite in keeping with the rest. Boracic powder my eye! The white powder in that bottle was cocaine.’

  Poirot’s eyes opened a little. He nodded his head slowly.

  ‘Nothing much to do with our case, perhaps,’ said Japp. ‘But you don’t need me to tell you that a woman who’s got the cocaine habit hasn’t got much moral restraint. I’ve an idea anyway that her ladyship wouldn’t stick at much to get what she wanted, in spite of all that helpless feminine business. All the same, I doubt if she’d have the nerve to carry a thing like this through; and, frankly, I can’t see that it was possible for her to do it. The whole thing is a bit of a teaser.’

  Poirot gathered up the loose typewritten sheets and read them through once again. Then he laid them down with a sigh.

  ‘On the face of it,’ he said, ‘it seems to point very plainly to one person as having committed the crime. And yet, I cannot see why, or even how.’

  Japp stared at him.

  ‘Are you pretending that by reading all this stuff you’ve got an idea who did it?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Japp seized the papers from him and read them through, handing each sheet over to Fournier as he had finished with it. Then he slapped them down on the table and stared at Poirot.

  ‘Are you pulling my leg, Moosior Poirot?’

  ‘No, no. Quelle idée!’

  The Frenchman in his turn laid down the sheets.

  ‘What about you, Fournier?’

  The Frenchman shook his head. ‘I may be stupid,’ he said, ‘but I cannot see that this list advances us much.’

  ‘Not by itself,’ said Poirot. ‘But taken in conjunction with certain features of the case, no? Well, it may be that I am wrong—quite wrong.’

  ‘Well, come out with your theory,’ said Japp. ‘I’ll be interested to hear it at all events.’

  Poirot shook his head.

  ‘No, as you say it is a theory—a theory only. I hoped to find a certain object on that list. Eh bien, I have found it. It is there; but it seems to point in the wrong direction. The right clue on the wrong person. That means there is much work to be done, and truly there is much that is still obscure to me. I cannot see my way; only certain facts seem to stand out, to arrange themselves in a significant pattern. You do not find it so? No, I see you do not. Let us then each work to his own idea. I have no certainty, I tell you, only a certain suspicion…’

  ‘I believe you’re just talking through your hat,’ said Japp. He rose. ‘Well, let’s call it a day. I work the London end, you return to Paris, Fournier—and what about our M. Poirot?’

  ‘I still wish to accompany M. Fournier to Paris—more than ever now.’

  ‘More than ever—? I’d like to know just what kind of maggot you’ve got in your brain.’

  ‘Maggot? Ce n’est pas joli, c¸a! ’

  Fournier shook hands ceremoniously.

  ‘I wish you good evening, with many thanks for your delightful hospitality. We will meet then at Croydon tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Exactly. A demain.’

  ‘Let us hope,’ said Fournier, ‘that nobody will murder us en route.’

  The two detectives departed.

  Poirot remained for a time as in a dream. Then he rose, cleared away any traces of disorder, emptied the ashtrays and straightened the chairs.

  He went to a side table and picked up a copy of the Sketch. He turned the pages until he came to the one he sought.

  ‘Two Sun Worshippers,’ it was headed. ‘The Countess of Horbury and Mr Raymond Barraclough at Le Pinet.’ He looked at the two laughing figures in bathing-dresses, their arms entwined.

  ‘I wonder,’ said Hercule Poirot. ‘One might do something along those lines…Yes, one might.’

  Chapter 9

  Elise Grandier

  The weather on the following day was of so perfect a nature that even Hercule Poirot had to admit that his estomac was perfectly peaceful.

  On this occasion they were travelling by the 8.45 Air Service to Paris.

  There were seven or eight travellers beside Poirot and Fournier in the compartment, and the Frenchman utilized the journey to make some experiments. He took from his pocket a small piece of bamboo and three times during the journey he raised this to his lips, pointing it in a certain direction. Once he did it bending himself round the corner of his seat, once with his head slightly turned sideways, once when he was returning from the toilet compartment; a
nd on each occasion he caught the eye of some passenger or other eyeing him with mild astonishment. On the last occasion, indeed, every eye in the car seemed to be fixed upon him.

  Fournier sank in his seat discouraged, and was but little cheered by observing Poirot’s open amusement.

  ‘You are amused, my friend? But you agree one must try experiments?’

  ‘Evidemment! In truth I admire your thoroughness. There is nothing like ocular demonstration. You play the part of the murderer with blowpipe. The result is perfectly clear. Everybody sees you!’

  ‘Not everybody.’

  ‘In a sense, no. On each occasion there is somebody who does not see you; but for a successful murder that is not enough. You must be reasonably sure that nobody will see you.’

  ‘And that is impossible given ordinary conditions,’ said Fournier. ‘I hold then to my theory that there must have been extraordinary conditions—the psychological moment! There must have been a psychological moment when everyone’s attention was mathematically centred elsewhere.’

  ‘Our friend Inspector Japp is going to make minute inquiries on that point.’

  ‘Do you not agree with me, M. Poirot?’

  Poirot hesitated a minute, then he said slowly:

  ‘I agree that there was—that there must have been a psychological reason why nobody saw the murderer…But my ideas are running in a slightly different channel from yours. I feel that in this case mere ocular facts may be deceptive. Close your eyes, my friend, instead of opening them wide. Use the eyes of the brain, not of the body. Let the little grey cells of the mind function…Let it be their task to show you what actually happened.’

  Fournier stared at him curiously.

  ‘I do not follow you, M. Poirot.’

  ‘Because you are deducing from things that you have seen. Nothing can be so misleading as observation.’

  Fournier shook his head again and spread out his hands. ‘I give up. I cannot catch your meaning.’

  ‘Our friend Giraud would urge you to pay no attention to my vagaries. “Be up and doing,” he would say. “To sit still in an armchair and think, that is the method of an old man past his prime.” But I say that a young hound is often so eager upon the scent that he overruns it…For him is the trail of the red herring. There, it is a very good hint I have given you there…’