Death in the Clouds hp-12 Read online

  "There is no such thing as muddle – obscurity, yes, but muddle can exist only in a disorderly brain."

  "Use any word you choose. The result's the same. Fournier's stumped too. I suppose you've got it all taped out, but you'd rather not tell!"

  "You mock yourself at me. I have not got it all taped out. I proceed, a step at a time, with order and method, but there is still far to go."

  "I can't help feeling glad to hear that. Let's hear about these orderly steps."

  Poirot smiled.

  "I make a little table, so." He took a paper from his pocket. "My idea is this: A murder is an action performed to bring about a certain result."

  "Say that again slowly."

  "It is not difficult."

  "Probably not, but you make it sound so."

  "No, no. it is very simple. Say you want money; you get it when an aunt dies. Bien. You perform an action – this is to kill the aunt – and get the result – inherit the money."

  "I wish I had some aunts like that," sighed Japp. "Go ahead. I see your idea. You mean there's got to be a motive."

  "I prefer my own way of putting it. An action is performed – the action being murder. What now are the results of that action? By studying the different results, we should get the answer to our conundrum. The results of a single action may be very varied; that particular action affects a lot of different people. Eh bien, I study today – three weeks after the crime – the result in eleven different cases."

  He spread out the paper.

  Japp leaned forward with some interest and read over Poirot's shoulder.

  Miss Grey. Result – temporary improvement. Increased salary.

  Mr Gale. Result – bad. Loss of practice.

  Lady Horbury. Result – good, if she's CL 52.

  Miss Kerr. Result – bad, since Giselle's death makes it more unlikely Lord Horbury will get the evidence to divorce his wife.

  "H'm." Japp interrupted his scrutiny. "So you think she's keen on his lordship? You are a one for nosing out love affairs."

  Poirot smiled. Japp bent over the chart once more.

  Mr Clancy. Result – good. Expects to make money by book dealing with the murder.

  Doctor Bryant. Result – good if RT 362.

  Mr Ryder. Result – good, owing to small amount of cash obtained through articles on murder which tided firm over delicate time. Also good if Ryder is XVB 724.

  M. Dupont. Result – unaffected.

  M. Jean Dupont. Result – the same.

  Mitchell. Result – unaffected.

  Davis. Result – unaffected.

  "And you think that's going to help you?" asked Japp skeptically. "I can't see that writing down 'I don't know. I don't know. I can't tell,' makes it any better."

  "It gives one a clear classification," explained Poirot. "In four cases – Mr Clancy, Miss Grey, Mr Ryder and, I think I may say, Lady Horbury – there is a result on the credit side. In the cases of Mr Gale and Miss Kerr there is a result on the debit side; in four cases there is no result at all, so far as we know, and in one – Doctor Bryant – there is either no result or a distinct gain."

  "And so?" asked Japp.

  "And so," said Poirot, "we must go on seeking."

  "With precious little to go upon," said Japp gloomily. "The truth of it is that we're hung up until we can get what we want from Paris. It's the Giselle side that wants going into. I bet I could have got more out of that maid than Fournier did."

  "I doubt it, my friend. The most interesting thing about this case is the personality of the dead woman. A woman without friends, without relations – without, as one might say, any personal life. A woman who was once young, who once loved and suffered, and then with a firm hand pulled down the shutter – all that was over! Not a photograph, not a souvenir, not a knickknack. Marie Morisot became Madame Giselle, money lender."

  "Do you think there is a clue in her past?"

  "Perhaps."

  "Well, we could do with it! There aren't any clues in this case."

  "Oh, yes, my friend, there are."

  "The blowpipe, of course."

  "No, no, not the blowpipe."

  "Well, let's hear your ideas of the clues in the case."

  Poirot smiled.

  "I will give them titles, like the names of Mr Clancy's stories! The Clue of the Wasp. The Clue in the Passenger's Baggage. The Clue of the Extra Coffee Spoon."

  "You're potty," said Japp kindly. And added:

  "What's this about a coffee spoon?"

  "Madame Giselle had two spoons in her saucer."

  "That's supposed to mean a wedding."

  "In this case," said Poirot, "it meant a funeral."

  Chapter 22

  When Norman Gale, Jane and Poirot met for dinner on the night after the blackmailing incident, Norman was relieved to hear that his services as Mr Robinson were no longer required.

  "He is dead, the good Mr Robinson," said Poirot. He raised his glass. "Let us drink to his memory."

  "R.I.P.," said Norman with a laugh.

  "What happened?" asked Jane of Poirot.

  He smiled at her.

  "I found out what I wanted to know."

  "Was she mixed up with Giselle?"

  "Yes."

  "That was pretty clear from my interview with her," said Norman.

  "Quite so," said Poirot. "But I wanted a full and detailed story."

  "And you got it?"

  "I got it."

  They both looked at him inquiringly, but Poirot, in a provoking manner, began to discuss the relationship between a career and a life.

  "There are not so many round pegs in square holes one might think. Most people, in spite of what they tell you choose the occupation that they secretly desire. You will hear a man say who works in an office, 'I should like to explore, to rough it in far countries.' But you will find that he likes reading the fiction that deals with that subject, but that he himself prefers the safety and moderate comfort of an office stool."

  "According to you," said Jane, "my desire for foreign travel isn't genuine. Messing about with women's heads is my true vocation. Well, that isn't true."

  Poirot smiled at her.

  "You are young still. Naturally, one tries this, that and the other, but what one eventually settles down into is the life one prefers."

  "And suppose I prefer being rich?"

  "Ah, that, it is more difficult!"

  "I don't agree with you," said Gale. "I'm a dentist by chance, not choice. My uncle was a dentist; he wanted me to come in with him, but I was all for adventure and seeing the world. I chucked dentistry and went off to farm in South Africa. However, that wasn't much good; I hadn't had enough experience. I had to accept the old man's offer and come and set up business with him."

  "And now you are thinking of chucking dentistry again and going off to Canada. You have a Dominion complex!"

  "This time I shall be forced to do it."

  "Ah, but it is incredible how often things force one to do the thing one would like to do."

  "Nothing's forcing me to travel," said Jane wistfully. "I wish it would."

  "Eh bien, I make you an offer here and now. I go to Paris next week. If you like, you can take the job of my secretary. I will give you a good salary."

  Jane shook her head.

  "I mustn't give up Antoine's. It's a good job."

  "So is mine a good job."

  "Yes, but it's only temporary."

  "I will obtain you another post of the same kind."

  "Thanks, but I don't think I'll risk it."

  Poirot looked at her and smiled enigmatically.

  Three days later he was rung up.

  "M. Poirot," said Jane, "is that job still open?"

  "But, yes. I go to Paris on Monday."

  "You really mean it? I can come?"

  "Yes, but what has happened to make you change your mind?"

  "I've had a row with Antoine. As a matter of fact, I lost my temper with a customer. She was an �
�� an absolute – Well, I can't say just what she was through the telephone. I was feeling nervy, and instead of doing my soothing-sirup stuff, I just let rip and told her exactly what I thought of her."

  "Ah, the thought of the great wide-open spaces."

  "What's that you say?"

  "I say that your mind was dwelling on a certain subject."

  "It wasn't my mind, it was my tongue that slipped. I enjoyed it. Her eyes looked just like her beastly Pekingese's – as though they were going to drop out – but here I am, thrown out on my ear, as you might say. I must get another job sometime, I suppose, but I'd like to come to Paris first."

  "Good; it is arranged. On the way over, I will give you your instructions."

  Poirot and his new secretary did not travel by air, for which Jane was secretly thankful. The unpleasant experience of her last trip had shaken her nerve. She did not want to be reminded of that lolling figure in rusty black.

  On their way from Calais to Paris they had the compartment to themselves and Poirot gave Jane some idea of his plans.

  "There are several people in Paris that I have to see. There is the lawyer – Maître Thibault. There is also M. Fournier, of the Sûreté – a melancholy man, but intelligent. And there are M. Dupont pére and M. Dupont fils. Now, Mademoiselle Jane, whilst I am taking on the father, I shall leave the son to you. You are very charming, very attractive. I fancy that M. Dupont will remember you from the inquest."

  "I've seen him since then," said Jane, her color rising slightly.

  "Indeed? And how was that?"

  Jane, her color rising a little more, described their meeting in the Corner House.

  "Excellent; better and better. Ah, it was a famous idea of mine to bring you to Paris with me. Now listen carefully, Mademoiselle Jane. As far as possible do not discuss the Giselle affair, but do not avoid the subject if Jean Dupont introduces. It might be well if, without actually saying so, you could convey the impression that Lady Horbury is suspected of the crime. My reason for coming to Paris, you can say, is to confer with M. Fournier and to inquire particularly into any dealings Lady Horbury may have had with the dead woman."

  "Poor Lady Horbury. You do make her a stalking horse!"

  "She is not the type I admire. Eh bien, let her be useful for once."

  Jane hesitated for a minute, then said:

  "You don't suspect young M. Dupont of the crime, do you?"

  "No, no, no. I desire information merely." He looked at her sharply. "He attracts you, eh, this young man? Il est sex appeal?"

  Jane laughed at the phrase.

  "No, that's not how I would describe him. He's very simple, but rather a dear."

  "So that is how you describe him – very simple?"

  "He is simple. I think it's because he's led a nice unworldly life."

  "True," said Poirot. "He has not, for instance, dealt with teeth. He has not been disillusioned by the sight of a public hero shivering with fright in the dentist's chair."

  Jane laughed.

  "I don't think Norman 's roped in any public heroes yet as patients."

  "It would have been a waste, since he is going to Canada."

  "He's talking of New Zealand now. He thinks I'd like the climate better."

  "At all events he is patriotic. He sticks to the British Dominions."

  "I'm hoping," said Jane, "that it won't be necessary."

  She fixed Poirot with an inquiring eye.

  "Meaning that you put your trust in Papa Poirot? Ah, well, I will do the best I can; that I promise you. But I have the feeling very strongly, mademoiselle, that there is a figure who has not yet come into the limelight – a part as yet unplayed."

  He shook his head, frowning.

  "There is, mademoiselle, an unknown factor in this case. Everything points to that."

  Two days after their arrival in Paris, M. Hercule Poirot and his secretary dined in a small restaurant, and the two Duponts, father and son, were Poirot's guests.

  Old M. Dupont Jane found as charming as his son, but she got little chance of talking to him. Poirot monopolized him severely from the start. Jane found Jean no less easy to get on with than she had done in London. His attractive boyish personality pleased her now as it had then. He was such a simple friendly soul.

  All the same, even while she laughed and talked with him, her ear was alert to catch snatches of the two older men's conversation. She wondered precisely what information it was that Poirot wanted. So far as she could hear, the conversation had never touched once on the murder. Poirot was skillfully drawing out his companion on the subject of the past. His interest in archaeological research in Persia seemed both deep and sincere. M. Dupont was enjoying his evening enormously. Seldom did he get such an intelligent and sympathetic listener.

  Whose suggestion it was that the two young people should go to a cinema was not quite clear, but when they had gone, Poirot drew his chair a little closer to the table and seemed prepared to take a still more practical interest in archaeological research.

  "I comprehend," he said. "Naturally, it is a great anxiety in these difficult days to raise sufficient funds. You accept private donations?"

  M. Dupont laughed.

  "My dear friend, we sue for them practically on bended knees! But our particular type of dig does not attract the great mass of humanity. They demand spectacular results! Above all, they like gold – large quantities of gold! It is amazing how little the average person cares for pottery. Pottery – the whole romance of humanity can be expressed in terms of pottery. Design, texture -"

  M. Dupont was well away. He besought Poirot not to be led astray by the specious publications of B--, the really criminal misdating of L--, and the hopelessly unscientific stratification of G--. Poirot promised solemnly not to be led astray by any of the publications of these learned personages.

  Then he said:

  "Would a donation, for instance, of five hundred pounds -"

  M. Dupont nearly fell across the table in his excitement:

  "You – you are offering that? To me? To aid our researches! But it is magnificent! Stupendous! The biggest private donation we have had!"

  Poirot coughed.

  "I will admit, there is a favor -"

  "Ah, yes, a souvenir – some specimen of pottery."

  "No, no, you misunderstand me," said Poirot quickly, before M. Dupont could get well away again. "It is my secretary – that charming young girl you saw tonight – if she could accompany you on your expedition?"

  M. Dupont seemed slightly taken aback for a moment.

  "Well," he said, pulling his mustache, "it might possibly be arranged. I should have to consult my son. My nephew and his wife are to accompany us. It was to have been a family party. However, I will speak to Jean."

  "Mademoiselle Grey is passionately interested in pottery. The past has for her an immense fascination. It is the dream of her life to dig. Also she mends socks and sews on buttons in a manner truly admirable."

  "A useful accomplishment."

  "Is it not? And now you were telling me about the pottery of Susa."

  M. Dupont resumed a happy monologue on his own particular theories of Susa I and Susa II.

  Poirot reached his hotel, to find Jane saying good night to Jean Dupont in the hall.

  As they went up in the lift, Poirot said: "I have obtained for you a job of great interest. You are to accompany the Duponts to Persia in the spring."

  Jane stared at him.

  "Are you quite mad?"

  "When the offer is made to you, you will accept with every manifestation of delight."

  "I am certainly not going to Persia. I shall be in Muswell Hill or New Zealand with Norman."

  Poirot twinkled at her gently.

  "My dear child," he said, "it is some months to next March. To express delight is not to buy a ticket. In the same way I have talked about a donation, but I have not actually signed a check! By the way, I must obtain for you in the morning a handbook on prehistoric pottery o
f the Near East. I have said that you are passionately interested in the subject."

  Jane sighed.

  "Being secretary to you is no sinecure, is it? Anything else?"

  "Yes. I have said that you sew on buttons and darn socks to perfection."

  "Do I have to give a demonstration of that tomorrow too?"

  "It would be as well, perhaps," said Poirot, "if they took my word for it."

  Chapter 23

  At half past ten on the following morning the melancholy M. Fournier walked in to Poirot's sitting room and shook the little Belgian warmly by the hand.

  His own manner was far more animated than usual.

  "Monsieur," he said, "there is something I want to tell you. I have, I think, at last seen the point of what you said in London about the finding of the blowpipe."

  "Ah!" Poirot's face lighted up.

  "Yes," said Fournier, taking a chair. "I pondered much over what you had said. Again and again I say to myself: 'Impossible that the crime should have been committed as we believe.' And at last – at last I see a connection between that repetition of mine and what you said about the finding of the blowpipe."

  Poirot listened attentively, but said nothing.

  "That day in London you said: 'Why was the blowpipe found when it might so easily have been passed out through the ventilator?' And I think now that I have the answer: The blowpipe was found because the murderer wanted it to be found."

  "Bravo!" said Poirot.

  "That was your meaning, then? Good. I thought so. And I went on a step further. I ask myself, 'Why did the murderer want the blowpipe to be found?' And to that I got the answer: 'Because the blowpipe was not used.'"