Midsummer Mysteries Read online

  Poirot nodded.

  ‘That fact would be known to anyone, I take it?’

  ‘Mrs Vanderlyn would know it all right.’

  ‘I said to anyone?’

  ‘I suppose so, yes.’

  ‘Anyone with a minimum of intelligence would appreciate the cash value of the plans?’

  ‘Yes, but M. Poirot—’ Lord Mayfield was looking rather uncomfortable.

  Poirot held up a hand.

  ‘I do what you call explore all the avenues.’

  Suddenly he rose again, stepped nimbly out of the window and with a flashlight examined the edge of the grass at the farther side of the terrace.

  The two men watched him.

  He came in again, sat down and said:

  ‘Tell me, Lord Mayfield, this malefactor, this skulker in the shadows, you do not have him pursued?’

  Lord Mayfield shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘At the bottom of the garden he could make his way out to a main road. If he had a car waiting there, he would soon be out of reach—’

  ‘But there are the police—the A.A. scouts—’

  Sir George interrupted.

  ‘You forget, M. Poirot. We cannot risk publicity. If it were to get out that these plans had been stolen, the result would be extremely unfavourable to the Party.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Poirot. ‘One must remember La Politique. The great discretion must be observed. You send instead for me. Ah well, perhaps it is simpler.’

  ‘You are hopeful of success, M. Poirot?’ Lord Mayfield sounded a trifle incredulous.

  The little man shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Why not? One has only to reason—to reflect.’

  He paused a moment and then said:

  ‘I would like now to speak to Mr Carlile.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Lord Mayfield rose. ‘I asked him to wait up. He will be somewhere at hand.’

  He went out of the room.

  Poirot looked at Sir George.

  ‘Eh bien,’ he said. ‘What about this man on the terrace?’

  ‘My dear M. Poirot. Don’t ask me! I didn’t see him, and I can’t describe him.’

  Poirot leaned forward.

  ‘So you have already said. But it is a little different from that is it not?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ asked Sir George abruptly.

  ‘How shall I say it? Your disbelief, it is more profound.’

  Sir George started to speak, then stopped.

  ‘But yes,’ said Poirot encouragingly. ‘Tell me. You are both at the end of the terrace. Lord Mayfield sees a shadow slip from the window and across the grass. Why do you not see that shadow?’

  Carrington stared at him.

  ‘You’ve hit it, M. Poirot. I’ve been worrying about that ever since. You see, I’d swear that no one did leave this window. I thought Mayfield had imagined it—branch of a tree waving—something of that kind. And then when we came in here and found there had been a robbery, it seemed as though Mayfield must have been right and I’d been wrong. And yet—’

  Poirot smiled.

  ‘And yet you still in your heart of hearts believe in the evidence (the negative evidence) of your own eyes?’

  ‘You’re right, M. Poirot, I do.’

  Poirot gave a sudden smile.

  ‘How wise you are.’

  Sir George said sharply:

  ‘There were no footprints on the grass edge?’

  Poirot nodded.

  ‘Exactly. Lord Mayfield, he fancies he sees a shadow. Then there comes the robbery and he is sure—but sure! It is no longer a fancy—he actually saw the man. But that is not so. Me, I do not concern myself much with footprints and such things but for what it is worth we have that negative evidence. There were no footprints on the grass. It had rained heavily this evening. If a man had crossed the terrace to the grass this evening his footprints would have shown.’

  Sir George said, staring: ‘But then—but then—’

  ‘It brings us back to the house. To the people in the house.’

  He broke off as the door opened and Lord Mayfield entered with Mr Carlile.

  Though still looking very pale and worried, the secretary had regained a certain composure of manner. Adjusting his pince-nez he sat down and looked at Poirot inquiringly.

  ‘How long had you been in this room when you heard the scream, monsieur?’

  Carlile considered.

  ‘Between five and ten minutes, I should say.’

  ‘And before that there had been no disturbance of any kind?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I understand that the house-party had been in one room for the greater part of the evening.’

  ‘Yes, the drawing-room.’

  Poirot consulted his notebook.

  ‘Sir George Carrington and his wife. Mrs Macatta. Mrs Vanderlyn. Mr Reggie Carrington. Lord Mayfield and yourself. Is that right?’

  ‘I myself was not in the drawing-room. I was working here the greater part of the evening.’

  Poirot turned to Lord Mayfield.

  ‘Who went up to bed first?’

  ‘Lady Julia Carrington, I think. As a matter of fact, the three ladies went out together.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Mr Carlile came in and I told him to get out the papers as Sir George and I would be along in a minute.’

  ‘It was then that you decided to take a turn on the terrace?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Was anything said in Mrs Vanderlyn’s hearing as to your working in the study?’

  ‘The matter was mentioned, yes.’

  ‘But she was not in the room when you instructed Mr Carlile to get out the papers?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Excuse me, Lord Mayfield,’ said Carlile. ‘Just after you had said that, I collided with her in the doorway. She had come back for a book.’

  ‘So you think she might have overheard?’

  ‘I think it quite possible, yes.’

  ‘She came back for a book,’ mused Poirot. ‘Did you find her her book, Lord Mayfield?’

  ‘Yes, Reggie gave it to her.’

  ‘Ah, yes, it is what you call the old gasp—no, pardon, the old wheeze—that—to come back for a book. It is often useful!’

  ‘You think it was deliberate?’

  Poirot shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘And after that, you two gentlemen go out on the terrace. And Mrs Vanderlyn?’

  ‘She went off with her book.’

  ‘And the young M. Reggie. He went to bed also?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Mr Carlile he comes here and sometime between five and ten minutes later he heard a scream. Continue, M. Carlile. You heard a scream and you went out into the hall. Ah, perhaps it would be simplest if you reproduced exactly your actions.’

  Mr Carlile got up a little awkwardly.

  ‘Here I scream,’ said Poirot helpfully. He opened his mouth and emitted a shrill bleat. Lord Mayfield turned his head away to hide a smile and Mr Carlile looked extremely uncomfortable.

  ‘Allez! Forward! March!’ cried Poirot. ‘It is your cue that I give you there.’

  Mr Carlile walked stiffly to the door, opened it and went out. Poirot followed him. The other two came behind.

  ‘The door, did you close it after you or leave it open?’

  ‘I can’t really remember. I think I must have left it open.’

  ‘No matter. Proceed.’

  Still with extreme stiffness, Mr Carlile walked to the bottom of the staircase and stood there looking up.

  Poirot said:

  ‘The maid, you say, was on the stairs. Whereabouts?’

  ‘About half-way up.’

  ‘And she was looking upset.’

  ‘Definitely so.’

  ‘Eh bien, me, I am the maid.’ Poirot ran nimbly up the stairs. ‘About here?’

  ‘A step or two higher.’

  ‘Like this?’

  Poirot struck an attitude.

  ‘Well—
er—not quite like that.’

  ‘How then?’

  ‘Well, she had her hands to her head.’

  ‘Ah, her hands to her head. That is very interesting. Like this?’ Poirot raised his arms, his hands rested on his head just above each ear.

  ‘Yes that’s it.’

  ‘Aha! And tell me, M. Carlile, she was a pretty girl—yes?’

  ‘Really, I didn’t notice.’

  Carlile’s voice was repressive.

  ‘Aha, you did not notice? But you are a young man. Does not a young man notice when a girl is pretty?’

  ‘Really, M. Poirot, I can only repeat that I did not do so.’

  Carlile cast an agonized glance at his employer. Sir George Carrington gave a sudden chuckle.

  ‘M. Poirot seems determined to make you out a dog, Carlile,’ he remarked.

  ‘Me, I always notice when a girl is pretty,’ announced Poirot as he descended the stairs.

  The silence with which Mr Carlile greeted this remark was somewhat pointed. Poirot went on:

  ‘And it was then she told this tale of having seen a ghost?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you believe the story?’

  ‘Well, hardly, M. Poirot!’

  ‘I do not mean, do you believe in ghosts. I mean, did it strike you that the girl herself really thought she had seen something?’

  ‘Oh, as to that, I couldn’t say. She was certainly breathing fast and seemed upset.’

  ‘You did not see or hear anything of her mistress?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I did. She came out of her room in the gallery above and called, “Leonie.”’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘The girl ran up to her and I went back to the study.’

  ‘Whilst you were standing at the foot of the stairs here, could anyone have entered the study by the door you had left open?’

  Carlile shook his head.

  ‘Not without passing me. The study door is at the end of the passage, as you see.’

  Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Mr Carlile went on in his careful, precise voice.

  ‘I may say that I am very thankful that Lord Mayfield actually saw the thief leaving the window. Otherwise I myself should be in a very unpleasant position.’

  ‘Nonsense, my dear Carlile,’ broke in Lord Mayfield impatiently. ‘No suspicion could possibly attach to you.’

  ‘It is very kind of you to say so, Lord Mayfield, but facts are facts, and I can quite see that it looks badly for me. In any case I hope that my belongings and myself may be searched.’

  ‘Nonsense, my dear fellow,’ said Mayfield.

  Poirot murmured:

  ‘You are serious in wishing that?’

  ‘I should infinitely prefer it.’

  Poirot looked at him thoughtfully for a minute or two and murmured, ‘I see.’

  Then he asked:

  ‘Where is Mrs Vanderlyn’s room situated in regard to the study?’

  ‘It is directly over it.’

  ‘With a window looking out over the terrace?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Again Poirot nodded. Then he said:

  ‘Let us go to the drawing-room.’

  Here he wandered round the room, examined the fastenings of the windows, glanced at the scorers on the bridge table and then finally addressed Lord Mayfield.

  ‘This affair,’ he said, ‘is more complicated than it appears. But one thing is quite certain. The stolen plans have not left this house.’

  Lord Mayfield stared at him.

  ‘But, my dear M. Poirot, the man I saw leaving the study—’

  ‘There was no man.’

  ‘But I saw him—’

  ‘With the greatest respect, Lord Mayfield, you imagined you saw him. The shadow cast by the branch of a tree deceived you. The fact that a robbery occurred naturally seemed a proof that what you had imagined was true.’

  ‘Really, M. Poirot, the evidence of my own eyes—’

  ‘Back my eyes against yours any day, old boy,’ put in Sir George.

  ‘You must permit me, Lord Mayfield, to be very definite on that point. No one crossed the terrace to the grass.’

  Looking very pale and speaking stiffly, Mr Carlile said:

  ‘In that case, if M. Poirot is correct, suspicion automatically attaches itself to me. I am the only person who could possibly have committed the robbery.’

  Lord Mayfield sprang up.

  ‘Nonsense. Whatever M. Poirot thinks about it, I don’t agree with him. I am convinced of your innocence, my dear Carlile. In fact, I’m willing to guarantee it.’

  Poirot murmured mildly:

  ‘But I have not said that I suspect M. Carlile.’

  Carlile answered:

  ‘No, but you’ve made it perfectly clear that no one else had a chance to commit the robbery.’

  ‘Du tout! Du tout!’

  ‘But I have told you nobody passed me in the hall to get to the study door.’

  ‘I agree. But someone might have come in through the study window.’

  ‘But that is just what you said did not happen?’

  ‘I said that no one from outside could have come and left without leaving marks on the grass. But it could have been managed from inside the house. Someone could have gone out from his room by one of these windows, slipped along the terrace, in at the study window, and back again in here.’

  Mr Carlile objected:

  ‘But Lord Mayfield and Sir George Carrington were on the terrace.’

  ‘They were on the terrace, yes, but they were en promenade. Sir George Carrington’s eyes may be of the most reliable’—Poirot made a little bow—‘but he does not keep them in the back of his head! The study window is at the extreme left of the terrace, the windows of this room come next, but the terrace continues to the right past one, two, three, perhaps four rooms?’

  ‘Dining-room, billiard-room, morning room and library,’ said Lord Mayfield.

  ‘And you walked up and down the terrace, how many times?’

  ‘At least five or six.’

  ‘You see, it is easy enough, the thief has only to watch for the right moment!’

  Carlile said slowly:

  ‘You mean that when I was in the hall, talking to the French girl, the thief was waiting in the drawing-room?’

  ‘That is my suggestion. It is, of course, only a suggestion.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound very probable to me,’ said Lord Mayfield. ‘Too risky.’

  The Air Marshal demurred.

  ‘I don’t agree with you, Charles. It’s perfectly possible. Wonder I hadn’t the wits to think of it for myself.’

  ‘So you see,’ said Poirot, ‘why I believe that the plans are still in the house. The problem now is to find them!’

  Sir George snorted.

  ‘That’s simple enough. Search everybody.’

  Lord Mayfield made a movement of dissent, but Poirot spoke before he could.

  ‘No, no, it is not so simple as that. The person who took those plans will anticipate that a search will be made and will make quite sure that they are not found amongst his or her belongings. They will have been hidden in neutral ground.’

  ‘Do you suggest that we’ve got to go playing hide and seek all over the bally house?’

  Poirot smiled.

  ‘No, no, we need not be so crude as that. We can arrive at the hiding-place (or alternatively at the identity of the guilty person) by reflection. That will simplify matters. In the morning I would like an interview with every person in the house. It would, I think, be unwise to seek those interviews now.’

  Lord Mayfield nodded.

  ‘Cause too much comment,’ he said, ‘if we dragged everybody out of their beds at three in the morning. In any case you’ll have to proceed with a good deal of camouflage, M. Poirot. This matter has got to be kept dark.’

  Poirot waved an airy hand.

  ‘Leave it to Hercule Poirot. The lies I invent are always most delicate and most convincing. T
omorrow, then, I conduct my investigations. But tonight, I should like to begin by interviewing you, Sir George and you, Lord Mayfield.’

  He bowed to them both.

  ‘You mean—alone?’

  ‘That was my meaning.’

  Lord Mayfield raised his eyes slightly, then he said:

  ‘Certainly. I’ll leave you alone with Sir George. When you want me, you’ll find me in my study. Come, Carlile.’

  He and the secretary went out, shutting the door behind them.

  Sir George sat down, reaching mechanically for a cigarette. He turned a puzzled face to Poirot.

  ‘You know,’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t quite get this.’

  ‘That is very simply explained,’ said Poirot with a smile. ‘In two words, to be accurate. Mrs Vanderlyn!’

  ‘Oh,’ said Carrington. ‘I think I see. Mrs Vanderlyn?’

  ‘Precisely. It might be, you see, that it would not be very delicate to ask Lord Mayfield the question I want to ask. Why Mrs Vanderlyn? This lady, she is known to be a suspicious character. Why, then, should she be here? I say to myself there are three explanations. One, that Lord Mayfield has a penchant for the lady (and that is why I seek to talk to you alone. I do not wish to embarrass him). Two, that Mrs Vanderlyn is perhaps the dear friend of someone else in the house?’

  ‘You can count me out!’ said Sir George with a grin.

  ‘Then, if neither of those cases is true, the question returns in redoubled force. Why Mrs Vanderlyn? And it seems to me I perceive a shadowy answer. There was a reason. Her presence at this particular juncture was definitely desired by Lord Mayfield for a special reason. Am I right?’

  Sir George nodded.

  ‘You’re quite right,’ he said. ‘Mayfield is too old a bird to fall for her wiles. He wanted her here for quite another reason. It was like this.’

  He retailed the conversation that had taken place at the dinner-table. Poirot listened attentively.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I comprehend now. Nevertheless, it seems that the lady has turned the tables on you both rather neatly!’

  Sir George swore freely.

  Poirot watched him with some slight amusement, then he said:

  ‘You do not doubt that this theft is her doing—I mean, that she is responsible for it, whether or no she played an active part?’

  Sir George stared.

  ‘Of course not! There isn’t any doubt of that. Why, who else would have any interest in stealing those plans?’

  ‘Ah!’ said Hercule Poirot. He leaned back and looked at the ceiling. ‘And yet, Sir George, we agreed, not a quarter of an hour ago, that these papers represented very definitely money. Not perhaps, in quite so obvious a form as banknotes, or gold, or jewellery, but nevertheless they were potential money. If there were anyone here who was hard up—’