Death in the Clouds hp-12 Page 7

  "Évidemment. 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. These holes are of a sufficient circumference to admit 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 ink-stand that Japp's impatient hand had set a little askew.

  Then lifting his head sharply, he asked:

  "А propos, have you that detailed list of the belongings of the passengers that I asked you to get me?"

  Chapter 8

  "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 note case – seven ₤1 notes, three business cards. Letter from partner, George Elbermann, 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.

  DOCTOR BRYANT

  Pockets. Two linen handkerchiefs. Note case containing ₤20 and 500 francs. Loose change 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 money and 600 francs. Loose change. Business cards of two French firms, makers of dental instruments. Bryant May match box, empty. Silver lighter. Briar pipe. Rubber tobacco pouch. Yale door key.

  Attaché Case. White-linen coat. Two small dental mirrors. Dental rolls of cotton wool. 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.

  Attaché Case. 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 basketwork tray. Nine unmounted photographs – all of pottery.

  JEAN DUPONT

  Pockets. Note case 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. Note case 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. Penknife. 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. Compact. Two cigarette holders – one ivory, one jade. Cigarette case. Match folder. Handkerchief. ₤2 English money. Loose change. One half letter of credit. Keys.

  Dressing Case. Shagreen fitted. Bottles, brushes, combs, and so on. Manicure outfit. Washing bag containing toothbrush, sponge, tooth powder, soap. Two pair of scissors. Five letters from family and friends in England. Two Tauchnitz novels. Photograph of two spaniels.

  Carried Vogue and Good Housekeeping.

  MISS GREY

  Hand bag. Lipstick, rouge, compact. Yale key and one trunk key. Pencil. Cigarette case. Holder. Match folder. Two handkerchiefs. Receipted hotel bill Le Pinet. Small book French Phrases. Note case 100 francs and 10 shillings. Loose French and English change. One casino counter, value 5 francs.

  In pocket of traveling coat. Six post cars of Paris, two handkerchiefs and silk scarf, letter signed "Gladys." Tube of aspirin.

  LADY HORBURY

  Vanity bag. Two lipsticks, rouge, compact. Handkerchief. Three mille notes. ₤6 English money. Loose change – French. A diamond ring. Five French stamps. Two cigarette holders. Lighter with case

  Dressing Case. Complete make-up outfit. Elaborate manicure set – gold. Small bottle labeled 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 when 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 hea
r 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, ça!"

  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. А 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 ash trays 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 suits, their arms entwined.

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

  Chapter 9

  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 traveling by the 8:45 air service to Paris.

  There were seven or eight travelers besides 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 wash room. And on each occasion he caught the eye of some passenger or other eying 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 the experiments?"

  "Évidemment! 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 centered 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 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 it up. I cannot catch your meanings."

  "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."

  And leaning back, Poirot closed his eyes, it may have been to think, but it is quite certain that five minutes later he was fast asleep.

  On arrival in Paris they went straight to No. 3, Rue Joliette.

  The Rue Joliette is on the south side of the Seine. There was nothing to distinguish No. 3 from the other houses. An aged concierge admitted them and greeted Fournier in a surly fashion.

  "So, we have the police here again! Nothing but trouble. This will give the house a bad name."

  He retreated grumbling into his apartment.

  "We will go to Giselle's office," said Fournier. "It is on the first floor."

  He drew a key from his pocket as he spoke and explained that the French police had taken the precaution of locking and sealing the door whilst awaiting the result of the English inquest.

  "Not, I fear," said Fournier, "that there is anything here to help us."

  He detached the seals, unlocked the door, and they entered. Madame Giselle's office was a small stuffy apartment. It had a somewhat old-fashioned type of safe in a corner, a writing desk of businesslike appearance and several shabbily upholstered chairs. The one window was dirty, and it seemed highly probable that it had never been opened.

  Fournier shrugged his shoulders as he looked round.

  "You see?" he said. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

  Poirot passed round behind the desk. He sat down in the chair and looked across the desk at Fournier. He passed his hand gently across the surface of the wood, then down underneath it.

  "There is a bell here," he said.

  "Yes, it rings down to the concierge."

  "Ah, a wise precaution. Madame's clients might sometimes become obstreperous."

  He opened one or two of the drawers. They contained stationery, a calendar, pens and pencils, but no papers and nothing of a personal nature.

  Poirot merely glanced into them in a cursory manner.

  "I will not insult you, my friend, by a close search. If there were anything to find, you would have found it, I am sure." He looked across at the safe. "Not a very efficacious pattern, that."

  "Somewhat out of date," agreed Fournier.

  "It was empty?"

  "Yes. That cursed maid had destroyed everything."

  "Ah, yes, the maid. The confidential maid. We must see her. This room, as you say, has nothing to tell us. It is significant, that; do you not think so?"

  "What do you mean by significant, M. Poirot?"

  "I mean that there is in this room no personal touch. I find that interesting."

  "She was hardly a woman of sentiment," said Fournier dryly.

  Poirot rose.

  "Come," he said. "Let us see this maid – this highly confidential maid."

  Élise Grandier was a short, stout woman of middle age with a florid face and small shrewd eyes that darted quickly from Fournier's face to that of his companion and then back again.

  "Sit down, Mademoiselle Grandier," said Fournier.

  "Thank you, monsieur."

  She sat down composedly.

  "M. Poirot and I have returned today from London. The inquest – the inquiry, that is, into the death of madame – took
place yesterday. There is no doubt whatsoever. Madame was poisoned."

  The Frenchwoman shook her head gravely.

  "It is terrible, what you say there, monsieur. Madame poisoned. Who would ever have dreamed of such a thing?"

  "That is, perhaps, where you can help us, mademoiselle."

  "Certainly, monsieur, I will, naturally, do all I can to aid the police. But I know nothing – nothing at all."

  "You know that madame had enemies?" said Fournier sharply.

  "That is not true. Why should madame have enemies?"

  "Come, come, Mademoiselle Grandier," said Fournier dryly. "The profession of a money lender – it entails certain unpleasantnesses."

  "It is true that sometimes the clients of madame were not very reasonable," agreed Élise.

  "They made scenes, eh? They threatened her?"

  The maid shook her head.

  "No, no, you are wrong there. It was not they who threatened. They whined, they complained, they protested they could not pay – all that, yes." Her voice held a very lively contempt.

  "Sometimes, perhaps, mademoiselle," said Poirot, "they could not pay."

  Élise Grandier shrugged her shoulders.

  "Possibly. That is their affair! They usually paid in the end."

  Her tone held a certain amount of satisfaction.

  "Madame Giselle was a hard woman," said Fournier.

  "Madame was justified."

  "You have no pity for the victims?"

  "Victims – victims." Élise spoke with impatience. "You do not understand. Is it necessary to run into debt? To live beyond your means? To run and borrow, and then expect to keep the money as a gift? It is not reasonable, that! Madame was always fair and just. She lent, and she expected repayment. That is only fair. She herself had no debts. Always she paid honorably what she owed. Never, never were there any bills outstanding. And when you say that madame was a hard woman, it is not the truth! Madame was kind. She gave to the Little Sisters of the Poor when they came. She gave money to charitable institutions. When the wife of Georges, the concierge, was ill, madame paid for her to go to a hospital in the country."