Hercule Poirot: The Complete Short Stories. Агата Кристи

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СКАЧАТЬ yes, my friend, it is against all my instincts so to ruin my appearance, but what will you?’

      ‘But Lavington can’t have buried it under the coal?’

      ‘If you would use your eyes, you would see that it is not the coal that I examine.’

      I then saw on a shelf behind the coal-bunker some logs of wood were piled. Poirot was dexterously taking them down one by one. Suddenly he uttered a low exclamation.

      ‘Your knife, Hastings!’

      I handed it to him. He appeared to inset it in the wood, and suddenly the log split in two. It had been neatly sawn in half and a cavity hollowed out in the centre. From this cavity Poirot took a little wooden box of Chinese make.

      ‘Well done!’ I cried, carried out of myself.

      ‘Gently, Hastings! Do not raise your voice too much. Come, let us be off, before the daylight is upon us.’

      Slipping the box into his pocket, he leaped lightly out of the coal-bunker, brushed himself down as well as he could, and leaving the house by the same way as we had come, we walked rapidly in the direction of London.

      ‘But what an extraordinary place!’ I expostulated. ‘Anyone might have used the log.’

      ‘In July, Hastings? And it was at the bottom of the pile – a very ingenious hiding-place. Ah, here is a taxi! Now for home, a wash, and a refreshing sleep.’

      After the excitement of the night, I slept late. When I finally strolled into our sitting-room just before one o’clock, I was surprised to see Poirot, leaning back in an armchair, the Chinese box open beside him, calmly reading the letter he had taken from it.

      He smiled at me affectionately, and tapped the sheet he held.

      ‘She was right, the Lady Millicent; never would the Duke have pardoned this letter! It contains some of the most extravagant terms of affection I have ever come across.’

      ‘Really, Poirot,’ I said, rather disgustedly, ‘I don’t think you should have read the letter. That’s the sort of thing that isn’t done.’

      ‘It is done by Hercule Poirot,’ replied my friend imperturbably.

      ‘And another thing,’ I said. ‘I don’t think using Japp’s official card yesterday was quite playing the game.’

      ‘But I was not playing a game, Hastings. I was conducting a case.’

      I shrugged my shoulders. One can’t argue with a point of view.

      ‘A step on the stairs,’ said Poirot. ‘That will be Lady Millicent.’

      Our fair client came in with an anxious expression on her face which changed to one of delight on seeing the letter and box which Poirot held up.

      ‘Oh, M. Poirot. How wonderful of you! How did you do it?’

      ‘By rather reprehensible methods, milady. But Mr Lavington will not prosecute. This is your letter, is it not?’

      She glanced through it.

      ‘Yes. Oh, how can I ever thank you! You are a wonderful, wonderful man. Where was it hidden?’

      Poirot told her.

      ‘How very clever of you!’ She took up the small box from the table. ‘I shall keep this as a souvenir.’

      ‘I had hoped, milady, that you would permit me to keep it – also as a souvenir.’

      ‘I hope to send you a better souvenir than that – on my wedding-day. You shall not find me ungrateful, M. Poirot.’

      ‘The pleasure of doing you a service will be more to me than a cheque – so you permit that I retain the box.’

      ‘Oh no, M. Poirot, I simply must have that,’ she cried laughingly.

      She stretched out her hand, but Poirot was before her. His hand closed over it.

      ‘I think not.’ His voice had changed.

      ‘What do you mean?’ Her voice seemed to have grown sharper.

      ‘At any rate, permit me to abstract its further contents. You observed that the original cavity has been reduced by half. In the top half, the compromising letter; in the bottom –’

      He made a nimble gesture, then held out his hand. On the palm were four large glittering stones, and two big milky white pearls.

      ‘The jewels stolen in Bond Street the other day, I rather fancy,’ murmured Poirot. ‘Japp will tell us.’

      To my utter amazement, Japp himself stepped out from Poirot’s bedroom.

      ‘An old friend of yours, I believe,’ said Poirot politely to Lady Millicent.

      ‘Nabbed, by the Lord!’ said Lady Millicent, with a complete change of manner. ‘You nippy old devil!’ She looked at Poirot with almost affectionate awe.

      ‘Well, Gertie, my dear,’ said Japp, ‘the game’s up this time, I fancy. Fancy seeing you again so soon! We’ve got your pal, too, the gentleman who called here the other day calling himself Lavington. As for Lavington himself, alias Croker, alias Reed, I wonder which of the gang it was who stuck a knife into him the other day in Holland? Thought he’d got the goods with him, didn’t you? And he hadn’t. He double-crossed you properly – hid ’em in his own house. You had two fellows looking for them, and then you tackled M. Poirot here, and by a piece of amazing luck he found them.’

      ‘You do like talking, don’t you?’ said the late Lady Millicent. ‘Easy there, now. I’ll go quietly. You can’t say that I’m not the perfect lady. Ta-ta, all!’

      ‘The shoes were wrong,’ said Poirot dreamily, while I was still too stupefied to speak. ‘I have made my little observations of your English nation, and a lady, a born lady, is always particular about her shoes. She may have shabby clothes, but she will be well shod. Now, this Lady Millicent had smart, expensive clothes, and cheap shoes. It was not likely that either you or I should have seen the real Lady Millicent; she has been very little in London, and this girl had a certain superficial resemblance which would pass well enough. As I say, the shoes first awakened my suspicions, and then her story – and her veil – were a little melodramatic, eh? The Chinese box with a bogus compromising letter in the top must have been known to all the gang, but the log of wood was the late Mr Lavington’s idea. Eh, par exemple, Hastings, I hope you will not again wound my feelings as you did yesterday by saying that I am unknown to the criminal classes. Ma foi, they even employ me when they themselves fail!’

       15 The Adventure of Johnnie Waverly

      ‘The Adventure of Johnnie Waverly’ was first published as ‘The Kidnapping of Johnnie Waverly’ in The Sketch, 10 October 1923.

      ‘You can understand the feelings of a mother,’ said Mrs Waverly for perhaps the sixth time.

      She СКАЧАТЬ