Short Stories

by Agatha Christie

  Never mind. I knew - that was the great thing. You remember our difficulty in the Styles case, Hastings? There again, I knew but it took me a long time to find the last link which made my chain of evidence against the murderer complete.

  I asked for an interview with Mademoiselle Mesnard. She came at once. I demanded of her the address of M. de Saint Alard. A look of trouble came over her face.

  'Why do you want it, monsieur?'

  'Mademoiselle, it is necessary.'

  She seemed doubtful - troubled.

  'He can tell you nothing. He is a man whose thoughts are not in this world. He hardly notices what goes on around him.'

  'Possibly, mademoiselle. Nevertheless, he was an old friend of M.

  Dé roulard's. There may be things he can tell me - things of the past - old grudges - old love-affairs.'

  The girl flushed and bit her lip. 'As you please - but - but - I feel sure now that I have been mistaken. It was good of you to accede to my demand, but I was upset - almost distraught at the time. I see now that there is no mystery to solve. Leave it, I beg of you, monsieur.'

  I eyed her closely.

  'Mademoiselle,' I said, 'it is sometimes difficult for a dog to find a scent, but once he has found it, nothing on earth will make him leave it! That is if he is a good dog! And I, mademoiselle, I, Hercule Poirot, am a very good dog.'

  Without a word she turned away. A few minutes later she returned with the address written on a sheet of paper. I left the house.

  François was waiting for me outside. He looked at me anxiously.

  'There is no news, monsieur?'

  'None as yet, my friend.'

  'Ah! Pauvre Monsieur Dé roulard!' he sighed. 'I too was of his way of thinking. I do not care for priests. Not that I would say so in the house. The women are all devout - a good thing perhaps. Madame est très pieuse - et Mademoiselle Virginie aussi.'

  Mademoiselle Virginie? Was she 'très pieuse?' Thinking of the tearstained passionate face I had seen that first day, I wondered.

  Having obtained the address of M. de Saint Alard, I wasted no time.

  I arrived in the neighbourhood of his chßteau in the Ardennes but it was some days before I could find a pretext for gaining admission to the house. In the end I did - how do you think - as a plumber, mon ami! It was the affair of a moment to arrange a neat little gas leak in his bedroom. I departed for my tools, and took care to return with them at an hour when I knew I should have the field pretty well to myself. What I was searching for, I hardly knew. The one thing needful, I could not believe there was any chance of finding. He would never have run the risk of keeping it.

  Still when I found a little cupboard above the washstand locked, I could not resist the temptation of seeing what was inside it. The lock was quite a simple one to pick. The door swung open. It was full of old bottles. I took them up one by one with a trembling hand.

  Suddenly, I uttered a cry. Figure to yourself, my friend, I held in my hand a little phial with an English chemist's label. On it were the words: 'Trinitrine Tablets. One to be taken when required. Mr John Wilson.'

  I controlled my emotion, closed the little cupboard, slipped the bottle into my pocket, and continued to repair the gas leak! One must be methodical. Then I left the chßteau, and took train for my own country as soon as possible. I arrived in Brussels late that night. I was writing out a report for the pré fet in the morning, when a note was brought to me. It was from old Madame Dé roulard, and it summoned me to the house in the Avenue Louise without delay.

  François opened the door to me.

  'Madame la Baronne is awaiting you.'

  He conducted me to her apartments. She sat in state in a large armchair. There was no sign of Mademoiselle Virginie.

  'M. Poirot,' said the old lady. 'I have just learned that you are not what you pretend to be. You are a police officer.'

  'That is so, madame.'

  'You came here to inquire into the circumstances of my son's death?'

  Again I replied: 'That is so, madame.'

  'I should be glad if you would tell me what progress you have made.'

  I hesitated.

  'First I would like to know how you have learned all this, madame.'

  'From one who is no longer of this world.'

  Her words, and the brooding way she uttered them, sent a chill to my heart. I was incapable of speech.

  'Wherefore, monsieur, I would beg of you most urgently to tell me exactly what progress you have made in your investigation.'

  'Madame, my investigation is finished.'

  'My son?'

  'Was killed deliberately.'

  'You know by whom?'

  'Yes, madame.'

  'Who, then?'

  'M. de Saint Alard.'

  The old lady shook her head.

  'You are wrong. M. de Saint Alard is incapable of such a crime.'

  'The proofs are in my hands.'

  'I beg of you once more to tell me all.'

  This time I obeyed, going over each step that had led me to the discovery of the truth. She listened attentively. At the end she nodded her head.

  'Yes, yes, it is all as you say, all but one thing. It was not M. de Saint Alard who killed my son. It was I, his mother.'

  I stared at her. She continued to nod her head gently.

  'It is well that I sent for you. It is the providence of the good God that Virginie told me before she departed for the convent, what she had done. Listen, M. Poirot! My son was an evil man. He persecuted the church. He led a life of mortal sin. He dragged down other souls beside his own. But there was worse than that. As I came out of my room in this house one morning, I saw my daughter-in-law standing at the head of the stairs. She was reading a letter. I saw my son steal up behind her. One swift push, and she fell, striking her head on the marble steps. When they picked her up she was dead. My son was a murderer, and only I, his mother, knew it.'

  She closed her eyes for a moment. 'You cannot conceive, monsieur, of my agony, my despair. What was I to do? Denounce him to the police? I could not bring myself to do it. It was my duty, but my flesh was weak. Besides, would they believe me? My eyesight had been failing for some time - they would say I was mistaken. I kept silence.

  But my conscience gave me no peace. By keeping silence I too was a murderer. My son inherited his wife's money. He flourished as the green bay tree. And now he was to have a Minister's portfolio. His persecution of the church would be redoubled. And there was Virginie. She, poor child, beautiful, naturally pious, was fascinated by him. He had a strange and terrible power over women. I saw it coming. I was powerless to prevent it. He had no intention of marrying her. The time came when she was ready to yield everything to him.

  'Then I saw my path clear. He was my son. I had given him life. I was responsible for him. He had killed one woman's body, now he would kill another's soul! I went to Mr Wilson's room, and took the bottle of tablets. He had once said laughingly that there were enough in it to kill a man! I went into the study and opened the big box of chocolates that always stood on the table. I opened a new box by mistake. The other was on the table also. There was just one chocolate left in it. That simplified things. No one ate chocolates except my son and Virginie. I would keep her with me that night. All went as I had planned -'

  She paused, closing her eyes a minute then opened them again.

  'M. Poirot, I am in your hands. They tell me I have not many days to live. I am willing to answer for my action before the good God. Must I answer for it on earth also?'

  I hesitated. 'But the empty bottle, madame,' I said to gain time. 'How came that into M. de Saint Alard's possession?'

  'When he came to say goodbye to me, monsieur, I slipped it into his pocket. I did not know how to get rid of it. I am so infirm that I cannot move about much without help, and finding it empty in my rooms might have caused suspicion. You understand, monsieur -' she drew herself up to her full height - 'it was with no idea of casting suspicion on M. de Saint Alard!
I never dreamed of such a thing. I thought his valet would find an empty bottle and throw it away without question.'

  I bowed my head. 'I comprehend, madame,' I said.

  'And your decision, monsieur?'

  Her voice was firm and unfaltering, her head held as high as ever. I rose to my feet.

  'Madame,' I said, 'I have the honour to wish you good day. I have made my investigations - and failed! The matter is closed.'

  He was silent for a moment, then said quietly: 'She died just a week later. Mademoiselle Virginie passed through her novitiate, and duly took the veil. That, my friend, is the story. I must admit that I do not make a fine figure in it.'

  'But that was hardly a failure,' I expostulated. 'What else could you have thought under the circumstances?'

  'Ah, sacré , mon ami,' cried Poirot, becoming suddenly animated. 'Is it that you do not see? But I was thirty-six times an idiot! My grey cells, they functioned not at all. The whole time I had the true clue in my hands.'

  'What clue?'

  'The chocolate box! Do you not see? Would anyone in possession of their full eyesight make such a mistake? I knew Madame Dé roulard had cataract - the atropine drops told me that. There was only one person in the household whose eyesight was such that she could not see which lid to replace. It was the chocolate box that started me on the track, and yet up to the end I failed consistently to perceive its real significance!

  'Also my psychology was at fault. Had M. de Saint Alard been the criminal, he would never have kept an incriminating bottle. Finding it was a proof of his innocence. I had learned already from Mademoiselle Virginie that he was absent-minded. Altogether it was a miserable affair that I have recounted to you there! Only to you have I told the story. You comprehend, I do not figure well in it!

  An old lady commits a crime in such a simple and clever fashion that I, Hercule Poirot, am completely deceived. Sapristi! It does not bear thinking of! Forget it. Or no - remember it, and if you think at any time that I am growing conceited - it is not likely, but it might arise.'

  I concealed a smile.

  'Eh bien, my friend, you shall say to me, "Chocolate box". Is it agreed?'

  'It's a bargain!'

  'After all,' said Poirot reflectively, 'it was an experience! I, who have undoubtedly the finest brain in Europe at present, can afford to be magnanimous!'

  'Chocolate box,' I murmured gently.

  'Pardon, mon ami?'

  I looked at Poirot's innocent face, as he bent forward inquiringly, and my heart smote me. I had suffered often at his hands, but I, too, though not possessing the finest brain in Europe, could afford to be magnanimous!

  'Nothing,' I lied, and lit another pipe, smiling to myself.

  THE SUBMARINE PLANS

  A note had been brought by special messenger. Poirot read it, and a gleam of excitement and interest came into his eyes as he did so.

  He dismissed the man with a few curt words and then turned to me.

  'Pack a bag with all haste, my friend. We're going down to Sharples.'

  I started at the mention of the famous country place of Lord Alloway. Head of the newly formed Ministry of Defence, Lord Alloway was a prominent member of the Cabinet. As Sir Ralph Curtis, head of a great engineering firm, he had made his mark in the House of Commons, and he was now freely spoken of as the coming man, and the one most likely to be asked to form a ministry should the turnouts as to Mr David MacAdam's health prove well founded.

  A big Rolls-Royce car was waiting for us below, and as we glided off into the darkness, I plied Poirot with questions.

  'What on earth can they want us for at this time of night?' I demanded. It was past eleven.

  Poirot shook his head. 'Something of the most urgent, without doubt.'

  'I remember,' I said, 'that some years ago there was some rather ugly scandal about Ralph Curtis, as he then was - some jugglery with shares, I believe. In the end, he was completely exonerated; but perhaps something of the kind has arisen again?'

  'It would hardly be necessary for him to send for me in the middle of the night, my friend.'

  I was forced to agree, and the remainder of the journey was passed in silence. Once out of London, the powerful car forged rapidly ahead, and we arrived at Sharples in a little under the hour.

  A pontifical butler conducted us at once to a small study where Lord Alloway was awaiting us. He sprang up to greet us - a tall, spare man who seemed actually to radiate power and vitality.

  'M. Poirot, I am delighted to see you. It is the second time the Government has demanded your services. I remember only too well what you did for us during the war, when the Prime Minister was kidnapped in that astounding fashion. Your masterly deductions and may I add, your discretion? - saved the situation.'

  Poirot's eyes twinkled a little.

  'Do I gather then, Milord, that this is another case for - discretion?'

  'Most emphatically. Sir Harry and I - oh, let me introduce you -

  Admiral Sir Harry Weardale, our First Sea Lord - M. Poirot and - let me see, Captain -'

  'Hastings,' I supplied.

  'I've often heard of you, M. Poirot,' said Sir Harry, shaking hands.

  'This is a most unaccountable business, and if you can solve it, we'll be extremely grateful to you.'

  I liked the First Sea Lord immediately, a square, bluff sailor of the good old-fashioned type.

  Poirot looked inquiringly at them both, and Alloway took up the tale.

  'Of course, you understand that all this is in confidence, M. Poirot.

  We have had a most serious loss. The plans of the new Z type of submarine have been stolen.'

  'When was that?'

  'Tonight - less than three hours ago. You can appreciate perhaps, M. Poirot, the magnitude of the disaster. It is essential that the loss should not be made public. I will give you the facts as briefly as possible. My guests over the week-end were the Admiral, here, his wife and son, and a Mrs Conrad, a lady well known in London society. The ladies retired to bed early - about ten o'clock; so did Mr Leonard Weardale. Sir Harry is down here partly for the purpose of discussing the construction of this new type of submarine with me.

  Accordingly, I asked Mr Fitzroy, my secretary, to get out the plans from the safe in the corner there, and to arrange them ready for me, as well as various other documents that bore upon the subject in hand. While he was doing this, the Admiral and I strolled up and down the terrace, smoking cigars and enjoying the warm June air.

  We finished our smoke and our chat, and decided to get down to business. Just as we turned at the far end of the terrace, I fancied I saw a shadow slip out of the french window here, cross the terrace, and disappear. I paid very little attention, however. I knew Fitzroy to be in this room, and it never entered my head that anything might be amiss. There, of course, I am to blame. Well, we retraced our steps along the terrace and entered this room by the window just as Fitzroy entered it from the hall.

  '"Got everything out we are likely to need, Fitzroy?" I asked.

  '"I think so, Lord Alloway. The papers are all on your desk," he answered. And then he wished us both goodnight.

  '"Just wait a minute," I said, going to the desk. "I may want something I haven't mentioned."

  'I looked quickly through the papers that were lying there.

  '"You've forgotten the most important of the lot, Fitzroy," I said.

  "The actual plans of the submarine!"

  '"The plans are right on top, Lord Alloway."

  '"Oh no, they're not," I said, turning over the papers.

  '"But I put them there not a minute ago?'

  '"Well, they're not here now," I said.

  'Fitzroy advanced with a bewildered expression on his face. The thing seemed incredible. We turned over the papers on the desk; we hunted through the safe; but at last we had to make up our minds to it that the papers were gone - and gone within the short space of about three minutes while Fitzroy was absent from the room.'

  'Why did
he leave the room?' asked Poirot quickly.

  'Just what I asked him,' exclaimed Sir Harry.

  'It appears,' said Lord Alloway, 'that just when he had finished arranging the papers on my desk, he was startled by hearing a woman scream. He dashed out into the hall. On the stairs he discovered Mrs Conrad's French maid. The girl looked very white and upset, and declared that she had seen a ghost - a tall figure dressed all in white that moved without a sound. Fitzroy laughed at her fears and told her, in more or less polite language, not to be a fool. Then he returned to this room just as we entered from the window.'

  'It all seems very clear,' said Poirot thoughtfully. 'The only question is, was the maid an accomplice? Did she scream by arrangement with her confederate lurking outside, or was he merely waiting there in the hope of an opportunity presenting itself? It was a man, I suppose - not a woman you saw?'

  'I can't tell you, M. Poirot. It was just a - shadow.'

  The Admiral gave such a peculiar snort that it could not fail to attract attention.

  'M. l'Admiral has something to say, I think,' said Poirot quietly, with a slight smile. 'You saw this shadow, Sir Harry?'

  'No, I didn't,' returned the other. 'And neither did Alloway. The branch of a tree flapped, or something, and then afterwards, when we discovered the theft, he leaped to the conclusion that he had seen someone pass across the terrace. His imagination played a trick on him; that's all.'

  'I am not usually credited with having much imagination,' said Lord Alloway with a slight smile.

  'Nonsense, we've all got imagination. We can all work ourselves up to believe that we've seen more than we have. I've had a lifetime of experience at sea, and I'll back my eyes against those of any landsman. I was looking right down the terrace, and I'd have seen the same if there was anything to see.'

  He was quite excited over the matter. Poirot rose and stepped quickly to the window.

  'You permit?' he asked. 'We must settle this point if possible.'

  He went out upon the terrace, and we followed him. He had taken an electric torch from his pocket, and was playing the light along the edge of the grass that bordered the terrace.