Hercule Poirot 100 Years (1916 - 2016)

by Mark Place

  “You're right, Monsieur Poirot. I was sure of Rupert's guilt until I found this letter. It unsettled me horribly.”

  “Yes. The Count says: "Before very long, and perhaps sooner than you think." Obviously he would not want to wait until you should get wind of his reappearance. Was it he who travelled down from London by the twelve-fourteen, and came along the corridor to your daughter's compartment? The Count de la Rochefour is also, if I remember rightly, tall and dark?” The millionaire nodded.

  “Well, monsieur, I will wish you good day. Scotland Yard has, I presume, a list of the jewels?”

  “Yes. I believe Inspector Japp is here now if you would like to see him.” Japp was an old friend of ours, and greeted Poirot with a sort of affectionate contempt. “And how are you, monsieur? No bad feeling between us, though we have got our different ways of looking at things. How are the "little grey cells", eh? Going strong?”

  Poirot beamed upon him. “They function, my good Japp; assuredly they do!”

  “Then that's all right. Think it was the Honourable Rupert, or a crook? We're keeping an eye on all the regular places, of course. We shall know if the shiners are disposed of, and of course whoever did it isn't going to keep them to admire their sparkle. Not likely! I'm trying to find out where Rupert Carrington was yesterday. Seems a bit of a mystery about it. I've got a man watching him.”

  “A great precaution, but perhaps a day late” suggested Poirot gently.

  “You always will have your joke, Monsieur Poirot. Well, I'm off to Paddington. Bristol, Weston, Taunton, that's my beat. So long.”

  “You will come round and see me this evening, and tell me the result?”

  “Sure thing, if I'm back.”

  “That good inspector believes in matter in motion” murmured Poirot as our friend departed.

  “He travels; he measures footprints; he collects mud and cigarette-ash! He is extremely busy! He is zealous beyond words! And if I mentioned psychology to him, do you know what he would do, my friend? He would smile! He would say to himself: "Poor old Poirot! He ages! He grows senile!" Japp is the "younger generation knocking on the door". And mai foi, they are so busy knocking that they do not notice that the door is open!' 'And what are you going to do?” “As we have carte blanche, I shall expend threepence in ringing up the Ritz - where you may have noticed our Count is staying. After that, as my feet are a little damp, and I have sneezed twice, I shall return to my rooms and make myself a tisane over the spirit lamp!”

  I did not see Poirot again until the following morning. I found him placidly finishing his breakfast. “Well?” I inquired eagerly. “What has happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But Japp?”

  “I have not seen him.”

  “The Count?”

  “He left the Ritz the day before yesterday.”

  “The day of the murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that settles it. Rupert Carrington is cleared.”

  “Because the Count de Rochefour has left the Ritz? You go too fast, my friend.”

  “Anyway, he must be followed, and arrested! But what could be his motive?”

  “One hundred thousand dollars' worth of jewellery is a very good motive for anyone. No, the question to my mind is: why kill her? Why not simply steal the jewels? She would not prosecute.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she is a woman, mon ami. She once loved this man. Therefore she would suffer her loss in silence. And the Count, who is an extremely good psychologist where women are concerned - hence his successes - would know that perfectly well! On the other hand, if Rupert Carrington killed her, why take the jewels, which would incriminate him fatally?”

  “As a blind.”

  “Perhaps you are right, my friend. Ah, here is Japp. I recognize his knock.”

  The inspector was beaming good-humouredly. “Morning, Poirot. Only just got back. I've done some good work! And you?”

  “The same, I have arranged my ideas” replied Poirot placidly.

  Japp laughed heartily. “Old chap's getting on in years” he observed beneath his breath to me. “That won't do for us young folk” he said aloud. “Quel dommage?” Poirot inquired.

  “Well, do you want to hear what I've done?”

  “'You permit me to make a guess? You have found the knife with which the crime was committed, by the side of the line between Weston and Taunton, and you have interviewed the paperboy who spoke to Mrs Carrington at Weston!”

  Japp's jaw fell. “How on earth did you know? Don't tell me it was those almighty "little grey cells" of yours!”

  “'I am glad you admit for once that they are all mighty! Tell me, did she give the paper-boy a shilling for himself?”

  “No, it was half a crown!” Japp had recovered his temper, and grinned. “Pretty extravagant, these rich Americans!”

  “And in consequence the boy did not forget her?”

  “Not he. Half-crowns don't come his way every day. She hailed him and bought two magazines. One had a picture of a girl it blue on the cover. "That'll match me," she said. Oh, he remembered her perfectly. Well, that was enough for me. By the doctor' evidence, the crime must have been committed before Taunton I guessed they'd throw the knife away at once, and I walked down the line looking for it; and sure enough, there it was. I made inquiries at Taunton about our man, but of course it's a big station, and it wasn't likely they'd notice him. He probably got back to London by a later train.”

  Poirot nodded. 'Very likely.'

  “But I found another bit of news when I got back. They're passing the jewels, all right. That large emerald was pawned last night - by one of the regular lot. Who do you think it was?”

  “I don't know - except that he was a short man.”

  Japp stared. “Well, you're right there. He's short enough. It was Red Narky.”

  “Who is Red Narky?” I asked.

  “A particularly sharp jewel-thief, sir. And not one to stick at murder. Usually works with a woman - Gracie Kidd; but she doesn't seem to be in it this time - unless she's got off to Holland with the rest of the swag.”

  “You've arrested Narky?”

  “Sure thing. But mind you, it's the other man we want - the man who went down with Mrs Carrington in the train. He was the one who planned the job, right enough. But Narky won't squeal on a pal.”

  I noticed that Poirot's eyes had become very green. “I think” he said gently “that I can find Narky's pal for you, all right.”

  “One of your little ideas, eh?” Japp eyed Poirot sharply.

  “Wonderful how you manage to deliver the goods sometimes, at your age and all. Devil's own luck, of course.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps” murmured my friend.

  “Hastings, my hat.” And the brush. Sol My galoshes, if it still rains! We must not undo the good work of that tisane. Good Luck, Japp!”

  “Good luck to you, Poirot.”

  Poirot hailed the first taxi we met, and directed the driver to Park Lane. When we drew up before Halliday's house, he skipped out nimbly, paid the driver and rang the bell. To the footman who opened the door he made a request in a low voice, and we were immediately taken upstairs. We went up to the top of the house, and were shown into a small neat bedroom. Poirot's eyes roved round the room and fastened themselves on a small black trunk. He knelt in front of it, scrutinized the labels on it, and took a small twist of wire from his pocket.

  “Ask Mr Halliday if he will be so kind as to mount to me here” he said over his shoulder to the footman. The man departed, and Poirot gently coaxed the lock of the trunk with a practised hand. In a few minutes the lock gave, and he raised the lid of the trunk. Swiftly he began rummaging among the clothes it contained, flinging them out on the floor. There was a heavy step on the stairs, and Halliday entered the room. “What in hell are you doing here?” he demanded, staring.

  “I was looking monsieur, for this.” Poirot withdrew from the trunk a coat and skirt of bright blue frieze,
and a small toque of white fox fur. “What are you doing with my trunk?” I turned to see that the maid, Jane Mason, had entered the room. “If you will just shut the door, Hastings. Thank you. Yes, and stand with your back against it. Now, Mr Halliday, let me introduce you to Gracie Kidd, otherwise Jane Mason, who will shortly rejoin her accomplice, Red Narky, under the kind escort of Inspector Japp.”

  Poirot waved a deprecating hand. “It was of the most simple!” He helped himself to more caviar. “It was the maid's insistence on the clothes that her mistress was wearing that first struck me. Why was she so anxious that our attention should be directed to them? I reflected that we had only the maid's word for the mysterious man in the carriage at Bristol. As far as the doctor's evidence went, Mrs Carrington might easily have been murdered before reaching Bristol. But if so, then the maid must be an accomplice. And if she were an accomplice, she would not wish this point to rest on her evidence alone. The clothes Mrs Carrington was wearing were of a striking nature. A maid usually has a good deal of choice as to what her mistress shall wear. Now if, after Bristol, anyone saw a lady in a bright blue coat and skirt, and a fur toque, he will be quite ready to swear he had seen Mrs Carrington.

  'I began to reconstruct. The maid would provide herself with duplicate clothes. She and her accomplice, chloroform and stab Mrs Carrington between London and Bristol, probably taking advantage of a tunnel. Her body is rolled under the seat; and the maid takes her place. At Weston she must make herself noticed. How? In all probability, a newspaper-boy will be selected. She will insure his remembering her by giving him a large tip. She also drew his attention to the colour of her dress by a remark about one of the magazines. After leaving Weston, she throws the knife out of the window to mark the place where the crime presumably occurred, and changes her clothes, or buttons a long mackintosh over them. At Taunton she leaves the train and returns to Bristol as soon as possible, where her accomplice has duly left the luggage in the cloakroom. He hands over the ticket and himself returns to London. She waits on the platform, carrying out her role, goes to a hotel for the night and returns to town in the morning, exactly as she said. When Japp returned from this expedition, he confirmed all my deductions. He also told me that a well-known crook was passing the jewels. I knew that whoever it was would be the exact opposite of the man Jane Mason described. When I heard that it was Red Narky, who always worked with Gracie Kidd - well, I knew just where to find her.”

  “And the Count?”

  “The more I thought of it, the more I was convinced that he had nothing to do with it. That gentleman is much too careful of his own skin to risk murder. It would be out of keeping with his character.”

  “Well, Monsieur Poirot” said Halliday, “I owe you a big debt. And the cheque I write after lunch won't go near to settling it.” Poirot smiled modestly, and murmured to me: “The good Japp, he shall get the official credit, all right, but though he has got his Gracie Kidd, I think that I, as the Americans say, have got his goat!”

  Literary Book Reviews And Film Adaptation Comments

  The Mystery Of Hunters Lodge 1923 (Book)

  This story was first published in The Sketch Issue1581 (16 May 1923). It was later collected in Poirot Investigates (1924) – although Poirot spends this story in bed with a cold, making it more a case of Hastings Investigates. By now, Poirot’s character has become well-defined. His obsessive neatness is on display in the ‘neatly graduated row of medicine bottles’ which adorn the sickroom; his effeminate taste for the finer (and, to Hastings, disturbingly foreign) things can be read in his consumption of ‘a particularly noxious tisane’; while his celebrity status is delightfully evident in the ‘little paragraph to myself in Society Gossip’.

  The same paragraph sums up the blend of heroism and absurdity that characterises our Belgian protagonist, by emphasising fondly the mock-heroic quality of Poirot’s nomenclature: ‘believe me, girls, he’s some Hercules’. In short, Poirot is becoming ‘quite a public character’ – another example of Christie’s stories suiting themselves to the society paper The Sketch, which proves to be the ideal vehicle for Poirot as he is characterised here. Possibly, of course, there is also a ‘chicken and egg’ situation in this suiting of story to publication method. That is, although one might assume, after nearly a century of familiarity with the character, that Christie always conceived Poirot in this way, could it be that the conditions of publication actually influenced how she presented him? That is did Christie always conceive of Poirot as a popular celebrity – a notable figure on the fashionable social scene? Or did she emphasise his status as a ‘public character’ because his adventures appeared in a gossip magazine? I suspect it may be a bit of both, but either way, Poirot has come a long way – from jobbing policeman, to alien refugee, to popular and at increasingly wealthy celebrity.

  Anyway, back to this particular story, which is as ingenious as ever – so ingenious that I initially mistook the supporting characters’ melodramatic speech and actions for a lazy deployment of stock types and phrases on Christie’s part. Indeed, prior to the revelation that the characters are deliberately overdoing the ridiculous melodrama of the conventional cause célèbre, one could be forgiven for laughing derisively at the sheer effrontery of the melodramatic touches. ‘My uncle, the best friend I have in the world, was foully murdered last night’ says Havering to Hastings (as opposed to ‘delightfully murdered’, one supposes). Similarly, the telegram he receives, allegedly after the murder, is far too flippant to be believably connected with a real tragedy: ‘Come at once uncle Harrington murdered last night bring good detective if you can but do come – Zoe.’ If my beloved uncle had been murdered and my wife sent me this telegram I’d have a few words to say to her on the subject of tact! What we presume to be Christie phoning it in continues with the fact that the bogus housekeeper, whom is initially believed to have done the deed, doesn’t appear on the agency’s books – a fact which went undetected because Mrs Havering failed to inform the agency of the name of the housekeeper she’d selected. This seems like a preposterously convenient plot device until we find out the quite brilliant real solution. Once again, we find Christie deftly playing with readers’ expectations of what they imagine a popular crime narrative will look like.

  Poirot’s incapacity means that Hastings is dispatched to investigate the murder instead, rather like Watson in The Hound of the Baskervilles (‘You know my methods by now. All I ask is that you should report to my fully every day’). Indeed, Hunter’s Lodge, though in the north of England rather than Dartmoor, is nevertheless situated in ‘the midst of the rugged moors’. Unfortunately, Hastings’s obsession with forensic detail (footprints, bloodstains etc) does rather imply that he hasn’t quite grasped Poirot’s methods yet, and he singularly fails to do what Poirot would do, namely, to ‘examine the facts methodically and in order’. It is this approach, which enables Poirot to intervene and discover the clever solution to the crime without even leaving his sickbed. Indeed, what’s particularly interesting about this story is the way that the conclusion to the mystery rests on Poirot’s deductions rather than on any empirical proof. It demonstrates neatly the way in which Poirot’s method treats the solving of the crime as an abstract intellectual exercise separate from the bringing to justice of the criminal – a project which is only undertaken after Poirot has determined who the guilty party/parties are. Because of the way Poirot treats the crime (as a kind of logic puzzle) this determination of the guilty party is often complete before any physical evidence of guilt has been produced. In the absence of such evidence, the reader really has to trust Poirot’s assurance that this is the way that the murder was done – it makes logical sense, but there’s no actual proof.

  This explains why so many of Poirot’s adventures involve the tricking or entrapment of a person whose guilt Poirot has established previously to his own satisfaction by purely logical means – a contrast to the policeman’s project of building up a ‘case’ based on empirical evidence. That is, it’
s never a matter of ‘this evidence points to this person, so that’s that’. It’s more, ‘thinking about it logically, this person is the only one who could possibly have committed the crime, so we must trick them into providing us with evidence’. I’m generalising, obviously, but the point is that Poirot’s frequent emphasis on the cerebral nature of detection is an idea that’s also borne out in practice – so that the ‘little grey cells’ motif is more than simply an ill-conceived catchphrase.

  The only weakness, to my mind, is the ending of the story, where Christie’s (or Hastings’ if we’re being fair) determination to not let the culprits escape justice comes across as a bit contrived – not unlike the ending to the stage and film versions of ‘Witness for the Prosecution’: ‘Nemesis did overtake them, and when I read in the paper that the Hon. Roger and Mrs Havering were amongst those killed in the crashing of the Air Mail to Paris I knew that Justice was satisfied.’ Maybe so, but this is a tad harsh – what about everyone else involved in the crash? It’s an odd note on

  The Adventure Of The Cheap Flat (TV)

  Agatha Christie’s Poirot, Series 2, Episode 7

  Written by Russell Murray, Directed by Richard Spence

  Here’s a bit of trivia. The film that Japp, Hastings and Poirot are watching and discussing at the start of this episode is The G-Men (1935), starring James Cagney, Ann Dvorak and Margaret Lindsay and directed by William Keighley, who went on to co-direct the celebrated Adventures of Robin Hood (1938). I’m not sure why I was surprised to find that this was a genuine 1930s feature film – perhaps because the Poirot production team did such a good job of faking one in “The King of Clubs” it seems entirely plausible that they also did so here. Anyway, there you go.