Poirot's Early Cases (25 page)

‘Oh!’ gasped Kitty. ‘How
could
you do that? It all looked perfect ordinary.’

‘The quickness of the hand deceives the eye,’ said Poirot sententiously—and caught the sudden change in the Colonel’s expression.

It was as though he realized that he had been off his guard for a moment or two.

Poirot smiled. The conjuror had shown himself through the mask of the pukka sahib.

The ship reached Alexandria at dawn the following morning.

As Poirot came up from breakfast he found the two girls all ready to go on shore. They were talking to Colonel Clapperton.

‘We ought to get off now,’ urged Kitty. ‘The passport people will be going off the ship presently. You’ll come with us won’t you? You wouldn’t let us go ashore all by ourselves? Awful things might happen to us.’

‘I certainly don’t think you ought to go by yourselves,’ said Clapperton, smiling. ‘But I’m not sure my wife feels up to it.’

‘That’s too bad,’ said Pam. ‘But she can have a nice long rest.’

Colonel Clapperton looked a little irresolute. Evidently the desire to play truant was strong upon him. He noticed Poirot.

‘Hullo, M. Poirot—you going ashore?’

‘No, I think not,’ M. Poirot replied.

‘I’ll—I’ll—just have a word with Adeline,’ decided Colonel Clapperton.

‘We’ll come with you,’ said Pam. She flashed a wink at Poirot. ‘Perhaps we can persuade her to come too,’ she added gravely.

Colonel Clapperton seemed to welcome this suggestion. He looked decidedly relieved.

‘Come along then, the pair of you,’ he said lightly. They all three went along the passage of B deck together.

Poirot, whose cabin was just opposite the Clappertons’, followed them out of curiosity.

Colonel Clapperton rapped a little nervously at the cabin door.

‘Adeline, my dear, are you up?’

The sleepy voice of Mrs Clapperton from within replied: ‘Oh, bother—what is it?’

‘It’s John. What about going ashore?’

‘Certainly not.’ The voice was shrill and decisive. ‘I’ve had a very bad night. I shall stay in bed most of the day.’

Pam nipped in quickly. ‘Oh, Mrs Clapperton, I’m so sorry. We did so want you to come with us. Are you sure you’re not up to it?’

‘I’m quite certain.’ Mrs Clapperton’s voice sounded even shriller.

The Colonel was turning the door-handle without result.

‘What is it, John? The door’s locked. I don’t want to be disturbed by the stewards.’

‘Sorry, my dear, sorry. Just wanted my Baedeker.’

‘Well, you can’t have it,’ snapped Mrs Clapperton. ‘I’m not going to get out of bed. Do go away, John, and let me have a little peace.’

‘Certainly, certainly, my dear.’ The Colonel backed away from the door. Pam and Kitty closed in on him.

‘Let’s start at once. Thank goodness your hat’s on your head. Oh, gracious—your passport isn’t in the cabin, is it?’

‘As a matter of fact it’s in my pocket—’began the Colonel.

Kitty squeezed his arm. ‘Glory be!’ she exclaimed. ‘Now, come on.’

Leaning over the rail, Poirot watched the three of them leave the ship. He heard a faint intake of breath beside him and turned to see Miss Henderson. Her eyes were fastened on the three retreating figures.

‘So they’ve gone ashore,’ she said flatly.

‘Yes. Are you going?’

She had a shade hat, he noticed, and a smart bag and shoes. There was a shore-going appearance about her. Nevertheless, after the most infinitesimal of pauses, she shook her head.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll stay on board. I have a lot of letters to write.’

She turned and left him.

Puffing after his morning tour of forty-eight rounds of the deck, General Forbes took her place. ‘Aha!’ he exclaimed as his eyes noted the retreating figures of the Colonel and the two girls. ‘So
that’s
the game! Where’s the Madam?’

Poirot explained that Mrs Clapperton was having a quiet day in bed.

‘Don’t you believe it!’ the old warrior closed one knowing eye. ‘She’ll be up for tiffin—and if the poor devil’s found to be absent without leave, there’ll be ructions.’

But the General’s prognostications were not fulfilled. Mrs Clapperton did not appear at lunch and by the time the Colonel and his attendant damsels
returned to the ship at four o’clock, she had not shown herself.

Poirot was in his cabin and heard the husband’s slightly guilty knock on his cabin door. Heard the knock repeated, the cabin door tried, and finally heard the Colonel’s call to a steward.

‘Look here, I can’t get an answer. Have you a key?’

Poirot rose quickly from his bunk and came out into the passage.

The news went like wildfire round the ship. With horrified incredulity people heard that Mrs Clapperton had been found dead in her bunk—a native dagger driven through her heart. A string of amber beads was found on the floor of her cabin.

Rumour succeeded rumour. All bead sellers who had been allowed on board that day were being rounded up and questioned! A large sum in cash had disappeared from a drawer in the cabin! The notes had been traced! They had not been traced! Jewellery worth a fortune had been taken! No jewellery had been taken at all! A steward had been arrested and had confessed to the murder!

‘What is the truth of it all?’ demanded Miss Ellie Henderson waylaying Poirot. Her face was pale and troubled.

‘My dear lady, how should I know?’

‘Of course you know,’ said Miss Henderson.

It was late in the evening. Most people had retired to their cabins. Miss Henderson led Poirot to a couple of deck chairs on the sheltered side of the ship. ‘Now tell me,’ she commanded.

Poirot surveyed her thoughtfully. ‘It’s an interesting case,’ he said.

‘Is it true that she had some very valuable jewellery stolen?’

Poirot shook his head. ‘No. No jewellery was taken. A small amount of loose cash that was in a drawer has disappeared, though.’

‘I’ll never feel safe on a ship again,’ said Miss Henderson with a shiver. ‘Any clue as to which of those coffee-coloured brutes did it?’

‘No,’ said Hercule Poirot. ‘The whole thing is rather—strange.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Ellie sharply.

Poirot spread out his hands. ‘
Eh bien
—take the facts. Mrs Clapperton had been dead at least five hours when she was found. Some money had disappeared. A string of beads was on the floor by her bed. The door was locked and the key was missing. The
window—
window
, not port-hole—gives on the deck and was open.’

‘Well?’ asked the woman impatiently.

‘Do you not think it is curious for a murder to be committed under those particular circumstances? Remember that the postcard sellers, money changers and bead sellers who are allowed on board are all well known to the police.’

‘The stewards usually lock your cabin, all the same,’ Ellie pointed out.

‘Yes, to prevent any chance of petty pilfering. But this—was murder.’

‘What exactly are you thinking of, M. Poirot?’ Her voice sounded a little breathless.

‘I am thinking of the
locked door
.’

Miss Henderson considered this. ‘I don’t see anything in that. The man left by the door, locked it and took the key with him so as to avoid having the murder discovered too soon. Quite intelligent of him, for it wasn’t discovered until four o’clock in the afternoon.’

‘No, no, mademoiselle, you don’t appreciate the point I’m trying to make. I’m not worried as to how he got
out
, but as to how he got
in
.’

‘The window of course.’

‘
C’est possible
. But it would be a very narrow fit—and there were people passing up and down the deck all the time, remember.’

‘Then through the door,’ said Miss Henderson impatiently.

‘But you forget, mademoiselle.
Mrs Clapperton had locked the door on the inside
. She had done so before Colonel Clapperton left the boat this morning. He actually tried it—so we
know
that is so.’

‘Nonsense. It probably stuck—or he didn’t turn the handle properly.’

‘But it does not rest on his word. We actually heard
Mrs Clapperton herself say so
.’

‘We?’

‘Miss Mooney, Miss Cregan, Colonel Clapperton and myself.’

Ellie Henderson tapped a neatly shod foot. She did not speak for a moment or two. Then she said in a slightly irritable tone: ‘Well—what exactly do you deduce from that? If Mrs Clapperton could lock the door she could unlock it too, I suppose.’

‘Precisely, precisely.’ Poirot turned a beaming face upon her. ‘And you see where that leaves us.
Mrs Clapperton unlocked the door and let the murderer in
. Now would she be likely to do that for a bead seller?’

Ellie objected: ‘She might not have known who it was. He may have knocked—she got up and opened the door—and he forced his way in and killed her.’

Poirot shook his head. ‘
Au contraire
. She was lying peacefully in bed when she was stabbed.’

Miss Henderson stared at him. ‘What’s your idea?’ she asked abruptly.

Poirot smiled. ‘Well, it looks, does it not, as though she
knew
the person she admitted…’

‘You mean,’ said Miss Henderson and her voice sounded a little harsh, ‘
that the murderer is a passenger on the ship?
’

Poirot nodded. ‘It seems indicated.’

‘And the string of beads left on the floor was a blind?’

‘Precisely.’

‘The theft of the money also?’

‘Exactly.’

There was a pause, then Miss Henderson said slowly: ‘I thought Mrs Clapperton a very unpleasant woman and I don’t think anyone on board really liked her—but there wasn’t anyone who had any reason to kill her.’

‘Except her husband, perhaps,’ said Poirot.

‘You don’t really think—’ She stopped.

‘It is the opinion of every person on this ship that Colonel Clapperton would have been quite justified in “taking a hatchet to her”. That was, I think, the expression used.’

Ellie Henderson looked at him—waiting.

‘But I am bound to say,’ went on Poirot, ‘that I myself have not noted any signs of exasperation on the good Colonel’s part. Also what is more important, he had an alibi. He was with those two girls all day and did not return to the ship till four o’clock. By then, Mrs Clapperton had been dead many hours.’

There was another minute of silence. Ellie Henderson said softly: ‘But you still think—a passenger on the ship?’

Poirot bowed his head.

Ellie Henderson laughed suddenly—a reckless defiant laugh. ‘Your theory may be difficult to prove, M. Poirot. There are a good many passengers on this ship.’

Poirot bowed to her. ‘I will use a phrase from one of your detective stories. “I have my methods, Watson.”’

The following evening, at dinner, every passenger found a typewritten slip by his plate requesting him to be in the main lounge at 8.30. When the company were assembled, the Captain stepped on to the raised platform where the orchestra usually played and addressed them.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, you all know of the tragedy which took place yesterday. I am sure you all wish to co-operate in bringing the perpetrator of that foul crime to justice.’ He paused and cleared his throat. ‘We have on board with us M. Hercule Poirot who is probably known to you all as a man who has had wide experience in—er—such matters. I hope you will listen carefully to what he has to say.’

It was at this moment that Colonel Clapperton, who had not been at dinner, came in and sat down next to General Forbes. He looked like a man bewildered by sorrow—not at all like a man conscious of great relief. Either he was a very good actor or else he had been genuinely fond of his disagreeable wife.

‘M. Hercule Poirot,’ said the Captain and stepped down. Poirot took his place. He looked comically self-important as he beamed on his audience.

‘
Messieurs, mesdames
,’ he began. ‘It is most kind of you to be so indulgent as to listen to me.
M. le Capitaine
has told you that I have had a certain experience in these matters. I have, it is true, a little idea of my own about how to get to the bottom of this particular case.’ He made a sign and a steward pushed forward and passed on to him a bulky, shapeless object wrapped in a sheet.

‘What I am about to do may surprise you a little,’ Poirot warned them. ‘It may occur to you that I am eccentric, perhaps mad. Nevertheless I assure you that behind my madness there is—as you English say—a method.’

His eyes met those of Miss Henderson for just a minute. He began unwrapping the bulky object.

‘I have here,
messieurs
and
mesdames
, an important witness to the truth of who killed Mrs Clapperton.’ With a deft hand he whisked away the last enveloping cloth, and the object it concealed was revealed—an almost life-sized wooden doll, dressed in a velvet suit and lace collar.

‘Now, Arthur,’ said Poirot and his voice changed subtly—it was no longer foreign—it had instead a confident English, a slightly Cockney inflection. ‘Can you tell me—I repeat—can you tell me—anything at all about the death of Mrs Clapperton?’

The doll’s neck oscillated a little, its wooden lower jaw dropped and wavered and a shrill high-pitched woman’s voice spoke:

‘
What is it, John? The door’s locked. I don’t want to be disturbed by the stewards…
’

There was a cry—an overturned chair—a man stood swaying, his hand to his throat—trying to speak—trying…Then suddenly, his figure seemed to crumple up. He pitched headlong.

It was Colonel Clapperton.

Poirot and the ship’s doctor rose from their knees by the prostrate figure.

‘All over, I’m afraid. Heart,’ said the doctor briefly.

Poirot nodded. ‘The shock of having his trick seen through,’ he said.

He turned to General Forbes. ‘It was you, General, who gave me a valuable hint with your mention of the music hall stage. I puzzle—I think—and then it comes to me. Supposing that before the war Clapperton was a
ventriloquist
. In that case, it would be perfectly possible for three people to hear Mrs Clapperton speak from inside her cabin
when she was already dead
…’