Hercule Poirots casebook. Agatha Christie
for instance—it would be as well to make a few inquiries to establish the facts. One must have consideration for those less gifted than oneself”
“Good Lord,Poirot! Do you know, I d gave a considerable sum of money to see you make a thorough ass of yourself—just for once. You're so confoundedly conceited!”
“Do not enrage yourself, Hastings. In verity, I observe that there are times when you almost detest me! Alas, I suffer the penalties of greatness!”
The little man puflFed out his chest, and sighed so comically that I was forced to laugh.
Tuesday saw us speeding to Livepoorin a first-class carriage of the L. & N. W. R. Poirot had obstinately refused to enlighten me as to his suspicions~or certainties. He contented himself with expressing surprise that I, too, was not equally au fait with the situation. I disdained to argue, and intrenched my curiosity behind a rampart of pretended indifference.
Once arrived at the quay alongside which lay the big transatlantic liner, Poirot became brisk and alert. Our proceedings consisted in interviewing four successI have stewards and inquiring after a friend of Poirot's who had crossed to New York on the 23rd.
"An elderly gentleman, wearing glasses. A great invalid, hardly moved out of his cabin.”
The description appeared to tally with one Mr. Ventnor who had occupied the cabin C 24 which was next to that of Philip Ridgeway. Although unable to see how Poirot had deduced Mr. Ventnor” existence and personal appearance, I was keenly excited.
“Tell me,” I cried, “was this gentleman one of the first to land when you got to New York?”
The steward shook his head.
"No, indeed,sir, he was one of the last off the boat.”
I retired crestfallen, and observed Poirot grinning at me. He thanked the steward, a note changed hands, and we took our departure.
“It’s all very well,” I remarked heatedly, “but that last answer must have damped your precious theory, grin as you please!’
“As usual, you see nothing, Hastings. That last answer is,on the contrary, the coping stone of my theory”
I flung up my hands in despair.
“I gave it up.”
When we were in the train, speeding towards London, Poirot wrote busily for a few minutes, sealing up the result in an envelope.
“his is for the good Inspector McNeil. We will leave it at Scotland Yard in passing, and then to the Rendezvous Restaurant, where I have asked Miss Esmee Farquhar to do us the honor of dining with us."
“What about Ridgeway?”
“What about him?”t asked Poirot with a twinkle.
“Why, you surely don’t think—you can’t一”
“The habit of incoherence is growing upon you, Hastings. As a matter of fact I did think. If Ridgeway had been the thief—which was perfectly possible—the case would have been charming； a piece of neat methodical work”
“But not so charming for Miss Farquhar.”
“Possibly you are right. Therefore all is for the best. Now, Hastings, let us review the case. I can see that you are dying to do so. The sealed package is removed from the trunk and vanishes, as Miss Farquhar puts it, into thin air. We will dismiss the thin-air theory, which is not practicable at the present stage of science, and consider what is likely to have become of it. Everyone asserts the incredibility of its being smuggled ashore—”
“Yes, but we know_”
“ You may know, Hastings. I do not. I take the view that, since it seemed incredible, it was incredible. Two possibilities remain： it was hidden on board一also rather difficult—or it was thrown overboard.”
“With a cork on it, do you mean?”
“Without a cork.”
I stared.
“But if the bonds were thrown overboard, they couldn’t have been sold in New York.”
“admire your logical mind, Hastings. The bonds were sold in New York, therefore they were not thrown overboard. You see where that leads us”’
“Where we were when we started.”
Jamais de la vie! If the package was thrown overboard, and the bonds were sold in New York, the package could not have contained the bonds. Is there any evidence that the package did contain the bonds? Remember, Mr. Ridgeway never opened it from the time it was placed in his hands in London”
“Yes, but then—”
Poirot waved an impatient hand.
"Permit me to continue. The last moment that the bonds are seen as bonds is in the office of the London and Scottish Bank on the morning of the 23rd. They reappear in New York half an hour after the Olympia gets in, and according to one man, whom nobody listens to, actually before she gets in. Supposing then, that they have never been on the Olympia at all? Is there any other way they could get to New York? Yes. The Gigantic leaves Southampton on the same day as the Olympia, and she holds the record for the Atlantic. Mailed by the Gigantic, the bonds would be in New York the day before the Olympia arrived. All is clear, the case begins to explain itself. The sealed packet is only a dummy, and the moment of its substitution must be in the office in the bank. It would be an easy matter for any of the three men present to have prepared a duplicate package which could be substituted for the genuine one. Tr”s bien9 the bonds are mailed to a confederate in New York, with instructions to sell as soon as the Olympia is in, but someone must travel on the Olympia to engineer the supposed moment of the robbery.”
“But why?”
“Because if Ridgeway merely opens the packet and finds it a dummy, suspicion flies at once to London. No, the man on board in the cabin next door does his work, pretends to force the lock in an obvious manner so as to draw immediate attention to the theft, really unlocks the trunk with a duplicate key, throws the package overboard and waits until the last to leave the boat. Naturally he wears glasses to conceal his eyes, and is an invalid since he does not want to run the risk of meeting Ridgeway. He steps ashore in New York and returns by the first boat available.”
“But who—which was he?”
‘The man who had a duplicate key, the man who ordered the lock, the man who has not been severely ill with bronchitis at his home in the country一enfin,that ‘stodgy’ old man,Mr. Shaw! There are criminals in high places sometimes, my friend. Ah, here we are. Mademoiselle, I have succeeded! You permit?”
And, beaming, Poirot kissed the astonished girl lightly on either cheek!
The Adventure of the Egyptian Tomb
I have always considered that one of the most thrilling and dramatic of the many adventures I have shared with Poirot was that of our investigation into the strange series of deaths which followed upon the discovery and opening of the Tomb of King Men-her-Ra.
Hard upon the discovery of the Tomb of Tutankh-Amen by Lord Carnarvon, Sir John Willard and Mr. Bieibner of New York, pursuing their excavations not far from Cairo, in the vicinity of the Pyramids of Gizeh, came unexpectedly on a series of funeral chambers. The greatest interest was aroused by their discovery. The tomb appeared to be that of King Men-her-Ra, one of those shadowy kings of the Eighth Dynasty, when the Old Kingdom was falling to decay. Little was known about this period, and the discoveries were fully reported in the newspapers.
An event soon occurred which took a profound hold on the public mind. Sir John Willard died quite suddenly of heart failure.
The more sensational newspapers immediately took the opportunity of reviving all the old superstitious stories connected with the ill luck of certain Egyptian treasures. The unlucky mummy at the British Museum, that hoary old chestnut, was dragged out with fresh zest,