II
On the following morning Poirot paid a visit to Scotland Yard to his old friend Chief
Inspector1
Japp.
Japp’s reception of his tentative
inquiries2 was unexpected.
“You old fox!” said Japp affectionately. “How you get on to these things beats me!”
“But I assure you I know nothing—nothing at all! It is just idle curiosity.”
Japp said that Poirot could tell that to the Marines!
“You want to know all about this place Hell? Well, on the surface it’s just another of these
things. It’s caught on! They must be making a lot of money, though of course the expenses are
pretty high. There’s a Russian woman ostensibly running it, calls herself the Countess Something
or other—”
“I am acquainted with Countess Rossakoff,” said Poirot coldly. “We are old friends.”
“But she’s just a dummy,” Japp went on. “She didn’t put up the money. It might be the
headwaiter chap, Aristide Papopolous—he’s got an interest in it—but we don’t believe it’s really
his show either. In fact we don’t know whose show it is!”
“And Inspector Stevens goes there to find out?”
“Oh, you saw Stevens, did you? Lucky young dog landing a job like that at the taxpayer’s
expense! A fat lot he’s found out so far!”
“What do you suspect there is to find out?”
“Dope! Drug racket on a large scale. And the dope’s being paid for not in money, but in
precious stones.”
“Aha?”
“This is how it goes. Lady Blank—or the Countess of Whatnot—finds it hard to get hold of
cash—and in any case doesn’t want to draw large sums out of the Bank. But she’s got jewels—
family heirlooms sometimes! They’re taken along to a place for ‘cleaning’ or ‘resetting’—there
the stones are taken out of their settings and replaced with paste. The unset stones are sold over
here or on the Continent. It’s all plain sailing—there’s been no robbery, no
hue3 and cry after them.
Say sooner or later it’s discovered that a certain tiara or necklace is a fake? Lady Blank is all
innocence4 and dismay—can’t imagine how or when the substitution can have taken place—
necklace has never been out of her possession! Sends the poor,
perspiring5 police off on wild-goose
chases after dismissed maids, or doubtful butlers, or suspicious window-
cleaners.
“But we’re not quite so dumb as these social birds think! We had several cases come up one
after another—and we found a common factor—all the women showed signs of dope—nerves,
irritability—twitching, pupils of eyes
dilated6, etcetera. Question was: Where were they getting the
dope from and who was running the racket?”
“And the answer, you think, is this place Hell?”
“We believe it’s the headquarters of the whole racket. We’ve discovered where the work on
the jewellery is done—a place called Golconda Ltd—respectable enough on the surface, high-
class imitation jewellery. There’s a nasty bit of work called Paul Varesco—ah, I see you know
him?”
“I have seen him—in Hell.”
“That’s where I’d like to see him—in the real place! He’s as bad as they make ’em—but
women—even decent women—eat out of his hand! He’s got some kind of connection with
Golconda Ltd and I’m pretty sure he’s the man behind Hell. It’s ideal for his purpose—everyone
goes there, society women, professional crooks—it’s the perfect meeting place.”
“You think the exchange—jewels for dope—takes place there?”
“Yes. We know the Golconda side of it—we want the other—the dope side. We want to
know who’s supplying the stuff and where it’s coming from.”
“And so far you have no idea?”
“I think it’s the Russian woman—but we’ve no evidence. A few weeks ago we thought we
were getting somewhere. Varesco went to the Golconda place, picked up some stones there and
went straight from there to Hell. Stevens was watching him, but he didn’t actually see him pass the
stuff. When Varesco left we picked him up—the stones weren’t on him. We raided the club,
rounded up everybody! Result, no stones, no dope!”
“A fiasco, in fact?”
Japp
winced7. “You’re telling me! Might have got in a bit of a jam, but luckily in the round up
we got Peverel (you know, the Battersea murderer). Pure luck, he was supposed to have got away
to Scotland. One of our smart
sergeants8 spotted9 him from his photos. So all’s well that ends well—
kudos10 for us—terrific boost for the club—it’s been more packed than ever since!”
Poirot said:
“Must be. But we couldn’t find it. Went over the place with a toothcomb. And between you
and me, there’s been an unofficial search as well—” he
winked14. “Strictly on the Q.T. Spot of
breaking and entering. Not a success, our ‘unofficial’ man nearly got torn to pieces by that ruddy
great dog! It sleeps on the premises.”
“Aha, Cerberus?”
“Yes. Silly name for a dog—to call it after a packet of salt.”
“Cerberus,” murmured Poirot thoughtfully.
“Suppose you try your hand at it, Poirot,” suggested Japp. “It’s a pretty problem and worth
doing. I hate the drug racket, destroys people body and soul. That really is Hell if you like!”
Poirot murmured
meditatively15: “It would round off things—yes. Do you know what the
“No idea.”
“The Capture of Cerberus. It is appropriate, is it not?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, old man, but remember: ‘Dog eats Man’ is news.”
And Japp leaned back roaring with laughter.
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