鸽群中的猫26

Twenty-five

LEGACY¹

I“A Mr. Robinson has called to see you, sir.”

“Ah!” said Hercule Poirot. He stretched out his hand and picked up a letter from the desk infront of him. He looked down on it thoughtfully.

He said: “Show him in, Georges.”

The letter was only a few lines,

Dear Poirot,

A Mr. Robinson may call upon you in the near future. You may already knowsomething about him. Quite a prominent figure in certain circles. There is ademand for such men in our modern world … I believe, if I may so put it, that heis, in this particular matter, on the side of the angels. This is just arecommendation, if you should be in doubt. Of course, and I underline this, wehave no idea as to the matter on which he wishes to consult you …Ha ha! and likewise ho ho!

Yours ever,

Ephraim Pikeaway

Poirot laid down the letter and rose as Mr. Robinson came into the room. He bowed, shook hands,indicated a chair.

Mr. Robinson sat, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his large yellow face. He observed thatit was a warm day.

“You have not, I hope, walked here in this heat?”

Poirot looked horrified² at the idea. By a natural association of ideas, his fingers went to hismoustache. He was reassured³. There was no limpness.

Mr. Robinson looked equally horrified.

“No, no, indeed. I came in my Rolls. But these traffic blocks … One sits for half an hoursometimes.”

Poirot nodded sympathetically.

There was a pause—the pause that ensues on part one of conversation before entering upon parttwo.

“I was interested to hear—of course one hears so many things—most of them quite untrue—thatyou had been concerning yourself with the affairs of a girls’ school.”

“Ah,” said Poirot. “That!”

He leaned back in his chair.

“Meadowbank,” said Mr. Robinson thoughtfully. “Quite one of the premier⁴ schools ofEngland.”

“It is a fine school.”

“Is? Or was?”

“I hope the former.”

“I hope so, too,” said Mr. Robinson. “I fear it may be touch and go. Ah well, one must do whatone can. A little financial backing to tide over a certain inevitable⁵ period of depression. A fewcarefully chosen new pupils. I am not without influence in European circles.”

“I, too, have applied⁶ persuasion⁷ in certain quarters. If, as you say, we can tide things over.

Mercifully, memories are short.”

“That is what one hopes. But one must admit that events have taken place there that might wellshake the nerves of fond mammas—and papas also. The Games Mistress, the French Mistress, andyet another mistress—all murdered.”

“As you say.”

“I hear,” said Mr. Robinson, “(one hears so many things), that the unfortunate young womanresponsible has suffered from a phobia about schoolmistresses since her youth. An unhappychildhood at school. Psychiatrists⁸ will make a good deal of this. They will try at least for a verdictof diminished responsibility, as they call it nowadays.”

“That line would seem to be the best choice,” said Poirot. “You will pardon me for saying that Ihope it will not succeed.”

“I agree with you entirely⁹. A most cold- blooded killer¹⁰. But they will make much of herexcellent character, her work as secretary to various well-known people, her war record—quitedistinguished, I believe—counterespionage—”

He let the last words out with a certain significance—a hint of a question in his voice.

“She was very good, I believe,” he said more briskly. “So young—but quite brilliant, of greatuse—to both sides. That was her métier—she should have stuck to it. But I can understand thetemptation—to play a lone¹¹ hand, and gain a big prize.” He added softly, “A very big prize.”

Poirot nodded.

Mr. Robinson leaned forward.

“Where are they, M. Poirot?”

“I think you know where they are.”

“Well, frankly¹², yes. Banks are such useful institutions are they not?”

Poirot smiled.

“We needn’t beat about the bush really, need we, my dear fellow? What are you going to doabout them?”

“I have been waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“Shall we say—for suggestions?”

“Yes—I see.”

“You understand they do not belong to me. I would like to hand them over to the person they dobelong to. But that, if I appraise¹³ the position correctly, is not so simple.”

“Governments are in such a difficult position,” said Mr. Robinson. “Vulnerable, so to speak.

What with oil, and steel, and uranium, and cobalt and all the rest of it, foreign relations are amatter of the utmost delicacy¹⁴. The great thing is to be able to say that Her Majesty’s Government,etc., etc., has absolutely no information on the subject.”

“But I cannot keep this important deposit at my bank indefinitely.”

“Exactly. That is why I have come to propose that you should hand it over to me.”

“Ah,” said Poirot. “Why?”

“I can give you some excellent reasons. These jewels—mercifully we are not official, we cancall things by their right names—were unquestionably the personal property of the late Prince AliYusuf.”

“I understand that is so.”

“His Highness handed them over to Squadron Leader Robert Rawlinson with certaininstructions. They were to be got out of Ramat, and they were to be delivered to me.”

“Have you proof of that?”

“Certainly.”

Mr. Robinson drew a long envelope from his pocket. Out of it he took several papers. He laidthem before Poirot on the desk.

Poirot bent¹⁵ over them and studied them carefully.

“It seems to be as you say.”

“Well, then?”

“Do you mind if I ask a question?”

“Not at all.”

“What do you, personally, get out of this?”

Mr. Robinson looked surprised.

“My dear fellow. Money, of course. Quite a lot of money.”

Poirot looked at him thoughtfully.

“It is a very old trade,” said Mr. Robinson. “And a lucrative¹⁶ one. There are quite a lot of us, anetwork all over the globe. We are, how shall I put it, the Arrangers behind the scenes. For kings,for presidents, for politicians, for all those, in fact, upon whom the fierce light beats, as a poet hasput it. We work in with one another and remember this: we keep faith. Our profits are large but weare honest. Our services are costly—but we do render service.”

“I see,” said Poirot. “Eh bien! I agree to what you ask.”

“I can assure you that that decision will please everyone.” Mr. Robinson’s eyes just rested for amoment on Colonel Pikeaway’s letter where it lay at Poirot’s right hand.

“But just one little moment. I am human. I have curiosity. What are you going to do with thesejewels?”

Mr. Robinson looked at him. Then his large yellow face creased¹⁷ into a smile. He leanedforward.

“I shall tell you.”

He told him.

II

Children were playing up and down the street. Their raucous¹⁸ cries filled the air. Mr. Robinson,alighting ponderously¹⁹ from his Rolls, was cannoned²⁰ into by one of them.

Mr. Robinson put the child aside with a not unkindly hand and peered up at the number on thehouse.

No. 15. This was right. He pushed open the gate and went up the three steps to the front door.

Neat white curtains at the windows, he noted²¹, and a well-polished brass²² knocker. An insignificantlittle house in an insignificant²³ street in an insignificant part of London, but it was well kept. It hadself-respect.

The door opened. A girl of about twenty-five, pleasant looking, with a kind of fair, chocolatebox prettiness, welcomed him with a smile.

“Mr. Robinson? Come in.”

She took him into the small sitting room. A television set, cretonnes of a Jacobean pattern, acottage piano against the wall. She had on a dark skirt and a grey pullover.

“You’ll have some tea? I’ve got the kettle on.”

“Thank you, but no. I never drink tea. And I can only stay a short time. I have only come tobring you what I wrote to you about.”

“From Ali?”

“Yes.”

“There isn’t—there couldn’t be—any hope? I mean—it’s really true—that he was killed? Therecouldn’t be any mistake?”

“I’m afraid there was no mistake,” said Mr. Robinson gently.

“No—no, I suppose not. Anyway, I never expected—When he went back there I didn’t thinkreally I’d ever see him again. I don’t mean I thought he was going to be killed or that there wouldbe a Revolution. I just mean—well, you know—he’d have to carry on, do his stuff—what wasexpected of him. Marry one of his own people—all that.”

Mr. Robinson drew out a package and laid it down on the table.

“Open it, please.”

Her fingers fumbled²⁴ a little as she tore the wrappings off and then unfolded the final covering….

She drew her breath in sharply.

Red, blue, green, white, all sparkling with fire, with life, turning the dim little room intoAladdin’s cave….

Mr. Robinson watched her. He had seen so many women look at jewels….

She said at last in a breathless voice,

“Are they—they can’t be—real?”

“They are real.”

“But they must be worth—they must be worth—”

Her imagination failed.

Mr. Robinson nodded.

“If you wish to dispose of them, you can probably get at least half a million pounds for them.”

“No—no, it’s not possible.”

Suddenly she scooped²⁵ them up in her hands and rewrapped them with shaking fingers.

“I’m scared,” she said. “They frighten me. What am I to do with them?”

The door burst open. A small boy rushed in.

“Mum, I got a smashing tank off Billy. He—”

He stopped, staring at Mr. Robinson.

An olive skinned, dark boy.

His mother said,

“Go in the kitchen, Allen, your tea’s all ready. Milk and biscuits and there’s a bit ofgingerbread.”

“Oh good.” He departed noisily.

“You call him Allen?” said Mr. Robinson.

She flushed.

“It was the nearest name to Ali. I couldn’t call him Ali—too difficult for him and the neighboursand all.”

She went on, her face clouding over again.

“What am I to do?”

“First, have you got your marriage certificate? I have to be sure you’re the person you say youare.”

She stared a moment, then went over to a small desk. From one of the drawers she brought outan envelope, extracted a paper from it and brought it to him.

“Hm … yes … Register of Edmonstow … Ali Yusuf, student … Alice Calder, spinster … Yes,all in order.”

“Oh it’s legal all right—as far as it goes. And no one ever tumbled to who he was. There’s somany of these foreign Moslem²⁶ students, you see. We knew it didn’t mean anything really. He wasa Moslem and he could have more than one wife, and he knew he’d have to go back and do justthat. We talked about it. But Allen was on the way, you see, and he said this would make it allright for him—we were married all right in this country and Allen would be legitimate²⁷. It was thebest he could do for me. He really did love me, you know. He really did.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Robinson. “I am sure he did.”

He went on briskly.

“Now, supposing that you put yourself in my hands. I will see to the selling of these stones. AndI will give you the address of a lawyer, a really good and reliable solicitor²⁸. He will advise you, Iexpect, to put most of the money in a trust fund. And there will be other things, education for yourson, and a new way of life for you. You’ll want social education and guidance. You’re going to bea very rich woman and all the sharks and the confidence tricksters and the rest of them will beafter you. Your life’s not going to be easy except in the purely²⁹ material sense. Rich people don’thave an easy time in life, I can tell you—I’ve seen too many of them to have that illusion. Butyou’ve got character. I think you’ll come through. And that boy of yours may be a happier manthan his father ever was.”

He paused. “You agree?”

“Yes. Take them.” She pushed them towards him, then said suddenly: “That schoolgirl—theone who found them—I’d like her to have one of them—which—what colour do you think she’dlike?”

Mr. Robinson reflected. “An emerald, I think—green for mystery. A good idea of yours. Shewill find that very thrilling.”

He rose to his feet.

“I shall charge you for my services, you know,” said Mr. Robinson. “And my charges are prettyhigh. But I shan’t cheat you.”

She gave him a level glance.

“No, I don’t think you will. And I need someone who knows about business, because I don’t.”

“You seem a very sensible woman if I may say so. Now then, I’m to take these? You don’t wantto keep—just one—say?”

He watched her with curiosity, the sudden flicker³⁰ of excitement, the hungry covetous³¹ eyes—andthen the flicker died.

“No,” said Alice. “I won’t keep—even one.” She flushed. “Oh I daresay that seems daft to you—not to keep just one big ruby³² or an emerald—just as a keepsake. But you see, he and I—he wasa Moslem but he let me read bits now and again out of the Bible. And we read that bit—about awoman whose price was above rubies³³. And so—I won’t have any jewels. I’d rather not….”

“A most unusual woman,” said Mr. Robinson to himself as he walked down the path and intohis waiting Rolls.

He repeated to himself,

“A most unusual woman….”

 

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