Chapter 22  M. PAPOPOULOS AT BREAKFAST 

M. Papopolous was at breakfast. Opposite him sat his daughter, Zia. 

There was a knock at the sitting-room door, and a chasseur entered with a card which he brought to Mr Papopolous. The latter scrutinized it, raised his eyebrows, and passed it over to his daughter. 

"Ah!" said M. Papopolous, scratching his left ear thoughtfully, 

"Hercule Poirot. I wonder now." 

Father and daughter looked at each other. 

"I saw him yesterday at the tennis," said M. Papopolous. "Zia, I hardly like this." 

"He was very useful to you once," his daughter reminded him. 

"That is true," acknowledged M. Papopolous, "also he has retired from active work, so I hear." 

These interchanges between father and daughter had passed in their own language. Now M. Papopolous turned to the chasseur and said in French: 

"Faites monter ce monsieur." 

A few minutes later Hercule Poirot, exquisitely attired, and swinging a cane with a jaunty air, entered the room. 

"My dear M. Papopolous." 

"My dear M. Poirot." 

"And Mademoiselle Zia." Poirot swept her a low bow. 

"You will excuse us going on with our breakfast," said M. Papopolous, pouring himself out another cup of coffee. "Your call is - ahem! - a little early." 

"It is scandalous," said Poirot, "but see you, I am pressed." 

"Ah!" murmured M. Papopolous, "you are on an affair then?" 

"A very serious affair," said Poirot, "the death of Madame Kettering." 

"Let me see," M. Papopolous looked innocently up at the ceiling, 

"that was the lady who died on the Blue Train, was it not? I saw a mention of it in the papers, but there's no suggestion of foul play." 

"In the interests of justice," said Poirot, "it was thought best to suppress that fact." 

There was a pause. 

"And in what way can I assist you, Mr Poirot?" asked the dealer politely. 

"Voilà," said Poirot, "I shall come to the point." He took from his pocket the same box that he had displayed at Cannes, and opening it, he took out the rubies and pushed them across the table to Papopolous. 

Although Poirot was watching him narrowly, not a muscle of the old man's face moved. He took up the jewels and examined them with a kind of detached interest, then he looked across at the detective inquiringly: 

"Superb, are they not?" asked Poirot. 

"Quite excellent," said M. Papopolous. 

"How much should you say they are worth?" 

The Greek's face quivered a little. 

"Is it really necessary to tell you, M. Poirot?" he asked. 

"You are shrewd, M. Papopolous. No, it is not. They are not, for instance, worth five hundred thousand dollars." 

Papopolous laughed, and Poirot joined with him. 

"As an imitation," said Papopolous, handing them back to Poirot, 

"they are, as I said, quite excellent. Would it be indiscreet to ask, M. Poirot, where you came across them?" 

"Not at all," said Poirot, "I have no objection to telling an old friend like yourself. They were in the possession of the Comte de la Roche." 

M. Papopolous' eyebrows lifted themselves eloquently. 

"In-deed," he murmured. 

Poirot leant forward and assumed his most innocent and beguiling air. 

"M. Papopolous," he said, "I am going to lay my cards upon the table. The original of these jewels was stolen from Madame Kettering on the Blue Train. Now I will say to you first this: I am not concerned with the recovery of these jewels. That is the affair of the police. I am working not for the police but for M. Van Aldin. I want to lay hands on the man who killed Madame Kettering. I am interested in the jewels only in so far as they may lead me to the man. You understand?" 

The last two words were uttered with great magnificence. M. Papopolous, his face quite unmoved, said quietly: "Go on." 

"It seems to me probable, Monsieur, that the jewels will change hands in Nice - maybe they have done so." 

"Ah!" said M. Papopolous. 

He sipped his coffee reflectively, and looked a shade more noble and patriarchal than usual. 

"I say to myself," continued Poirot, with animation, "what good fortune! My old friend, M. Papopolous, is in Nice. He will aid me." 

"And how do you think I can aid you?" inquired M. Papopolous coldly. 

"I said to myself, without doubt M. Papopolous is in Nice on business." 

"Not at all," said M. Papopolous, "I am here for my health - by the doctor's orders." 

He coughed hollowly. 

"I am desolated to hear it," replied Poirot, with somewhat insincere sympathy. "But to continue. When a Russian Grand Duke, an Austrian Archduchess, or an Italian Prince wish to dispose of their family jewels - to whom do they go? To M. Papopolous, is it not? He who is famous all over the world for the discretion with which he arranges these things." 

The other bowed. 

"You flatter me." 

"It is a great thing, discretion," mused Poirot, and was rewarded by the fleeting smile which passed across the Greek's face. "I, too, can be discreet." 

The eyes of the two men met. 

Then Poirot went on speaking very slowly, and obviously picking his words with care. 

"I say to myself, this: if these jewels have changed hands in Nice, M. Papopolous would have heard of it. He has knowledge of all that passes in the jewel world." 

"Ah!" said M. Papopolous, and helped himself to a croissant. 

"The police, you understand," said M. Poirot, "do not enter into the matter. It is a personal affair." 

"One hears rumours," admitted M. Papopolous cautiously. 

"Such as?" prompted Poirot. 

"Is there any reason why I should pass them on?" 

"Yes," said Poirot, "I think there is. You may remember, M. Papopolous, that seventeen years ago there was a certain article in your hands, left there as security by a very - er - Prominent Person. It was in your keeping and it unaccountably disappeared. You were, if I may use the English expression, in the soup." 

His eyes came gently round to the girl. She had pushed her cup and plate aside, and with both elbows on the table and her chin resting on her hands was listening eagerly. Still keeping an eye on her he went on: 

"I am in Paris at the time. You send for me. You place yourself in my hands. If I restore to you that - article, you say I shall earn your undying gratitude. Eh bien! I did restore it to you." 

A long sigh came from M. Papopolous. 

"It was the most unpleasant moment of my career," he murmured. 

"Seventeen years is a long time," said Poirot thoughtfully, "but I believe that I am right in saying, Monsieur, that your race does not forget." 

"A Greek?" murmured Papopolous, with an ironical smile. 

"It was not as a Greek I meant," said Poirot. 

There was a silence, and then the old man drew himself up proudly. 

"You are right, M. Poirot," he said quietly. "I am a Jew. And, as you say, our race does not forget." 

"You will aid me then?" 

"As regards the jewels, Monsieur, I can do nothing." 

The old man, as Poirot had done just now, picked his words carefully. 

"I know nothing. I have heard nothing, but I can perhaps do you a good turn - that is if you are interested in racing." 

"Under certain circumstances I might be," said Poirot, eyeing him steadily. 

"There is a horse running at Longchamps that would, I think, repay attention. I cannot say for certain, you understand; this news passed through so many hands." 

He stopped, fixing Poirot with his eye, as though to make sure that the latter was comprehending him. 

"Perfectly, perfectly," said Poirot, nodding. 

"The name of the horse," said M. Papopolous, leaning back and joining the tips of his fingers together, "is the Marquis. I think, but I am not sure, that it is an English horse, eh, Zia?" 

"I think so too," said the girl. 

Poirot got up briskly. 

"I thank you, Monsieur," he said. "It is a great thing to have what the English call a tip from the stable. Au revoir, Monsieur, and many thanks." 

He turned to the girl. 

"Au revoir, Mademoiselle Zia. It seems to me but yesterday that I saw you in Paris. One would say that two years had passed at most." 

"There is a difference between sixteen and thirty-three," said Zia ruefully. 

"Not in your case," declared Poirot gallantly. "You and your father will perhaps dine with me one night." 

"We shall be delighted," replied Zia. 

"Then we will arrange it," declared Poirot, "and now - je me sauve." 

Poirot walked along the street humming a little tune to himself. He twirled his stick with a jaunty air, once or twice he smiled to himself quietly. He turned into the first Bureau de Poste he came to and sent off a telegram. 

He took some time in wording it, but it was in code and he had to call upon his memory. It purported to deal with a missing scarf- pin, and was addressed to Inspector Japp, Scotland Yard. 

Decoded, it was short and to the point. "Wire me everything known about man whose soubriquet is the Marquis." 

第二十二章 帕波波鲁斯的早点

    帕波波鲁斯和他的女儿齐娅正在用早点。

    有人敲门，继之仆人走进来，手里拿着一张名片。帕波波鲁斯接过名片琢磨了一会儿，然后把它递给了女儿。

    “嗯，”他哼了一声，搔着左耳深思着，“赫库勒·波洛！我对此人不感兴趣。”

    “他有一次可帮了你的大忙。”女儿提醒他说道。

    “是这样。”帕波波鲁斯肯定地回答说。“此外，反正他现在已经退休了。”

    父女俩之间是用希腊语对话的。现在，帕波波鲁斯向仆人说，请客人进来。

    几分钟后赫库勒·波洛进了客厅，同往常一样西装革履，神气活现地挥着手杖。

    “我亲爱的帕波波鲁斯先生！”

    “我亲爱的波洛先生！”

    “噢，迷人的齐娅小姐也在！”波洛深深地鞠了一躬。

    “我们继续用早点，请您不要介意。”帕波波鲁斯说着又为自己倒了一杯咖啡。

    “做客有点太早。”

    “早的有点不象话。”波洛加了一句。“但是，我有急事，请您谅解这一点。”

    “噢，噢，原来如此，”帕波波鲁斯小声附和说着道。“您是来洽谈交易吗？”

    “是一桩非常重要的交易，事关凯特林夫人被害一案。”

    “请等一下！”帕波波鲁斯无所谓地仰望了一眼天花板。“是不是在‘蓝色特快’上死了的那位夫人？我在报上读到过这条新闻。可是报上并没有提起这是一桩犯罪事件。”

    “由于法律方面的原因，还是对事实保持沉默为好。”波洛说道。

    “可是，我又能够在哪些方面帮您的忙呢？波洛先生？”古玩商停了一会儿问道。

    “我马上就向您说明。”波洛从衣袋里掏出在戛纳给冯·阿尔丁看过的那个蓝包裹。

他打开包裹，把宝石拿到帕波波鲁斯的眼前。

    老古玩商的脸上毫无表情。任何一块肌肉都没有动一下。他把宝石拿在手上，以内行的眼光察看了半天。然后向对面的老侦探投以怀疑的眼光。

    “挺美丽的，是吗？”波洛问道。

    “是很美。”帕波波鲁斯表示同意。

    “您认为可值多少钱？”

    这时，希腊老人脸面上的肌肉多少有点抽动。“波洛，要我向您说真话吗？”他问道。

    “不，实际上不必要。我想五十万美元总是值的。”

    帕波波鲁斯笑了起来，波洛也随声附和地笑着。

    “作为一个复制品，”帕波波鲁斯一面说着一面把宝石还给波洛，“作为赝品，正象我所说的那样，是很美，恕我轻率，请问波洛先生：它是怎么到您手中的？”

    “决不是轻率，在老朋友面前我是没有什么秘密的。宝石是在罗歇伯爵那里找到的。”

    帕波波鲁斯的一双蓝眼睛闪闪发光。

    “您说的什么啊！”他低声惊叫起来。

    波洛这时弯着腰坐在那里，表现得比任何时候都无所谓的样子。

    “帕波波鲁斯，”他说道，“我向您摊牌。这个宝石的原物是凯特林女士的，但在‘蓝色特快’上被盗窃了。首先我必须向您讲明：把宝石找回来，这不管我的事，这是警察方面的事。我唯一的目的是弄清谁是杀害凯特林夫人的凶手。这些宝石之所以能够引起我的兴趣，是因为它们能够引导我找到杀人犯。您懂吗？”

    侦探在说出这几个字时，用了一种特别加重的语气。帕波波鲁斯冷漠地说道：“请您继续讲下出。”

    “帕波波鲁斯先生，这些宝石很可能在更换物主，也可已经更换了物主。”

    帕波波鲁斯略有所思地喝了一口咖啡，让人看起来他那绅士派头更加十足。

    “我曾对自己说过。”波洛继续说道，“这是多么幸运，我的老朋友在尼扎！他一定会帮我的忙。”

    “以什么方式帮您的忙？”帕波波鲁斯冷淡地探询着问道。

    “我当时曾猜测，帕波波鲁斯到尼扎一定是来做交易的。”

    “猜错了，”帕波波鲁斯反驳说，“我是由于健康的原因才到这里来的，是遵照我的医生的嘱咐到尼扎的。”他说着大声咳嗽起来。

    “这太遗憾了。”波洛极为同情地说道。“不过，让我们继续说下去。如果一位俄国大公或是一位奥地利大公要把他的传家首饰换成钱，那么他们将会找到谁的门下呢？当然是帕波波鲁斯，他以慎重从事交易而扬名于世。”

    “您是在奉承我。”

    “慎重是伟大的，我有时也很慎重。”

    俩人的目光又碰到了一起。

    然后波洛又字斟句酌地继续说道：

    “以后我又推测：如果这些宝石在尼扎已经换了物主，那么帕波波鲁斯就一定会听到风声，他对宝石市场上的任何一桩交易都了如指掌。”

    “啊！”帕波波鲁斯叫了一声，不慌不忙地在面包上又涂了一层蜜。

    “您懂了吗？”波洛声明说，“警察同此事毫不相干，这是一桩私人的案子。”

    “可是已经谣言四起了。”帕波波鲁斯小心翼翼地说道。

    “请举例说明。”

    “我有什么必要再去扩散这些谣言呢？”

    “有必要。”波洛说道。“您可能还会回忆起来，帕波波鲁斯先生，十七年前，当时您在进行一栏数额可观的交易。一位有名的人物在您这里投了保险。您当时负责保管这些贵重的物品，可是不知怎的，这些东西突然失踪了。您当时处在极为困难的境地。”

    他说完向女郎投去柔和的目光，她把碗碟收在一旁，正在聚精会神地听着。“您那时让我给您找回这些东西，并表示，如果我能够找回，那将重谢我，现在怎样，我已经把那些东西给您找回来了。”

    帕波波鲁斯深深地叹了一口气。

    “那是我一生中最不愉快的时刻。”他压低了声音说道。

    “十七年的时间不算短暂，”波洛沉思着说道，“但是，我相信，应当说，您们的民族是不会忘记的。”

    “您指的是希腊民族吗？”

    “不一定。”

    沉默了很大一会儿，然后老头自豪地站立起来。

    “您说的对，波洛先生。”他镇静地说道，“我是个犹太人，您说得完全正确，我们的民族是不会忘记的。”

    “您想帮我的忙吗？”

    “关于宝石的事，可惜我帮不了什么忙。”这位老头在掂量着自己说话的分量。

    “我什么也不知道，我什么也没听到！可是您如果对赛马有兴趣，我却愿意效劳。”

    “在某些情况下，我对此也很感兴趣。”波洛看着对方，心平气和地说道。

    “赛马场上有一匹马在奔跑，人匀都注意地盯着它。具体的细节我当然不得而知了.这种新闻不知传过多少人之口了。”

    “我完全明白。”波洛点头说道。

    “这匹马的名字，”帕波波鲁斯继续说道，“叫‘候爵’。我相信，这是一匹英国马，但不能肯定。”

    波洛站起身来。

    “谢谢您，帕波波鲁斯先生。马厩里有各种类型的马，总是件好事，再见，先生，非常感谢。”

    他转向女郎。

    “再见，齐娅小姐。我总觉得就象昨天同您分手一样。”

    “十六岁和三十三岁之间无论如何总是有区别的。”齐娅说，忧郁的向他微微一笑。

    “您不是这样！”波洛说道，“如果您同您的父亲最近几天能同我共进午餐，我将感到莫大的愉快。”

    “这对我们来说是莫大的荣幸。”齐娅回答道。

    波洛嘴里哼着愉快的歌曲，手里潇洒地挥着手杖，漫步而去，他到了最大的一家邮局，发了一封电报。电报是发给伦敦警察局长雅普的，内容是关于寻找丢失的一个领带别针的事。

    可是，当收报人用一种特殊的密码译出时，其内容是：“请把外号叫‘候爵’的人的一切情况，尽快电告于我。”