Chapter 27  INTERVIEW WITH MIRELLE 

When Knighton left Katherine he went in search of Hercule Poirot, whom he found in the Rooms, jauntily placing the minimum stake on the even numbers. As Knighton joined him, the number thirty- three turned up, and Poirot's stake was swept away. 

"Bad luck!" said Knighton, "are you going to stake again?" 

Poirot shook his head. 

"Not at present." 

"Do you feel the fascination of gambling?" asked Knighton curiously. 

"Not at roulette." 

Knighton shot a swift glance at him. His own face became troubled. He spoke haltingly, with a touch of deference. 

"I wonder, are you busy, M. Poirot? There is something I would like to ask you about." 

"I am at your disposal. Shall we go outside? It is pleasant in the sunshine."  

They strolled out together, and Knighton drew a deep breath. 

"I love the Riviera," he said. "I came here first twelve years ago, during the war, when I was sent to Lady Tamplin's Hospital. It was like Paradise, coming from Flanders to this." 

"It must have been," said Poirot. 

"How long ago the war seems now!" mused Knighton. 

They walked on in silence for some little way. 

"You have something on your mind?" said Poirot. 

Knighton looked at him in some surprise. 

"You are quite right," he confessed. " I don't know how you knew it, though." 

"It showed itself only too plainly," said Poirot drily. 

"I did not know that I was so transparent." 

"It is my business to observe the physiognomy," the little man explained, with dignity. 

"I will tell you, M. Poirot. You have heard of this dancer woman - Mirelle?''  

"She who is the chère amie of M. Derek Kettering?" 

"Yes, that is the one; and, knowing this, you will understand that Mr. Van Aldin is naturally prejudiced against her. She wrote to him, asking for an interview. He told me to dictate a curt refusal, which of course I did. This morning she came to the hotel and sent up her card, saying that it was urgent and vital that she should see Mr. Van Aldin at once." 

"You interest me," said Poirot. 

"Mr. Van Aldin was furious. He told me what message to send down to her. I ventured to disagree with him. It seemed to me both likely and probable that this woman Mirelle might give us valuable information. We know that she was on the Blue Train, and she may have seen or heard something that it might be vital for us to know. Don't you agree with me, M. Poirot?" 

"I do," said Poicot drily. "M. Van Aldin, if I may say so, behaved exceedingly foolishly." 

"I am glad you take that view of the matter," said the secretary. 

"Now I am going to tell you something, M. Poirot. So strongly did I feel the unwisdom of Mr. Van Aidin's attitude that I went down privately and had an interview with the lady." 

"Eh bien?" 

"The difficulty was that she insisted on seeing Mr Van Aldin himself. I softened his message as much as I possibly could. In fact - to be candid - I gave it in a very different form. I said that Mr Van Aldin was too busy to see her at present, but that she might make any communication she wished to me. That, however, she could not bring herself to do, and she left without saying anything further. But I have a strong impression, M. Poirot that that woman knows something." 

"This is serious," said Poirot quietly. "You know where she is staying?" 

"Yes." Knighton mentioned the name of the hotel. 

"Good," said Poirot, "we will go there immediately." 

The secretary looked doubtful. 

"And Mr Van Aldin?" he queried doubtfully. 

"M. Van Aldin is an obstinate man," said Poirot drily. "I do not argue with obstinate men. I act in spite of them. We will go and see the lady immediately. I will tell her that you are empowered by M. Van Aldin to act for him, and you will guard yourself well from contradicting me." 

Knighton still looked slightly doubtful, but Poirot took no notice of his hesitation. 

At the hotel, they were told that Mademoiselle was in, and Poirot sent up both his and Knighton's cards, with "From Mr Van Aldin" pencilled upon them. 

Word came down that Mademoiselle Mirelle would receive them. 

When they were ushered into the dancer's apartments, Poirot immediately took the lead. 

"Mademoiselle," he murmured, bowing very low, "we are here on behalf of M. Van Aldin." 

"Ah! And why did he not come himself?" 

"He is indisposed," said Poirot mendaciously, "the Riviera throat, it has him in its grip, but me, I am empowered to act for him, as is Major Knighton, his secretary. Unless, of course, Mademoiselle would prefer to wait a fortnight or so." 

If there was one thing of which Poirot was tolerably certain, it was that to a temperament such as Mirelle's the mere word "wait" was anathema. 

"Eh bien, I will speak, Messieurs," she cried. "I have been patient. I have held my hand. And for what? That I should be insulted! Yes, insulted! Ah! Does he think to treat Mirelle like that? To throw her off like an old glove. I tell you never has a man tired of me. Always it is I who tire of them." 

She paced up and down the room, her slender body trembling with rage. A small table impeded her free passage and she flung it from her into a corner, where it splintered against the wall. 

"That is what I will do to him," she cried, "and that!" 

Picking up a glass bowl filled with lilies she flung it into the grate, where it smashed into a hundred pieces. 

Knighton was looking at her with cold British disapproval. He felt embarrassed and ill at ease. Poirot, on the other hand, with twinkling eyes was thoroughly enjoying the scene. 

"Ah, it is magnificent!" he cried. "It can be seen - Madame has a temperament." 

"I am an artist," said Mirelle, "every artist has a temperament. I told Dereek to beware, and he would not listen." She whirled round on Poirot suddenly. "It is true, is it not, that he wants to marry that English miss?" 

Poirot coughed. 

"On m'a dit," he murmured, "that he adores her passionately." 

Mirelle came towards them. 

"He murdered his wife," she screamed. "There - now you have it! 

He told me beforehand that he meant to do it. He had got to an impasse - zut! he took the easiest way out." 

"You say that M. Kettering murdered his wife." 

"Yes, yes, yes. Have I not told you so?" 

"The police," murmured Poirot, "will need proof of that - er - statement." 

"I tell you I saw him come out of her compartment that night on the train." 

"When?" asked Poirot sharply. 

"Just before the train reached Lyons." 

"You will swear to that, Mademoiselle?" 

It was a different Poirot who spoke now, sharp and decisive. 

"Yes." 

There was a moment's silence. Mirelle was panting, and her eyes, half defiant, half frightened, went from the face of one man to the other. 

"This is a serious matter, Mademoiselle," said the detective. "You realize how serious?" 

"Certainly I do." 

"That is well," said Poirot. "Then you understand, Mademoiselle, that no time must be lost. You will, perhaps, accompany us immediately to the office of the Examining Magistrate." 

Mirelle was taken aback. She hesitated, but, as Poirot had foreseen, she had no loophole for escape. 

"Very well," she muttered. "I will fetch a coat." 

Left alone together, Poirot and Knighton exchanged glances. 

"It is necessary to act while - how do you say it? - the iron is hot," murmured Poirot. "She is temperamental; in an hour's time, maybe, she will repent, and she will wish to draw back. We must prevent that at all costs." 

Mirelle reappeared, wrapped in a sand-coloured velvet wrap trimmed with leopard skin. She looked not altogether unlike a leopardess, tawny and dangerous. Her eyes still flashed with anger and determination. 

They found M. Caux and the Examining Magistrate together. A few brief introductory words from Poirot, and Mademoiselle Mirelle was courteously entreated to tell her tale. This she did in much the same words as she had done to Knighton and Poirot, though with far more soberness of manner. 

"This is an extraordinary story, Mademoiselle," said M. Carrege slowly. He leant back in his chair, adjusted his pince-nez, and looked keenly and searchingly at the dancer through them. 

"You wish us to believe M. Kettering actually boasted of the crime to you beforehand?" 

"Yes, yes. She was too healthy, he said. If she were to die it must be an accident - he would arrange it all." 

"You are aware, Mademoiselle," said M. Carrege sternly, "that you are making yourself out to be an accessory before the fact?" 

"Me? But not the least in the world, Monsieur. Not for a moment did I take that statement seriously. Ah no, indeed! I know men, Monsieur; they say many wild things. It would be an odd state of affairs if one were to take all they said au pied de la lettre." 

The Examining Magistrate raised his eyebrows. 

"We are to take it, then, that you regarded M. Kettering's threats as mere idle words? May I ask, Mademoiselle, what made you throw up your engagements in London and come out to the Riviera?" 

Mirelle looked at him with melting black eyes. 

"I wished to be with the man I loved," she said simply. "Was it so unnatural?" 

Poirot interpolated a question gently. 

"Was it, then, at M. Kettering's wish that you accompanied him to Nice?" 

Mirelle seemed to find a little difficulty in answering this. She hesitated perceptibly before she spoke. When she did, it was with a haughty indifference of manner. 

"In such matters I please myself, Monsieur," she said. 

That the answer was not an answer at all was noted by all three men. They said nothing. 

"When were you first convinced that M. Kettering had murdered his wife?" 

"As I tell you, Monsieur, I saw M. Kettering come out of his wife's compartment just before the train drew into Lyons. There was a look on his face - ah! at the moment I could not understand it - a look haunted and terrible. I shall never forget it." 

Her voice rose shrilly, and she flung out her arms in an extravagant gesture. 

"Quite so," said M. Carrege. 

"Afterwards, when I found that Madame Kettering was dead when the train left Lyons, then - then I knew!" 

"And still - you did not go to the police, Mademoiselle," said the Commissary mildly. 

Mirelle glanced at him superbly; she was clearly enjoying herself in the role she was playing. 

"Shall I betray my lover?" she asked. "Ah no; do not ask a woman to do that." 

"Yet now -" hinted M. Caux. 

"Now it is different. He has betrayed me! Shall I suffer that in silence?" 

The Examining Magistrate checked her. 

"Quite so, quite so," he murmured soothingly. 

"And now, Mademoiselle, perhaps you will read over the statement of what you have told us, see that it is correct, and sign it." 

Mirelle wasted no time on the document. 

"Yes, yes," she said, "it is correct." She rose to her feet. "You require me no longer, Messieurs?" 

"At present, no, Mademoiselle." 

"And Dereek will be arrested?" 

"At once, Mademoiselle." 

Mirelle laughed cruelly and drew her fur draperies closer about her. 

"He should have thought of this before he insulted me," she cried. 

"There is one little matter -" Poirot coughed apologetically - "just a matter of detail." 

"Yes?" 

"What makes you think Madame Kettering was dead when the train left Lyons?" 

Mirelle stared. 

"But she was dead." 

"Was she?" 

"Yes, of course. I -" 

She came to an abrupt stop. Poirot was regarding her intently, and he saw the wary look that came into her eyes. 

"I have been told so. Everybody says so." 

"Oh," said Poirot, "I was not aware that the fact had been mentioned outside the Examining Magistrate's office." 

Mirelle appeared somewhat discomposed. 

"One hears those things," she said vaguely, "they get about. Somebody told me. I can't remember who it was." 

She moved to the door. M. Caux sprang forward to open it for her, and as he did so, Poirot's voice rose gently once more. 

"And the jewels? Pardon, Mademoiselle. Can you tell me anything about those?" 

"The jewels? What jewels?" 

"The rubies of Katherine the Great. Since you hear so much, you must have heard of them." 

"I know nothing about any jewels," said Mirelle sharply. 

She went out, closing the door behind her. M. Caux came back to his chair; the Examining Magistrate sighed. 

"What a fury!" he said, "but diablement chic. I wonder if she is telling the truth? I think so." 

"There is some truth in her story, certainly," said Poirot. "We have confirmation of it from Miss Grey. She was looking down the corridor a short time before the train reached Lyons and she saw M. Kettering go into his wife's compartment." 

"The case against him seems quite clear," said the Commissary, sighing, "it is a thousand pities," he murmured. 

"How do you mean?" asked Poirot. 

"It has been the ambition of my life to lay the Comte de la Roche by the heels. This time, ma foi, I thought we had got him. This other - it is not nearly so satisfactory." 

M. Carrege rubbed his nose. 

"If anything goes wrong," he observed cautiously, "it will be most awkward. M. Kettering is of the aristocracy. It will get into the newspapers. If we have made a mistake -" He shrugged his shoulders forebodingly. 

"The jewels now," said the Commissary, "what do you think he has done with them?" 

"He took them for a plant, of course," said M. Carrege, "they must have been a great inconvenience to him and very awkward to dispose of." 

Poirot smiled. 

"I have an idea of my own about the jewels. Tell me, Messieurs, what do you know of a man called the Marquis?" 

The Commissary leant forward excitedly. 

"The Marquis," he said, "the Marquis? Do you think he is mixed up in this affair, M. Poirot?" 

"I ask you what you know of him." 

The Commissary made an expressive grimace. 

"Not as much as we should like to," he observed ruefully. "He works behind the scenes, you understand. He has underlings who 

do his dirty work for him. But he is someone high up. That we are sure of. He does not come from the criminal classes." 

"A Frenchman?" 

"Yes. At least we believe so. But we are not sure. He has worked in France, in England, in America. There was a series of robberies in Switzerland last autumn which were laid at his door. By all accounts he is a grand seigneur, speaking French and English with equal perfection and his origin is a mystery." 

Poirot nodded and rose to take his departure. 

"Can you tell us nothing more, M. Poirot?" urged the Commissary. 

"At present, no," said Poirot, "but I may have news awaiting me at my hotel." 

M. Carrege looked uncomfortable. "If the Marquis is concerned in this -" he began, and then stopped. 

"It upsets our ideas," complained M. Caux. 

"It does not upset mine," said Poirot. "On the contrary, I think it agrees with them very well. Au revoir, Messieurs; if news of any importance comes to me I will communicate it to you 

immediately." 

He walked back to his hotel with a grave face. In his absence a telegram had come to him. Taking a paper-cutter from his pocket, he slit it open. It was a long telegram, and he read it over twice before slowly putting it in his pocket. Upstairs, George was awaiting his master. 

"I am fatigued, Georges, much fatigued. Will you order for me a small pot of chocolate?" 

The chocolate was duly ordered and brought, and George set it at the little table at his master's elbow. As he was preparing to retire, Poirot spoke: 

"I believe, Georges, that you have a good knowledge of the English aristocracy?" murmured Poirot. 

George smiled apologetically. 

"I think that I might say that I have, sir," he replied. 

"I suppose that it is your opinion, Georges, that criminals are invariably drawn from the lower orders." 

"Not always, sir. There was great trouble with one of the Duke of Devize's younger sons. He left Eton under a cloud, and after that he caused great anxiety on several occasions. The police would not accept the view that it was kleptomania. A very clever young gentleman, sir, but vicious through and through, if you take my meaning. His Grace shipped him to Australia, and I hear he was convicted out there under another name. Very odd, sir, but there it is. The young gentleman, I need hardly say, was not in want financially." 

Poirot nodded his head slowly. 

"Love of excitement," he murmured, "and a little kink in the brain somewhere. I wonder now -" 

He drew out the telegram from his pocket and read it again. 

"Then there was Lady Mary Fox's daughter," continued the valet in a mood of reminiscence. "Swindled trades-people something shocking, she did. Very worrying to the best families, if I may say so, and there are many other queer cases I could mention." 

"You have a wide experience, Georges," murmured Poirot. "I often wonder having lived so exclusively with titled families that you demean yourself by coming as a valet to me. I put it down to love of excitement on your part." 

"Not exactly, sir," said George. "I happened to see in Society Snippets that you had been received at Buckingham Palace. That was just when I was looking for a new situation. His Majesty, so it said, had been most gracious and friendly and thought very highly of your abilities." 

"Ah," said Poirot, "one always likes to know the reason for things." 

He remained in thought for a few moments and then said: 

"You rang up Mademoiselle Papopolous?" 

"Yes, sir; she and her father will be pleased to dine with you tonight." 

"Ah," said Poirot thoughtfully. He drank off his chocolate, set the cup and saucer neatly in the middle of the tray, and spoke gently, more to himself than to the valet. 

"The squirrel, my good Georges, collects nuts. He stores them up in the autumn so that they may be of advantage to him later. To make a success of humanity, Georges, we must profit by the lessons of those below us in the animal kingdom. I have always done so. I have been the cat, watching at the mouse hole. I have been the good dog following up the scent, and not taking my nose from the trail. And also, my good Georges, I have been the squirrel. I have stored away the little fact here, the little fact there. I go now to my store and I take out one particular nut, a nut that I stored away - let me see, seventeen years ago. You follow me, Georges?" 

"I should hardly have thought, sir," said George, "that nuts would have kept so long as that, though I know one can do wonders with preserving bottles." 

Poirot looked at him and smiled. 

第二十七章 同米蕾的谈话

    奈顿离开卡泰丽娜之后就找赫库勒·波洛去了。奈顿在赌场大厅里找到了他。波洛正在聚精会神地把最小的赌本往号码上放。当奈顿走到他身旁时，号码转到了三十三，波洛的赌本输掉了。

    “真倒霉！”奈顿说道。“您还打算玩下去吗？”

    波洛摇摇头。

    “请允许我耽误您几分钟，波洛先生。我想问您点事。”

    “我随时准备为您效劳。我们去散一会儿步，好吗？”

    他们走到院子里。过了好一阵子，奈顿深深叹了一口气，慢慢地说道：“我很喜欢利维埃拉这个地方。我第一次到这里来的时候是十二年前，是战争年代，人们把我送进了坦普林女士开的医院。从佛兰德战壕转到这里，真象是从地狱升到了天堂。”

    “这，是可以想象的。”波洛随声附和地说道。

    他们不声不响地走了几分钟。

    “您不是想问我一些事吗？”波洛终于说道。

    “是的。您听说米蕾这个人吗？是个舞女？”

    “是德里克·凯特林先生的女友，是吗？”

    “对，我说的就是她。这个女人给冯·阿尔丁先生写过一封信，要来拜访他。冯·阿尔丁先生委托我给她回一封信，说他不想见这位女士。今天早晨她亲自来到饭店，还是要见冯·阿尔丁先生，要同他谈话，说是有重要的事要谈。”

    “很有意思。”

    “冯·阿尔丁先生很生气。他让我不要对她客气，轰走了之。我没有按他的话去做。

我认为，这个女人可能有要事相告。我坚信冯·阿尔丁先生的作法是不得体的，我没有按他的嘱咐去做，并同这位女士谈了话。”

    “您做得完全正确。”

    “我当时对她说，冯·阿尔丁先生现在很忙，不能见她；如果有什么事想同他谈，请相信我，我完全可以转告给他。但是，我的话并没有打动她。她不声不响地离开了饭店。但是，给我的印象是，这位女士一定知道一些事。”

    “这很重要，”波洛坦然而坚定地说道。“您知道她住在哪儿吗？”

    “我知道。”奈顿说出了她住的饭店的名字。

    “好，”波洛说道，“我们立刻就去她那里。”

    “那么冯·阿尔丁先生呢？”秘书踌躇地问道。

    “冯·阿尔丁先生是个笨蛋。这种人，我压根儿就不相信他们。我对他们的态度是，似乎他们根本就不存在这个世界上。”

    奈顿象是不完全同意他的说法，可是波洛再也不提这事了。

    他们向舞女通报了姓名，接着就传出话来，说米蕾小姐请先生们进去。

    一进舞女的客厅，波洛就开了口。

    “小姐，”波洛深深作了一揖说道，“我们受冯·阿尔丁先生的委托前来的。”

    “是吗？为什么他自己不来？”

    “他的身体有点不适，您是知道的，他不大习惯这里的气候。不过无论是我，还是奈顿少校，他的秘书，都有权替他办事。或是您再等两个星期，待他痊愈了再谈。”

    波洛深深懂得，象米蕾这种脾气的女人，最怕的字眼儿就是“等待”。

    “好吧，我说。”她叫道。“我再也无法忍受了。我受到了污辱，是的，是污辱！让他知道，凶竟敢象抛掉一只破鞋似的把米蕾抛掉。到现在为止，还没有一个男人厌倦我呢！都是我厌倦男人！”

    她在屋里走来走去，真象关在笼子里的一头猛兽。她那苗条的身躯在颤抖。她猛地一脚把她前面的小桌子踢到墙边。“让这个小子看看老娘的厉害。”她叫道，“好吧！”她从玻璃花瓶里摘下一枝百合花，撕成了碎片，扔进壁炉里。

    奈顿以他那英国式的自负看着这一切，感到难以忍受。而波洛却相反，他津津有味地欣赏着这出表演。

    “啊，太好了。”他叫道，“由此可见，女士是很有个性的。”

    “我是一个艺术家。任何艺术家都有个性。我经常提醒德里克，让他当心点儿。可是他把我话当成了耳边风。是真的吗？他要同那个英国女人结婚？”

    波洛咳嗽了一声。

    “大家都说德里克死命地爱着他。”他小声说。

    米蕾这时贴近波洛的身边站在那里。

    “他把自己的老婆弄死了！”她声嘶力竭地叫道。“好了，现在一切都清楚了。在此之前，他就告诉我，说他要杀死他老婆。这回他可走进死胡同了，这就是他的下场！”

    “警察方面想得到关于这方面材料的证据。”波洛说道。

    “那天夜里，当他离开他老婆的包厢的时候，我看到了他。”

    “什么时间？”波洛敏锐地问道。

    “就是火车快到里昂的时候。”

    “您能对自己所说的话起誓吗，小姐？”

    “当然！”

    屋内一片寂静。米蕾呼呼地喘着气，她一会儿挑衅地看看这里，一会儿又胆怯地瞅瞅那里。

    “这是很严肃的事。”侦探说道，“您意识到这一点了吗？”

    “当然！”

    “嗯，”波洛说道，“那么我们就不用耽搁时间了。就请您陪我们到侦察官先生那里走一趟吧。”

    米蕾跳了起来。波洛发现她点些犹豫，她仿佛有点骑虎难下了。

    “她吧，我去拿我的大衣来。”

    “要趁热打铁。”当她走出门外时，波洛自言自语地说道。“这种女人是猜不透的，过一会儿她可能又变卦了。”

    米蕾出来了。她穿上一件沙土色的豹子皮大衣。她本人也真象是一头伺机而动、凶猛危险的豹子。她的双眼闪射着愤怒和狠毒的目光。

    他们在科的办公室里找到了侦察官。他彬彬有礼地请米蕾再重复一遍她的所见所闻。

    “真是一段不寻常的故事。”卡雷热一面透过夹鼻眼镜端详着舞女，一面慢腾腾地说道。“您是说，凯特林先生在这之前就有预谋？”

    “当然他是有预谋的。他说，他老婆太健康了，除非出一次事故她才会死。他已经做了必要的准备。”

    “您是否认识到，”卡雷热严肃地说，“您由于帮了杀人犯的忙也是有罪的？”

    “我有罪？毫无根据。我可没有把他的话认真对待啊。我了解男人，他们总是这样讲话。”

    侦察官皱起了眉头。

    “您把凯特林先生的威胁的话只看成随便谈天？请允许我问您，什么原因使您辞去了伦敦的职务而决定到利维埃拉来旅行？”

    “我想同我心爱的男人在一起。难道这有什么难以理解的地方吗？”

    波洛慎重地插话问道：

    “您是在凯特林先生的同意之下陪他到尼扎来的？”

    米蕾感到这个问题很棘手。深思了一会儿她自豪地说道：

    “在这种事情上我总是我行我素。”

    在座的三个男人都意识到了，她的回答并不是真切的，但谁都没有说话。

    “您是什么时候知道凯特林先生杀死了自己的妻子？”

    “正象我对你们说的那样，当火车快到里昂站的时候，我看到凯特林离开了他妻子的包厢。他当时张皇失措，神色紧张。他那可怕的面部表情，我还从来没有见过。”她的声音尖利得刺耳，还做了个非常伤感的手势。“这之后，当火车从里昂开动时，我发现凯特林女士死了，于是我就明白了一切。”

    “但是您没有去报告警察。”警察局长温和地责备道。

    舞女这时又在扮演她那经常演过的角色了。

    “难道我能出卖我心爱的人吗？”她问道。“不！您可不能要求一个女人这样做。”

    “可以这样做。”科插话道。

    “当然现在又另当别论了。他骗了我。难道我还要对这事保持沉默？”

    “我们懂了，我们懂了。”侦察官安抚地小声说道。“现在您可以做些友好的表示，把您的谈话记录看一遍，然后签上您的名。”

    米蕾连看都不看一眼，就在记录上签了名。她站了起来，“我的先生们，你们不再需要我了吧？”

    “暂时请便吧。”

    “德里克会被捕吗？”

    “立即逮捕。”

    米蕾一面大笑，一面把自己裹在大衣里。

    “他污辱我的时候就该想一想这种后果。”她叫道。

    “只是还有一个小问题……”波洛干咳了一声，似乎有点歉意似地说道，“是的，只是一个小问题。”

    “请说吧。”

    “当火车离开里昂的时候，您是怎么断定凯特林女士已经死了？”

    米蕾盯着他。

    “可是，她是死了啊。”

    “噢，她死了？”

    “当然，我……”

    她把话咽住了。波洛一直看着她，她的眼神里有种不安的成分，这一点没有逃过波洛的慧眼。

    “这是听说的。好象有谁对我说了一句。究竟是谁，我现在记不清了。”

    她走向房门。科站起来给她她开门，这时波洛的声音又响起来了，还是那样温和而平静。

    “可是宝石呢？请原谅，您能不能告诉我们一下关于宝石的情况？”

    “宝石？什么宝石？”

    “就是卡塔琳娜女皇的首饰，因为您的见闻很多，您能不能谈谈这方面的事。”

    “关于宝石的事，我一无所闻。”米蕾板着面孔说道。

    她离开警察局办公室，随手关上了门。侦察官叹出一口气。

    “是个泼妇！可又象鬼一样精。她说的是不是真话？我不是不愿意相信她。”

    “她讲的那段故事里有些是真的。”波洛说道。“格蕾女士证实了这一点。在火车快到里昂的时候，格蕾女士见到凯特林先生离开了妻子的包厢。”

    “构成他的犯罪的一切证据都是可信的，”警察局长低声说道，叹了一口气又说：“遗憾”。

    “为什么遗憾？”波洛问道。

    “把罗歇伯爵抓到手，是我一生的目标。这次我本来断定，我可把他抓到手了。”

    卡雷热捏了一下鼻子。

    “对，对，宝石，”警察局长说道。“伯爵怎样来解释那些宝石？”

    波洛微笑着。

    “关于宝石我有自己的想法。先生们，请告诉我，你们当中有人知道一个绰号叫做‘侯爵’的先生吗？”

    警察局长伸直了腰。

    “侯爵，”他说道，“是侯爵？您认为他也牵扯到这个案子里了吗？波洛先生？”

    “您了解他些什么？”

    警察局长做了个鬼脸。“知道得不多。他是在后台活动的，懂吗？其它人都给他干粗活。他是个真正的上层人物。一般的案件他是不会轻易插手的。”

    “法国人吗？”

    “是的，至少我们认为他是一个法国人。但是没有十分把握。他在法国、英国和美国都作过案。去年秋天在瑞士连续发生了几起重大的盗窃案，人们都猜测是他干的。肯定是个出身于大地主阶级的人物，法语和英语都说得很流利，但是，他到底生在哪个地方，来自哪个国家，现在还说不清楚。”

    波洛点了点头站起身来。

    “您不能再给我们多讲点吗？波洛先生？”局长要求道。

    “现在还不能。”波洛说，“不过，可能在我的旅馆里，我会得到进一步的情报。”

    看来卡雷热有点不快。“如果，侯爵也参与了这一案件……”他没有把话说完。

    “那么我们就得推翻有关此案的全部想法。”拉抱怨说道。

    “我的想法可不能推翻！”波洛说道。“再见，先生们。一旦有了新的情况，我马上会让你们知道。”

    他板着面孔回到了自己的旅馆。当他不在家的时候，来了一封电报。他看了两遍，然后把电报塞进衣袋里。楼上乔治正等待着主人的到来。

    “我累了，非常累，乔治。你是否能给我要一杯咖啡？”

    咖啡端上来了，放在波洛坐着的沙发旁边的茶几上。当仆人要离开的时候，波洛说道：

    “我相信，乔治，你对英国贵族阶层是很熟悉的。”

    乔治谄媚地一笑。

    “是的，我可以向先生讲一下。”

    “乔治，你说说，是不是所有的罪犯都出身于下层？”

    “不完全是，先生，比如，我想起一段关于德维斯公爵的一个儿子的故事，他总是给家里带来麻烦，可是警察绝对不相信他是个盗窃狂。”

    波洛点点头。“是一种喜欢闹事的怪癖，或是一种小小的疯狂。”

    他把电报从衣袋里掏出来，又看了第三遍。

    “另外还有关于玛丽·福克斯太太的女儿的那件事，”仆人接着说下去。“她可把她的那些供货者骗得团团转，这件事说来话长。但是说出来，对有关的家庭总是不好。

我能讲出很多这样的案件来。”

    “你是个很有经验的人，乔治。”波洛低声说道。“使我感到惊奇的是，你在大家庭里生活过那么久，但是你并没有保持你那高贵的官职，而到我这里当仆人。你也可能有一种好事的怪癖吧？”

    “先生，可不能这么说。”乔治小声说。“有一次我在一张宫廷的报纸上读到一条消息，说是您被国王陛下召见过，国王对您非常热诚，并夸奖您有着非凡的才能。”

    “噢，原来如此。”波洛说道。“对一切事情能寻根究底，这是很好的事。”

    他想了一下然后又问：

    “你给帕波波鲁斯小姐打过电话吗？”

    “当然，先生。帕波波鲁斯先生和小姐很高兴，今天晚上应邀同您一起吃晚饭。”

    “嗯，”他深思地嗯了一声，呷了一口咖啡，习惯地把杯子放在茶几中间，温和而疑惑地说道，与其是说给仆人听，还不如说是给自己听。

    “你知道松鼠怎样收集核桃吗？乔治。它们总是在秋天把核桃贮藏起来，以便往后吃。如果是人，他想收集点什么，那么乔治，用不着考虑自己的官职高低，只要想一想动物的习性就可以了。我总是这样干的。我是老鼠洞前的一只猫，我是低着头跟踪不舍的一只狗，我也是一只松鼠。我一会儿到这里来收集一点材料，一会儿又到那里去收集点情况。我现在要到我的仓库中找出一只核桃来，一只核桃，请等一下，乔治，它是我十七年前收藏的。你是在听我说话吗，乔治？”

    “我不太相信，先生，”乔治说道，“核桃怎么会保存那么多年。但是毕竟是这样，在今天的技术条件下……”

    波洛瞅瞅他，温和地微笑着。