Three

THE ADVENTURE OF THE CHEAP FLAT

So far, in the cases which I have recorded, Poirot’s investigations² have started from the centralfact, whether murder or robbery, and have proceeded from thence by a process of logicaldeduction to the final triumphant³ unravelling⁴. In the events I am now about to chronicle aremarkable chain of circumstances led from the apparently⁶ trivial incidents which first attractedPoirot’s attention to the sinister⁷ happenings which completed a most unusual case.

I had been spending the evening with an old friend of mine, Gerald Parker. There had been,perhaps, about half a dozen people there besides my host and myself, and the talk fell, as it wasbound to do sooner or later wherever Parker found himself, on the subject of house-hunting inLondon. Houses and flats were Parker’s special hobby. Since the end of the War, he had occupiedat least half a dozen different flats and maisonettes. No sooner was he settled anywhere than hewould light unexpectedly upon a new find, and would forthwith depart bag and baggage. Hismoves were nearly always accomplished⁸ at a slight pecuniary⁹ gain, for he had a shrewd businesshead, but it was sheer love of the sport that actuated him, and not a desire to make money at it. Welistened to Parker for some time with the respect of the novice¹⁰ for the expert. Then it was our turn,and a perfect babel of tongues was let loose. Finally the floor was left to Mrs.?Robinson, acharming little bride who was there with her husband. I had never met them before, as Robinsonwas only a recent acquaintance of Parker’s.

“Talking of flats,” she said, “have you heard of our piece of luck, Mr.?Parker? We’ve got aflat—at last! In Montagu Mansions¹¹.”

“Well,” said Parker, “I’ve always said there are plenty of flats—at a price!”

“Yes, but this isn’t at a price. It’s dirt cheap. Eighty pounds a year!”

“But—but Montagu Mansions is just off Knightsbridge, isn’t it? Big handsome building. Orare you talking of a poor relation of the same name stuck in the slums somewhere?”

“No, it’s the Knightsbridge one. That’s what makes it so wonderful.”

“Wonderful is the word! It’s a blinking miracle. But there must be a catch somewhere. Bigpremium, I suppose?”

“No premium¹²!”

“No prem—oh, hold my head, somebody!” groaned¹³ Parker.

“But we’ve got to buy the furniture,” continued Mrs.?Robinson.

“Ah!” Parker bristled¹⁴ up. “I knew there was a catch!”

“For fifty pounds. And it’s beautifully furnished!”

“I give it up,” said Parker. “The present occupants must be lunatics with a taste forphilanthropy.”

Mrs.?Robinson was looking a little troubled. A little pucker¹⁵ appeared between her daintybrows.

“It is queer, isn’t it? You don’t think that—that—the place is haunted?”

“Never heard of a haunted flat,” declared Parker decisively.

“No-o.” Mrs.?Robinson appeared far from convinced. “But there were several things about itall that struck me as—well, queer.”

“For instance—” I suggested.

“Ah,” said Parker, “our criminal expert’s attention is aroused! Unburden yourself to him,Mrs.?Robinson. Hastings is a great unraveller of mysteries.”

I laughed, embarrassed, but not wholly displeased¹⁶ with the r?le thrust upon me.

“Oh, not really queer, Captain Hastings, but when we went to the agents, Stosser and Paul—we hadn’t tried them before because they only have the expensive Mayfair flats, but we thought atany rate it would do no harm—everything they offered us was four and five hundred a year, or elsehuge premiums¹⁷, and then, just as we were going, they mentioned that they had a flat at eighty, butthat they doubted if it would be any good our going there, because it had been on their books sometime and they had sent so many people to see it that it was almost sure to be taken—‘snapped up’

as the clerk put it—only people were so tiresome¹⁸ in not letting them know, and then they went onsending, and people get annoyed at being sent to a place that had, perhaps, been let some time.”

Mrs.?Robinson paused for some much needed breath, and then continued:

“We thanked him, and said that we quite understood it would probably be no good, but thatwe should like an order all the same—just in case. And we went there straight away in a taxi, for,after all, you never know. No 4 was on the second floor, and just as we were waiting for the lift,Elsie Ferguson—she’s a friend of mine, Captain Hastings, and they are looking for a flat too—came hurrying down the stairs. ‘Ahead of you for once, my dear,’ she said. ‘But it’s no good. It’salready let.’ That seemed to finish it, but—well, as John said, the place was very cheap, we couldafford to give more, and perhaps if we offered a premium. A horrid¹⁹ thing to do, of course, and Ifeel quite ashamed of telling you, but you know what flat-hunting is.”

I assured her that I was well aware that in the struggle for houseroom the baser side of humannature frequently triumphed over the higher, and that the well-known rule of dog eat dog alwaysapplied.

“So we went up and, would you believe it, the flat wasn’t let at all. We were shown over it bythe maid, and then we saw the mistress, and the thing was settled then and there. Immediatepossession and fifty pounds for the furniture. We signed the agreement next day, and we are tomove in tomorrow!” Mrs.?Robinson paused triumphantly²¹.

“And what about Mrs.?Ferguson?” asked Parker. “Let’s have your deductions²², Hastings.”

“ ‘Obvious, my dear Watson,’ ” I quoted lightly. “She went to the wrong flat.”

“Oh, Captain Hastings, how clever of you!” cried Mrs.?Robinson admiringly.

I rather wished Poirot had been there. Sometimes I have the feeling that he ratherunderestimates my capabilities²³.

II

The whole thing was rather amusing, and I propounded²⁴ the thing as a mock problem to Poirot onthe following morning. He seemed interested, and questioned me rather narrowly as to the rents offlats in various localities.

“A curious story,” he said thoughtfully. “Excuse me, Hastings, I must take a short stroll.”

When he returned, about an hour later, his eyes were gleaming with a peculiar²⁵ excitement. Helaid his stick on the table, and brushed the nap of his hat with his usual tender care before hespoke.

“It is as well, mon ami, that we have no affairs of moment on hand. We can devote ourselveswholly to the present investigation¹.”

“What investigation are you talking about?”

“The remarkable⁵ cheapness of your friend, Mrs.?Robinson’s, new flat.”

“Poirot, you are not serious!”

“I am most serious. Figure to yourself, my friend, that the real rent of those flats is ?350. Ihave just ascertained²⁷ that from the landlord’s agents. And yet this particular flat is being sublet²⁸ ateighty pounds! Why?”

“There must be something wrong with it. Perhaps it is haunted, as Mrs.?Robinson suggested.”

Poirot shook his head in a dissatisfied manner.

“Then again how curious it is that her friend tells her the flat is let, and, when she goes up,behold, it is not so at all!”

“But surely you agree with me that the other woman must have gone to the wrong flat. That isthe only possible solution.”

“You may or may not be right on that point, Hastings. The fact still remains²⁹ that numerousother applicants³⁰ were sent to see it, and yet, in spite of its remarkable cheapness, it was still in themarket when Mrs.?Robinson arrived.”

“That shows that there must be something wrong about it.”

“Mrs.?Robinson did not seem to notice anything amiss. Very curious, is it not? Did sheimpress you as being a truthful³¹ woman, Hastings?”

“She was a delightful³² creature!”

“Evidemment! since she renders you incapable³³ of replying to my question. Describe her tome, then.”

“Well, she’s tall and fair; her hair’s really a beautiful shade of auburn—”

“Always you have had a penchant³⁴ for auburn hair!” murmured Poirot. “But continue.”

“Blue eyes and a very nice complexion³⁵ and—well, that’s all, I think,” I concluded lamely³⁶.

“And her husband?”

“Oh, he’s quite a nice fellow—nothing startling.”

“Dark or fair?”

“I don’t know—betwixt and between, and just an ordinary sort of face.”

Poirot nodded.

“Yes, there are hundreds of these average men—and anyway, you bring more sympathy andappreciation to your description of women. Do you know anything about these people? DoesParker know them well?”

“They are just recent acquaintances, I believe. But surely, Poirot, you don’t think for aninstant—”

Poirot raised his hand.

“Tout doucement, mon ami. Have I said that I think anything? All I say is—it is a curiousstory. And there is nothing to throw light upon it; except perhaps the lady’s name, eh, Hastings?”

“Her name is Stella,” I said stiffly, “but I don’t see—”

Poirot interrupted me with a tremendous chuckle³⁷. Something seemed to be amusing himvastly.

“And Stella means a star, does it not? Famous!”

“What on earth—?”

“And stars give light! Voilà! Calm yourself, Hastings. Do not put on that air of injureddignity. Come, we will go to Montagu Mansions and make a few inquiries³⁸.”

I accompanied him, nothing loath³⁹. The Mansions were a handsome block of buildings inexcellent repair. A uniformed porter was sunning himself on the threshold, and it was to him thatPoirot addressed himself.

“Pardon, but would you tell me if a Mr.?and Mrs.?Robinson reside here?”

The porter was a man of few words and apparently of a sour or suspicious disposition⁴⁰. Hehardly looked at us and grunted⁴¹ out:

“No 4. Second floor.”

“I thank you. Can you tell me how long they have beenhere?”

“Six months.”

I started forward in amazement⁴³, conscious as I did so of Poirot’s malicious⁴⁴ grin.

“Impossible,” I cried. “You must be making a mistake.”

“Six months.”

“Are you sure? The lady I mean is tall and fair with reddish gold hair and—”

“That’s ’er,” said the porter. “Come in the Michaelmas quarter, they did. Just six monthsago.”

He appeared to lose interest in us and retreated slowly up the hall. I followed Poirot outside.

“Eh bien, Hastings?” my friend demanded slyly. “Are you so sure now that delightful womenalways speak the truth?”

I did not reply.

Poirot had steered⁴⁵ his way into Brompton Road before I asked him what he was going to doand where we were going.

“To the house agents, Hastings. I have a great desire to have a flat in Montagu Mansions. If Iam not mistaken, several interesting things will take place there before long.”

We were fortunate in our quest. No 8, on the fourth floor, was to be let furnished at tenguineas a week, Poirot promptly⁴⁶ took it for a month. Outside in the street again, he silenced myprotests:

“But I make money nowadays! Why should I not indulge a whim⁴⁷? By the way, Hastings,have you a revolver?”

“Yes—somewhere,” I answered, slightly thrilled. “Do you think—”

“That you will need it? It is quite possible. The idea pleases you, I see. Always thespectacular and romantic appeals to you.”

The following day saw us installed in our temporary home. The flat was pleasantly furnished.

It occupied the same position in the building as that of the Robinsons, but was two floors higher.

The day after our installation was a Sunday. In the afternoon, Poirot left the front door ajar,and summoned me hastily as a bang reverberated⁴⁸ from somewhere below.

“Look over the banisters. Are those your friends? Do not let them see you.”

I craned my neck over the staircase.

“That’s them,” I declared in an ungrammatical whisper.

“Good. Wait awhile.”

About half an hour later, a young woman emerged in brilliant and varied⁴⁹ clothing. With asigh of satisfaction, Poirot tiptoed back into the flat.

“C’est ?a. After the master and mistress, the maid. The flat should now be empty.”

“What are we going to do?” I asked uneasily.

Poirot had trotted⁵⁰ briskly into the scullery and was hauling at the rope of the coal lift.

“We are about to descend⁵¹ after the method of the dustbins,” he explained cheerfully. “No onewill observe us. The Sunday concert, the Sunday ‘afternoon out,’ and finally the Sunday nap afterthe Sunday dinner of England—le rosbif—all these will distract attention from the doings ofHercule Poirot. Come, my friend.”

He stepped into the rough wooden contrivance and I followed him gingerly.

“Are we going to break into the flat?” I asked dubiously⁵².

Poirot’s answer was not too reassuring⁵³:

“Not precisely⁵⁴ today,” he replied.

Pulling on the rope, we descended⁵⁵ slowly till we reached the second floor. Poirot uttered anexclamation of satisfaction as he perceived that the wooden door into the scullery was open.

“You observe? Never do they bolt these doors in the daytime. And yet anyone could mountor descend as we have done. At night, yes—though not always then—and it is against that that weare going to make provision.”

He had drawn⁵⁶ some tools from his pocket as he spoke²⁶, and at once set deftly⁵⁷ to work, hisobject being to arrange the bolt so that it could be pulled back from the lift. The operation onlyoccupied about three minutes. Then Poirot returned the tools to his pocket, and we reascendedonce more to our own domain⁵⁸.

III

On Monday Poirot was out all day, but when he returned in the evening he flung himself into hischair with a sigh of satisfaction.

“Hastings, shall I recount to you a little history? A story after your own heart and which willremind you of your favourite cinema?”

“Go ahead,” I laughed. “I presume that it is a true story, not one of your efforts of fancy.”

“It is true enough. Inspector⁵⁹ Japp of Scotland Yard will vouch⁶⁰ for its accuracy, since it wasthrough his kind offices that it came to my ears. Listen, Hastings. A little over six months agosome important Naval⁶¹ plans were stolen from an American Government department. They showedthe position of some of the most important Harbour defences, and would be worth a considerablesum to any foreign Government—that of Japan, for example. Suspicion fell upon a young mannamed Luigi Valdarno, an Italian by birth, who was employed in a minor⁶² capacity in theDepartment and who was missing at the same time as the papers. Whether Luigi Valdarno was thethief or not, he was found two days later on the East Side in New York, shot dead. The paperswere not on him. Now for some time past Luigi Valdarno had been going about with a Miss?ElsaHardt, a young concert singer who had recently appeared and who lived with a brother in anapartment in Washington. Nothing was known of the antecedents of Miss?Elsa Hardt, and shedisappeared suddenly about the time of Valdarno’s death. There are reasons for believing that shewas in reality an accomplished international spy who has done much nefarious⁶³ work under variousaliases. The American Secret Service, while doing their best to trace her, also kept an eye uponcertain insignificant⁶⁴ Japanese gentlemen living in Washington. They felt pretty certain that, whenElsa Hardt had covered her tracks sufficiently⁶⁵, she would approach the gentlemen in question. Oneof them left suddenly for England a fortnight ago. On the face of it, therefore, it would seem thatElsa Hardt is in England.” Poirot paused, and then added softly: “The official description of ElsaHardt is: Height 5 ft 7, eyes blue, hair auburn, fair complexion, nose straight, no specialdistinguishing marks.”

“Mrs.?Robinson!” I gasped⁶⁶.

“Well, there is a chance of it, anyhow,” amended⁶⁷ Poirot. “Also I learn that a swarthy man, aforeigner of some kind, was inquiring about the occupants of No 4 only this morning. Therefore,mon ami, I fear that you must forswear your beauty sleep tonight, and join me in my all-night vigilin that flat below—armed with that excellent revolver of yours, bien entendu!?”

“Rather,” I cried with enthusiasm. “When shall we start?”

“The hour of midnight is both solemn and suitable, I fancy. Nothing is likely to occur beforethen.”

At twelve o’clock precisely, we crept cautiously into the coal lift and lowered ourselves to thesecond floor. Under Poirot’s manipulation, the wooden door quickly swung inwards, and weclimbed into the flat. From the scullery we passed into the kitchen where we established ourselvescomfortably in two chairs with the door into the hall ajar.

“Now we have but to wait,” said Poirot contentedly⁶⁸, closing his eyes.

To me, the waiting appeared endless. I was terrified of going to sleep. Just when it seemed tome that I had been there about eight hours—and had, as I found out afterwards, in reality beenexactly one hour and twenty minutes—a faint scratching sound came to my ears. Poirot’s handtouched mine. I rose, and together we moved carefully in the direction of the hall. The noise camefrom there. Poirot placed his lips to my ear.

“Outside the front door. They are cutting out the lock. When I give the word, not before, fallupon him from behind and hold him fast. Be careful, he will have a knife.”

Presently there was a rending⁶⁹ sound, and a little circle of light appeared through the door. Itwas extinguished immediately and then the door was slowly opened. Poirot and I flattenedourselves against the wall. I heard a man’s breathing as he passed us. Then he flashed on his torch,and as he did so, Poirot hissed⁷⁰ in

my ear:

“Allez.”

We sprang together, Poirot with a quick movement enveloped⁷¹ the intruder’s head with a lightwoollen scarf whilst I pinioned⁷² his arms. The whole affair was quick and noiseless. I twisted adagger from his hand, and as Poirot brought down the scarf from his eyes, whilst keeping it woundtightly round his mouth, I jerked up my revolver where he could see it and understand thatresistance was useless. As he ceased to struggle Poirot put his mouth close to his ear and began towhisper rapidly. After a minute the man nodded. Then enjoining⁷³ silence with a movement of thehand, Poirot led the way out of the flat and down the stairs. Our captive followed, and I brought upthe rear with the revolver. When we were out in the street, Poirot turned to me.

“There is a taxi waiting just round the corner. Give me the revolver. We shall not need itnow.”

“But if this fellow tries to escape?”

Poirot smiled.

“He will not.”

I returned in a minute with the waiting taxi. The scarf had been unwound from the stranger’sface, and I gave a start of surprise.

“He’s not a Jap,” I ejaculated in a whisper to Poirot.

“Observation was always your strong point, Hastings! Nothing escapes you. No, the man isnot a Jap. He is an Italian.”

We got into the taxi, and Poirot gave the driver an address in St.?John’s Wood. I was by nowcompletely fogged. I did not like to ask Poirot where we were going in front of our captive, andstrove in vain to obtain some light upon the proceedings⁷⁴.

We alighted at the door of a small house standing⁷⁵ back from the road. A returning wayfarer,slightly drunk, was lurching along the pavement and almost collided with Poirot, who saidsomething sharply to him which I did not catch. All three of us went up the steps of the house.

Poirot rang the bell and motioned us to stand a little aside. There was no answer and he rang againand then seized the knocker which he plied²⁰ for some minutes vigorously.

A light appeared suddenly above the fanlight, and the door opened cautiously a little way.

“What the devil do you want?” a man’s voice demanded harshly.

“I want the doctor. My wife is taken ill.”

“There’s no doctor here.”

The man prepared to shut the door, but Poirot thrust his foot in adroitly⁷⁶. He became suddenlya perfect caricature of an infuriated Frenchman.

“What you say, there is no doctor? I will have the law of you. You must come! I will stayhere and ring and knock all night.”

“My dear sir—” The door was opened again, the man, clad in a dressing⁷⁷ gown and slippers⁷⁸,stepped forward to pacify⁷⁹ Poirot with an uneasy glance round.

“I will call the police.”

Poirot prepared to descend the steps.

“No, don’t do that for Heaven’s sake!” The man dashed after?him.

With a neat push Poirot sent him staggering down the steps. In another minute all three of uswere inside the door and it was pushed to and bolted.

“Quick—in here.” Poirot led the way into the nearest room, switching on the light as he didso. “And you—behind the curtain.”

“Si, Signor,” said the Italian and slid rapidly behind the full folds of rose-coloured velvetwhich draped the embrasure of the window.

Not a minute too soon. Just as he disappeared from view a woman rushed into the room. Shewas tall with reddish hair and held a scarlet⁸¹ kimono round her slender form.

“Where is my husband?” she cried, with a quick frightened glance. “Who are you?”

Poirot stepped forward with a bow.

“It is to be hoped your husband will not suffer from a chill. I observed that he had slippers onhis feet, and that his dressing gown was a warm one.”

“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

“It is true that none of us have the pleasure of your acquaintance, madame. It is especially tobe regretted as one of our number has come specially⁸² from New York in order to meet you.”

The curtains parted and the Italian stepped out. To my horror I observed that he wasbrandishing my revolver, which Poirot must doubtless have put down through inadvertence in thecab.

The woman gave a piercing scream and turned to fly, but Poirot was standing in front of theclosed door.

“Let me by,” she shrieked⁸⁴. “He will murder me.”

“Who was it dat croaked⁸⁵ Luigi Valdarno?” asked the Italian hoarsely⁸⁶, brandishing⁸³ theweapon, and sweeping⁸⁷ each one of us with it. We dared not move.

“My God, Poirot, this is awful. What shall we do?” I cried.

“You will oblige me by refraining from talking so much, Hastings. I can assure you that ourfriend will not shoot until I give the word.”

“Youse sure o’ dat, eh?” said the Italian, leering unpleasantly.

It was more than I was, but the woman turned to Poirot like a flash.

“What is it you want?”

Poirot bowed.

“I do not think it is necessary to insult Miss?Elsa Hardt’s intelligence by telling her.”

With a swift movement, the woman snatched up a big black velvet⁸⁰ cat which served as acover for the telephone.

“They are stitched in the lining⁸⁸ of that.”

“Clever,” murmured Poirot appreciatively. He stood aside from the door. “Good evening,madame. I will detain your friend from New York whilst you make your getaway.”

“Whatta fool!” roared the big Italian, and raising the revolver he fired point-blank at thewoman’s retreating figure just as I flung myself upon him.

But the weapon merely clicked harmlessly and Poirot’s voice rose in mild reproof⁹⁰.

“Never will you trust your old friend, Hastings. I do not care for my friends to carry loadedpistols about with them and never would I permit a mere⁸⁹ acquaintance to do so. No, no, mon ami.”

This to the Italian who was swearing hoarsely. Poirot continued to address him in a tone of mildreproof: “See now, what I have done for you. I have saved you from being hanged. And do notthink that our beautiful lady will escape. No, no, the house is watched, back and front. Straightinto the arms of the police they will go. Is not that a beautiful and consoling thought? Yes, youmay leave the room now. But be careful—be very careful. I—Ah, he is gone! And my friendHastings looks at me with eyes of reproach. But it’s all so simple! It was clear, from the first, thatout of several hundred, probably, applicants for No 4 Montagu Mansions, only the Robinsonswere considered suitable. Why? What was there that singled them out from the rest—at practicallya glance. Their appearance? Possibly, but it was not so unusual. Their name, then!”

“But there’s nothing unusual about the name of Robinson,” I cried. “It’s quite a commonname.”

“Ah! Sapristi, but exactly! That was the point. Elsa Hardt and her husband, or brother orwhatever he really is, come from New York, and take a flat in the name of Mr.?and Mrs.?Robinson.

Suddenly they learn that one of these secret societies, the Mafia, or the Camorra, to whichdoubtless Luigi Valdarno belonged, is on their track. What do they do? They hit on a scheme oftransparent simplicity⁹¹. Evidently they knew that their pursuers were not personally acquaintedwith either of them. What, then, can be simpler? They offer the flat at an absurdly low rental⁹². Ofthe thousands of young couples in London looking for flats, there cannot fail to be severalRobinsons. It is only a matter of waiting. If you will look at the name of Robinson in the telephonedirectory, you will realize that a fair-haired Mrs.?Robinson was pretty sure to come along sooneror later. Then what will happen? The avenger⁹³ arrives. He knows the name, he knows the address.

He strikes! All is over, vengeance⁹⁴ is satisfied, and Miss?Elsa Hardt has escaped by the skin of herteeth once more. By the way, Hastings, you must present me to the real Mrs.?Robinson—thatdelightful and truthful creature! What will they think when they find their flat has been brokeninto! We must hurry back. Ah, that sounds like Japp and his friendsarriving.”

A mighty⁹⁵ tattoo⁹⁶ sounded on the knocker.

“How do you know this address?” I asked as I followed Poirot out into the hall. “Oh, ofcourse, you had the first Mrs.?Robinson followed when she left the other flat.”

“A la bonne heure, Hastings. You use your grey cells at last. Now for a little surprise forJapp.”

Softly unbolting the door, he stuck the cat’s head round the edge and ejaculated a piercing“Miaow.”

The Scotland Yard inspector, who was standing outside with another man, jumped in spite ofhimself.

“Oh, it’s only Monsieur Poirot at one of his little jokes!” he exclaimed, as Poirot’s headfollowed that of the cat. “Let us in, moosior.”

“You have our friends safe and sound?”

“Yes, we’ve got the birds all right. But they hadn’t got the goods with them.”

“I see. So you come to search. Well, I am about to depart with Hastings, but I should like togive you a little lecture upon the history and habits of the domestic cat.”

“For the Lord’s sake, have you gone completely balmy?”

“The cat,” declaimed Poirot, “was worshipped by the ancient Egyptians. It is still regarded asa symbol of good luck if a black cat crosses your path. This cat crossed your path tonight, Japp. Tospeak of the interior of any animal or any person is not. I know, considered polite in England. Butthe interior of this cat is perfectly⁹⁷ delicate. I refer to the lining.”

With a sudden grunt⁴², the second man seized the cat from Poirot’s hand.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce you,” said Japp. “Mr.?Poirot, this is Mr.?Burt of the United StatesSecret Service.”

The American’s trained fingers had felt what he was looking for. He held out his hand, andfor a moment speech failed him. Then he rose to the occasion.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Mr.?Burt.

 

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