Nine

THE DISAPPEARANCE¹ OF MR.?DAVENHEIM

Poirot and I were expecting our old friend Inspector² Japp of Scotland Yard to tea. We were sittinground the tea-table awaiting his arrival. Poirot had just finished carefully straightening the cupsand saucers which our landlady³ was in the habit of throwing, rather than placing, on the table. Hehad also breathed heavily on the metal teapot, and polished it with a silk handkerchief. The kettlewas on the boil, and a small enamel⁴ saucepan beside it contained some thick, sweet chocolatewhich was more to Poirot’s palate than what he described as “your English poison.”

A sharp “rat-tat” sounded below, and a few minutes afterwards Japp entered briskly.

“Hope I’m not late,” he said as he greeted us. “To tell the truth, I was yarning⁶ with Miller⁷, theman who’s in charge of the Davenheim case.”

I pricked⁸ up my ears. For the last three days the papers had been full of the strangedisappearance of Mr.?Davenheim, senior partner of Davenheim and Salmon⁹, the well- knownbankers and financiers. On Saturday last he had walked out of his house, and had never been seensince. I looked forward to extracting some interesting details from Japp.

“I should have thought,” I remarked, “that it would be almost impossible for anyone to‘disappear’ nowadays.”

Poirot moved a plate of bread and butter the eighth of an inch, and said sharply:

“Be exact, my friend. What do you mean by ‘disappear?’ To which class of disappearance areyou referring?”

“Are disappearances¹⁰ classified and labelled, then?” I laughed.

Japp smiled also. Poirot frowned at both of us.

“But certainly they are! They fall into three categories: First, and most common, thevoluntary disappearance. Second, the much abused ‘loss of memory’ case—rare, but occasionallygenuine. Third, murder, and a more or less successful disposal of the body. Do you refer to allthree as impossible of execution?”

“Very nearly so, I should think. You might lose your own memory, but someone would besure to recognize you—especially in the case of a well-known man like Davenheim. Then ‘bodies’

can’t be made to vanish into thin air. Sooner or later they turn up, concealed¹¹ in lonely places, or intrunks. Murder will out. In the same way, the absconding¹² clerk, or the domestic defaulter, is boundto be run down in these days of wireless¹³ telegraphy. He can be headed off from foreign countries;ports and railway stations are watched; and as for concealment¹⁴ in this country, his features andappearance will be known to everyone who reads a daily newspaper. He’s up against civilization.”

“Mon ami,” said Poirot, “you make one error. You do not allow for the fact that a man whohad decided¹⁵ to make away with another man—or with himself in a figurative sense—might be thatrare machine, a man of method. He might bring intelligence, talent, a careful calculation of detailto the task; and then I do not see why he should not be successful in baffling the police force.”

“But not you, I suppose?” said Japp good-humouredly, winking¹⁶ at me. “He couldn’t baffleyou, eh, Monsieur Poirot?”

Poirot endeavoured, with a marked lack of success, to look modest. “Me also! Why not? It istrue that I approach such problems with an exact science, a mathematical precision, which seems,alas, only too rare in the new generation of detectives!”

Japp grinned more widely.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Miller, the man who’s on this case, is a smart chap. You may bevery sure he won’t overlook a footprint, or a cigar ash, or a crumb¹⁷ even. He’s got eyes that seeeverything.”

“So, mon ami,” said Poirot, “has the London sparrow. But all the same, I should not ask thelittle brown bird to solve the problem of Mr.?Davenheim.”

“Come now, monsieur, you’re not going to run down the value of details as clues?”

“By no means. These things are all good in their way. The danger is they may assume undueimportance. Most details are insignificant¹⁸; one or two are vital. It is the brain, the little greycells”—he tapped his forehead—“on which one must rely. The senses mislead. One must seek thetruth within—not without.”

“You don’t mean to say, Monsieur Poirot, that you would undertake to solve a case withoutmoving from your chair, do you?”

“That is exactly what I do mean—granted the facts were placed before me. I regard myself asa consulting specialist.”

Japp slapped his knee. “Hanged if I don’t take you at your word. Bet you a fiver that youcan’t lay your hand—or rather tell me where to lay my hand—on Mr.?Davenheim, dead or alive,before a week is out.”

Poirot considered. “Eh bien, mon ami, I accept. Le sport, it is the passion of you English.

Now—the facts.”

“On Saturday last, as is his usual custom, Mr.?Davenheim took the 12:40 train from Victoriato Chingside, where his palatial¹⁹ country seat, The Cedars²⁰, is situated²¹. After lunch, he strolledround the grounds, and gave various directions to the gardeners. Everybody agrees that his mannerwas absolutely normal and as usual. After tea he put his head into his wife’s boudoir, saying thathe was going to stroll down to the village and post some letters. He added that he was expecting aMr.?Lowen, on business. If he should come before he himself returned, he was to be shown intothe study and asked to wait. Mr.?Davenheim then left the house by the front door, passed leisurelydown the drive, and out at the gate, and—was never seen again. From that hour, he vanishedcompletely.”

“Pretty—very pretty—altogether a charming little problem,” murmured Poirot. “Proceed, mygood friend.”

“About a quarter of an hour later a tall, dark man with a thick black moustache rang the frontdoorbell, and explained that he had an appointment with Mr.?Davenheim. He gave the name ofLowen, and in accordance with the banker’s instructions was shown into the study. Nearly an hourpassed. Mr.?Davenheim did not return. Finally Mr.?Lowen rang the bell, and explained that he wasunable to wait any longer, as he must catch his train back to town.

Mrs.?Davenheim apologized for her husband’s absence, which seemed unaccountable, as sheknew him to have been expecting the visitor. Mr.?Lowen reiterated²² his regrets and took hisdeparture.

“Well, as everyone knows, Mr.?Davenheim did not return. Early on Sunday morning thepolice were communicated with, but could make neither head nor tail of the matter.

Mr.?Davenheim seemed literally²³ to have vanished into thin air. He had not been to the post office;nor had he been seen passing through the village. At the station they were positive he had notdeparted by any train. His own motor had not left the garage. If he had hired a car to meet him insome lonely spot, it seems almost certain that by this time, in view of the large reward offered forinformation, the driver of it would have come forward to tell what he knew. True, there was asmall race meeting at Entfield, five miles away, and if he had walked to that station he might havepassed unnoticed in the crowd. But since then his photograph and a full description of him havebeen circulated in every newspaper, and nobody has been able to give any news of him. We have,of course, received many letters from all over England, but each clue, so far, has ended indisappointment.

“On Monday morning a further sensational²⁴ discovery came to light. Behind a portière inMr.?Davenheim’s study stands a safe, and that safe had been broken into and rifled. The windowswere fastened securely on the inside, which seems to put an ordinary burglary out of court, unless,of course, an accomplice²⁵ within the house fastened them again afterwards. On the other hand,Sunday having intervened, and the household being in a state of chaos²⁶, it is likely that the burglarywas committed on the Saturday, and remained undetected until Monday.”

“Précisément,” said Poirot dryly. “Well, is he arrested, ce pauvre M. Lowen?”

Japp grinned. “Not yet. But he’s under pretty close supervision²⁷.”

Poirot nodded. “What was taken from the safe? Have you any idea?”

“We’ve been going into that with the junior partner of the firm and Mrs.?Davenheim.

Apparently²⁸ there was a considerable amount in bearer bonds, and a very large sum in notes, owingto some large transaction having been just carried through. There was also a small fortune injewellery. All Mrs.?Davenheim’s jewels were kept in the safe. The purchasing of them had becomea passion with her husband of late years, and hardly a month passed that he did not make her apresent of some rare and costly²⁹ gem³⁰.”

“Altogether a good haul,” said Poirot thoughtfully. “Now, what about Lowen? Is it knownwhat his business was with Davenheim that evening?”

“Well, the two men were apparently not on very good terms. Lowen is a speculator in quite asmall way. Nevertheless, he has been able once or twice to score a coup³¹ off Davenheim in themarket, though it seems they seldom or never actually met. It was a matter concerning some SouthAmerican shares which led the banker to make his appointment.”

“Had Davenheim interests in South America, then?”

“I believe so. Mrs.?Davenheim happened to mention that he spent all last autumn in BuenosAires.”

“Any trouble in his home life? Were the husband and wife on good terms?”

“I should say his domestic life was quite peaceful and uneventful. Mrs.?Davenheim is apleasant, rather unintelligent woman. Quite a nonentity³², I think.”

“Then we must not look for the solution of the mystery there. Had he any enemies?”

“He had plenty of financial rivals, and no doubt there are many people whom he has got thebetter of who bear him no particular goodwill³³. But there was no one likely to make away with him—and, if they had, where is the body?”

“Exactly. As Hastings says, bodies have a habit of coming to light with fatal persistency³⁴.”

“By the way, one of the gardeners says he saw a figure going round to the side of the housetowards the rose garden. The long french window of the study opens on to the rose garden, andMr.?Davenheim frequently entered and left the house that way. But the man was a good way off, atwork on some cucumber frames, and cannot even say whether it was the figure of his master ornot. Also, he cannot fix the time with any accuracy. It must have been before six, as the gardenerscease work at that time.”

“And Mr.?Davenheim left the house?”

“About half past five or thereabouts.”

“What lies beyond the rose garden?”

“A lake.”

“With a boathouse?”

“Yes, a couple of punts are kept there. I suppose you’re thinking of suicide, Monsieur Poirot?

Well, I don’t mind telling you that Miller’s going down tomorrow expressly to see that piece ofwater dragged. That’s the kind of man he is!”

Poirot smiled faintly, and turned to me. “Hastings, I pray you, hand me that copy of DailyMegaphone. If I remember rightly, there is an unusually clear photograph there of the missingman.”

I rose, and found the sheet required. Poirot studied the features attentively³⁵.

“H’m!” he murmured. “Wears his hair rather long and wavy³⁶, full moustache and pointedbeard, bushy eyebrows³⁷. Eyes dark?”

“Yes.”

“Hair and beard turning grey?”

The detective nodded. “Well, Monsieur Poirot, what have you got to say to it all? Clear asdaylight, eh?”

“On the contrary, most obscure.”

The Scotland Yard man looked pleased.

“Which gives me great hopes of solving it,” finished Poirot placidly³⁸.

“Eh?”

“I find it a good sign when a case is obscure. If a thing is clear as daylight—eh bien, mistrustit! Someone has made it so.”

Japp shook his head almost pityingly. “Well, each to their fancy. But it’s not a bad thing tosee your way clear ahead.”

“I do not see,” murmured Poirot. “I shut my eyes—and think.”

Japp sighed. “Well, you’ve got a clear week to think in.”

“And you will bring me any fresh developments that arise—the result of the labours of thehardworking and lynx-eyed Inspector Miller, for instance?”

“Certainly. That’s in the bargain.”

“Seems a shame, doesn’t it?” said Japp to me as I accompanied him to the door. “Likerobbing a child!”

I could not help agreeing with a smile. I was still smiling as I reentered the room.

“Eh bien!” said Poirot immediately. “You make fun of Papa Poirot, is it not so?” He shookhis finger at me. “You do not trust his grey cells? Ah, do not be confused! Let us discuss this littleproblem—incomplete as yet, I admit, but already showing one or two points of interest.”

“The lake!” I said significantly.

“And even more than the lake, the boathouse!”

I looked sidewise at Poirot. He was smiling in his most inscrutable fashion. I felt that, for themoment, it would be quite useless to question him further.

We heard nothing of Japp until the following evening, when he walked in about nine o’clock.

I saw at once by his expression that he was bursting with news of some kind.

“Eh bien, my friend,” remarked Poirot. “All goes well? But do not tell me that you havediscovered the body of Mr.?Davenheim in your lake, because I shall not believe you.”

“We haven³⁹’t found the body, but we did find his clothes—the identical clothes he waswearing that day. What do you say to that?”

“Any other clothes missing from the house?”

“No, his valet was quite positive on that point. The rest of his wardrobe is intact. There’smore. We’ve arrested Lowen. One of the maids, whose business it is to fasten the bedroomwindows, declares that she saw Lowen coming towards the study through the rose garden about aquarter past six. That would be about ten minutes before he left the house.”

“What does he himself say to that?”

“Denied first of all that he had ever left the study. But the maid was positive, and hepretended afterwards that he had forgotten just stepping out of the window to examine an unusualspecies of rose. Rather a weak story! And there’s fresh evidence against him come to light.

Mr.?Davenheim always wore a thick gold ring set with a solitaire diamond on the little finger ofhis right hand. Well, that ring was pawned⁴¹ in London on Saturday night by a man called BillyKellett! He’s already known to the police — did three months last autumn for lifting an oldgentleman’s watch. It seems he tried to pawn⁴⁰ the ring at no less than five different places,succeeded at the last one, got gloriously drunk on the proceeds, assaulted a policeman, and wasrun in in consequence. I went to Bow Street with Miller and saw him. He’s sober enough now, andI don’t mind admitting we pretty well frightened the life out of him, hinting he might be chargedwith murder. This is his yarn⁵, and a very queer one it is.

“He was at Entfield races on Saturday, though I dare say scarfpins was his line of business,rather than betting. Anyway, he had a bad day, and was down on his luck. He was tramping alongthe road to Chingside, and sat down in a ditch to rest just before he got into the village. A fewminutes later he noticed a man coming along the road to the village, ‘dark-complexioned gent,with a big moustache, one of them city toffs,’ is his description of the man.

“Kellett was half concealed from the road by a heap of stones. Just before he got abreast⁴² ofhim, the man looked quickly up and down the road, and seeing it apparently deserted⁴³ he took asmall object from his pocket and threw it over the hedge. Then he went on towards the station.

Now, the object he had thrown over the hedge had fallen with a slight ‘chink’ which aroused thecuriosity of the human derelict in the ditch. He investigated and, after a short search, discoveredthe ring! That is Kellett’s story. It’s only fair to say that Lowen denies it utterly⁴⁴, and of course theword of a man like Kellett can’t be relied upon in the slightest. It’s within the bounds of possibilitythat he met Davenheim in the lane and robbed and murdered him.”

Poirot shook his head.

“Very improbable, mon ami. He had no means of disposing of the body. It would have beenfound by now. Secondly⁴⁵, the open way in which he pawned the ring makes it unlikely that he didmurder to get it. Thirdly, your sneak⁴⁶ thief is rarely a murderer. Fourthly, as he has been in prisonsince Saturday, it would be too much of a coincidence that he is able to give so accurate adescription of Lowen.”

Japp nodded. “I don’t say you’re not right. But all the same, you won’t get a jury to takemuch note of a jailbird’s evidence. What seems odd to me is that Lowen couldn’t find a clevererway of disposing of the ring.”

Poirot shrugged⁴⁷ his shoulders. “Well, after all, if it were found in the neighbourhood, it mightbe argued that Davenheim himself had dropped it.”

“But why remove it from the body at all?” I cried.

“There might be a reason for that,” said Japp. “Do you know that just beyond the lake, a littlegate leads out on to the hill, and not three minutes’ walk brings you to—what do you think?—alime kiln⁴⁸.”

“Good heavens!” I cried. “You mean that the lime which destroyed the body would bepowerless to affect the metal of the ring?”

“Exactly.”

“It seems to me,” I said, “that that explains everything. What a horrible crime!”

By common consent we both turned and looked at Poirot. He seemed lost in reflection, hisbrow knitted, as though with some supreme⁴⁹ mental effort. I felt at last his keen intellect wasasserting itself. What would his first words be? We were not long left in doubt. With a sigh, thetension of his attitude relaxed and turning to Japp, he asked:

“Have you any idea, my friend, whether Mr.?and Mrs.?Davenheim occupied the samebedroom?”

The question seemed so ludicrously inappropriate that for a moment we both stared insilence. Then Japp burst into a laugh. “Good Lord, Monsieur Poirot, I thought you were comingout with something startling. As to your question, I’m sure I don’t know.”

“You could find out?” asked Poirot with curious persistence⁵⁰.

“Oh, certainly—if you really want to know.”

“Merci, mon ami. I should be obliged if you would make a point of it.”

Japp stared at him a few minutes longer, but Poirot seemed to have forgotten us both. Thedetective shook his head sadly at me, and murmuring, “Poor old fellow! War’s been too much forhim!” gently withdrew from the room.

As Poirot seemed sunk in a daydream⁵¹, I took a sheet of paper, and amused myself byscribbling notes upon it. My friend’s voice aroused me. He had come out of his reverie, and waslooking brisk and alert.

“Que faites-vous là, mon ami??”

“I was jotting⁵² down what occurred to me as the main points of interest in this affair.”

“You become methodical—at last!” said Poirot approvingly.

I concealed my pleasure. “Shall I read them to you?”

“By all means.”

I cleared my throat.

“ ‘One: All the evidence points to Lowen having been the man who forced the safe.

“ ‘Two: He had a grudge⁵³ against Davenheim.

“ ‘Three: He lied in his first statement that he had never left the study.

“ ‘Four: If you accept Billy Kellett’s story as true, Lowen is unmistakably implicated⁵⁴.’ ”

I paused. “Well?” I asked, for I felt that I had put my finger on all the vital facts.

Poirot looked at me pityingly, shaking his head very gently. “Mon pauvre ami! But it is thatyou have not the gift! The important detail, you appreciate him never! Also, your reasoning isfalse.”

“How?”

“Let me take your four points.”

“One: Mr.?Lowen could not possibly know that he would have the chance to open the safe.

He came for a business interview. He could not know beforehand that Mr.?Davenheim would beabsent posting a letter, and that he would consequently be alone in the study!”

“He might have seized the opportunity,” I suggested.

“And the tools? City gentlemen do not carry round housebreaker’s tools on the off chance!

And one could not cut into that safe with penknife, bien entendu!?”

“Well, what about Number Two?”

“You say Lowen had a grudge against Mr.?Davenheim. What you mean is that he had once ortwice got the better of him. And presumably those transactions were entered into with the view ofbenefiting himself. In any case you do not as a rule bear a grudge against a man you have got thebetter of—it is more likely to be the other way about. Whatever grudge there might have beenwould have been on Mr.?Davenheim’s side.”

“Well, you can’t deny that he lied about never having left the study?”

“No. But he may have been frightened. Remember, the missing man’s clothes had just beendiscovered in the lake. Of course, as usual, he would have done better to speak the truth.”

“And the fourth point?”

“I grant you that. If Kellett’s story is true, Lowen is undeniably implicated. That is whatmakes the affair so very interesting.”

“Then I did appreciate one vital fact?”

“Perhaps—but you have entirely⁵⁵ overlooked the two most important points, the ones whichundoubtedly hold the clue to the whole matter.”

“And pray, what are they?”

“One, the passion which has grown upon Mr.?Davenheim in the last few years for buyingjewellery. Two, his trip to Buenos Aires last autumn.”

“Poirot, you are joking?”

“I am serious. Ah, sacred thunder, but I hope Japp will not forget my little commission.”

But the detective, entering into the spirit of the joke, had remembered it so well that atelegram was handed to Poirot about eleven o’clock the next day. At his request I opened it andread it?out:

“ ‘Husband and wife have occupied separate rooms since last winter.’ ”

“Aha!” cried Poirot. “And now we are in mid⁵⁶ June! All is solved!”

I stared at him.

“You have no moneys in the bank of Davenheim and Salmon, mon ami?”

“No,” I said wondering. “Why?”

“Because I should advise you to withdraw it—before it is too late.”

“Why, what do you expect?”

“I expect a big smash in a few days—perhaps sooner. Which reminds me, we will return thecompliment of a dépêche to Japp. A pencil, I pray you, and a form. Voilà! “Advise you towithdraw any money deposited with firm in question.” That will intrigue⁵⁷ him, the good Japp! Hiseyes will open wide—wide! He will not comprehend in the slightest—until tomorrow, or the nextday!”

I remained sceptical, but the morrow forced me to render tribute to my friend’s remarkablepowers. In every paper was a huge headline telling of the sensational failure of the Davenheimbank. The disappearance of the famous financier took on a totally different aspect in the light ofthe revelation of the financial affairs of the bank.

Before we were halfway⁵⁹ through breakfast, the door flew open and Japp rushed in. In his lefthand was a paper; in his right was Poirot’s telegram, which he banged down on the table in frontof my friend.

“How did you know, Monsieur Poirot? How the blazes could you know?”

Poirot smiled placidly at him. “Ah, mon ami, after your wire, it was a certainty! From thecommencement, see you, it struck me that the safe burglary was somewhat remarkable⁵⁸. Jewels,ready money, bearer bonds—all so conveniently arranged for—whom? Well, the good MonsieurDavenheim was of those who ‘look after Number One’ as your saying goes! It seemed almostcertain that it was arranged for—himself! Then his passion of late years for buying jewellery!

How simple! The funds he embezzled⁶⁰, he converted into jewels, very likely replacing them in turnwith paste duplicates, and so he put away in a safe place, under another name, a considerablefortune to be enjoyed all in good time when everyone has been thrown off the track. Hisarrangements completed, he makes an appointment with Mr.?Lowen (who has been imprudentenough in the past to cross the great man once or twice), drills a hole in the safe, leaves orders thatthe guest is to be shown into the study, and walks out of the house—where?” Poirot stopped, andstretched out his hand for another boiled egg. He frowned. “It is really insupportable,” hemurmured, “that every hen lays an egg of a different size! What symmetry can there be on thebreakfast table? At least they should sort them in dozens at the shop!”

“Never mind the eggs,” said Japp impatiently. “Let ’em lay ’em square if they like. Tell uswhere our customer went to when he left The Cedars—that is, if you know!”

“Eh bien, he went to his hiding place. Ah, this Monsieur Davenheim, there may be somemalformation in his grey cells, but they are of the first quality!”

“Do you know where he is hiding?”

“Certainly! It is most ingenious.”

“For the Lord’s sake, tell us, then!”

Poirot gently collected every fragment of shell from his plate, placed them in the egg-cup,and reversed the empty eggshell on top of them. This little operation concluded, he smiled on theneat effect, and then beamed affectionately on us both.

“Come, my friends, you are men of intelligence. Ask yourself the question I asked myself. ‘IfI were this man, where should I hide?’ Hastings, what do you say?”

“Well,” I said, “I’m rather inclined to think I’d not do a bolt at all. I’d stay in London—in theheart of things, travel by tubes and buses; ten to one I’d never be recognized. There’s safety in acrowd.”

Poirot turned inquiringly to Japp.

“I don’t agree. Get clear away at once—that’s the only chance. I would have had plenty oftime to prepare things beforehand. I’d have a yacht waiting, with steam up, and I’d be off to one ofthe most out-of-the-way corners of the world before the hue⁶¹ and cry began!”

We both looked at Poirot. “What do you say, monsieur?”

For a moment he remained silent. Then a very curious smile flitted across his face.

“My friends, if I were hiding from the police, do you know where I should hide? In aprison!?”

“What?”

“You are seeking Monsieur Davenheim in order to put him in prison, so you never dream oflooking to see if he may not be already there!”

“What do you mean?”

“You tell me Madame Davenheim is not a very intelligent woman. Nevertheless I think if youtook her up to Bow Street and confronted her with the man Billy Kellett she would recognize him!

In spite of the fact that he has shaved his beard and moustache and those bushy eyebrows, and hascropped his hair close. A woman nearly always knows her husband, though the rest of the worldmay be deceived.”

“Billy Kellett? But he’s known to the police!”

“Did I not tell you Davenheim was a clever man? He prepared his alibi⁶² long beforehand. Hewas not in Buenos Aires last autumn—he was creating the character of Billy Kellett, ‘doing threemonths,’ so that the police should have no suspicions when the time came. He was playing,remember, for a large fortune, as well as liberty. It was worth while doing the thing thoroughly⁶³.

Only—”

“Yes?”

“Eh bien, afterwards he had to wear a false beard and wig⁶⁴, had to make up as himself again,and to sleep with a false beard is not easy—it invites detection! He cannot risk continuing to sharethe chamber⁶⁵ of madame his wife. You found out for me that for the last six months, or ever sincehis supposed return from Buenos Aires, he and Mrs.?Davenheim occupied separate rooms. Then Iwas sure! Everything fitted in. The gardener who fancied he saw his master going round to theside of the house was quite right. He went to the boathouse, donned his ‘tramp’ clothes, which youmay be sure had been safely hidden from the eyes of his valet, dropped the others in the lake, andproceeded to carry out his plan by pawning⁶⁶ the ring in an obvious manner, and then assaulting apoliceman, getting himself safely into the haven of Bow Street, where nobody would ever dreamof looking for him!”

“It’s impossible,” murmured Japp.

“Ask Madame,” said my friend, smiling.

The next day a registered letter lay beside Poirot’s plate. He opened it and a five-pound notefluttered out. My friend’s brow puckered⁶⁷.

“Ah, sacré! But what shall I do with it? I have much remorse⁶⁸! Ce pauvre Japp? Ah, an idea!

We will have a little dinner, we three! That consoles me. It was really too easy. I am ashamed. I,who would not rob a child — mille tonnerres! Mon ami, what have you, that you laugh soheartily?”

 

点击收听单词发音