Chapter 7

Probabilities

With the departure of Ma?tre Thibault, the three men drew their chairs a little closer to the table.

‘Now, then,’ said Japp, ‘let’s get down to it.’ He unscrewed the cap of his fountain-pen. ‘Therewere eleven passengers in that plane—in the rear car, I mean; the other doesn’t come into it—eleven passengers and two stewards¹—that’s thirteen people we’ve got. One of the remainingtwelve did the old woman in. Some of the passengers were English, some were French. The latter Ishall hand over to M. Fournier. The English ones I’ll take on. Then there are inquiries⁴ to be madein Paris—that’s your job too, Fournier.’

‘And not only in Paris,’ said Fournier. ‘In the summer Giselle did a lot of business at the Frenchwatering-places—Deauville, Le Pinet, Wimereux. She went down south too, to Antibes and Nice,and all those places.’

‘A good point; one or two of the people in the Prometheus mentioned Le Pinet, I remember.

Well, that’s one line. Then we’ve got to get down to the actual murder itself—prove who couldpossibly be in a position to use that blowpipe.’ He unrolled a large sketch⁵ plan of the car of theaeroplane and placed it in the centre of the table. ‘Now, then, we’re ready for the preliminarywork. And, to begin with, let’s go through the people one by one, and decide on the probabilitiesand—even more important—the possibilities.

‘To begin with, we can eliminate M. Poirot here. That brings the number down to eleven.’

Poirot shook his head sadly.

‘You are of too trustful a nature, my friend. You should trust nobody—nobody at all.’

‘Well, we’ll leave you in if you like,’ said Japp good-temperedly. ‘Then there are the stewards.

Seems to me very unlikely it should be either of them from the probability point of view. They’renot likely to have borrowed money on a grand scale and they’ve both got a good record—decent,sober men, both of them. It would surprise me very much if either of them had anything to do withthis. On the other hand, from the possibility point of view we’ve got to include them. They wereup and down the car. They could actually have taken up a position from which they could haveused that blowpipe—from the right angle, I mean—though I don’t believe that a steward³ couldshoot a poisoned dart⁶ out of a blowpipe in a car full of people without someone noticing him do it.

I know by experience that most people are blind as bats; but there are limits. Of course, in a way,the same thing applies to every blessed person. It was madness, absolute madness, to commit acrime that way. Only about a chance in a hundred that it would come off without being spotted⁷.

The fellow that did it must have had the luck of the devil. Of all the damn fool ways to commit amurder—’

Poirot, who had been sitting with his eyes down, smoking quietly, interposed a question.

‘You think it was a foolish way of committing a murder, yes?’

‘Of course it was. It was absolute madness.’

‘And yet—it succeeded. We sit here, we three, we talk about it, but we have no knowledge ofwho committed the crime! That is success!’

‘That’s pure luck,’ argued Japp. ‘The murderer ought to have been spotted five or six timesover.’

Poirot shook his head in a dissatisfied manner.

Fournier looked at him curiously⁸.

‘What is it that is in your mind, M. Poirot?’

‘Mon ami,’ said Poirot, ‘my point is this: an affair must be judged by its results. This affair hassucceeded. That is my point.’

‘And yet,’ said the Frenchman thoughtfully, ‘it seems almost a miracle.’

‘Miracle or no miracle, there it is,’ said Japp. ‘We’ve got the medical evidence, we’ve got theweapon; and if anyone had told me a week ago that I should be investigating a crime where awoman was killed with a poisoned dart with snake venom⁹ on it—well, I’d have laughed in hisface! It’s an insult—that’s what this murder is—an insult.’

He breathed deeply. Poirot smiled.

‘It is, perhaps, a murder committed by a person with a perverted¹⁰ sense of humour,’ saidFournier thoughtfully. ‘It is most important in a crime to get an idea of the psychology¹¹ of themurderer.’

Japp snorted slightly at the word psychology, which he disliked and mistrusted.

‘That’s the sort of stuff M. Poirot likes to hear,’ he said.

‘I am very interested, yes, in what you both say.’

‘You don’t doubt that she was killed that way, I suppose?’ Japp asked him suspiciously. ‘Iknow your tortuous¹² mind.’

‘No, no, my friend. My mind is quite at ease on that point. The poisoned thorn that I picked upwas the cause of death—that is quite certain. But nevertheless there are points about this case—’

He paused, shaking his head perplexedly.

Japp went on:

‘Well, to get back to our Irish stew², we can’t wash out the stewards absolutely, but I thinkmyself it’s very unlikely that either of them had anything to do with it. Do you agree, M. Poirot?’

‘Oh, you remember what I said. Me—I would not wash out—what a term, mon Dieu!—anybody at this stage.’

‘Have it your own way. Now, the passengers. Let’s start up the end by the stewards’ pantry andthe toilets. Seat No. 16.’ He jabbed a pencil on the plan. ‘That’s the hairdressing girl, Jane Grey.

Got a ticket in the Irish Sweep—blued it at Le Pinet. That means the girl’s a gambler. She mighthave been hard up and borrowed from the old dame¹³ — doesn’t seem likely, either, that sheborrowed a large sum, or that Giselle could have a “hold” over her. Seems rather too small a fishfor what we’re looking for. And I don’t think a hairdresser’s assistant had the remotest chance oflaying her hands on snake venom. They don’t use it as a hair dye or for face massage¹⁴.

‘In a way it was rather a mistake to use snake venom; it narrows things down a lot. Only abouttwo people in a hundred would be likely to have any knowledge of it and be able to lay hands onthe stuff.’

‘Which makes one thing, at least, perfectly¹⁵ clear,’ said Poirot.

It was Fournier who shot a quick glance of inquiry¹⁶ at him.

Japp was busy with his own ideas.

‘I look at it like this,’ he said. ‘The murderer has got to fall into one of two categories: eitherhe’s a man who’s knocked about the world in queer places—a man who knows something ofsnakes and of the more deadly varieties and of the habits of the native tribes who use the venom todispose of their enemies—that’s category No. 1.’

‘And the other?’

‘The scientific line. Research. This boomslang stuff is the kind of thing they experiment with inhigh-class laboratories. I had a talk with Winterspoon. Apparently¹⁷ snake venom—cobra venom, tobe exact—is sometimes used in medicine. It’s used in the treatment of epilepsy with a fair amountof success. There’s a lot being done in the way of scientific investigation¹⁸ into snake bite.’

‘Interesting and suggestive,’ said Fournier.

‘Yes, but let’s go on. Neither of those categories fit the Grey girl. As far as she’s concerned,motive¹⁹ seems unlikely, chances of getting the poison — poor. Actual possibility of doing theblowpipe act very doubtful indeed—almost impossible. See here.’

The three men bent²⁰ over the plan.

‘Here’s 16,’ said Japp. ‘And here’s 2, where Giselle was sitting with a lot of people and seatsintervening. If the girl didn’t move from her seat—and everybody says she didn’t—she couldn’tpossibly have aimed the thorn to catch Giselle on the side of the neck. I think we can take it she’spretty well out of it.

‘Now then, 12, opposite. That’s the dentist, Norman Gale²¹. Very much the same applies to him.

Small fry. I suppose he’d have a slightly better chance of getting hold of snake venom.’

‘It is not an injection usually favoured by dentists,’ murmured Poirot gently. ‘It would be a caseof kill rather than cure.’

‘A dentist has enough fun with his patients as it is,’ said Japp, grinning. ‘Still, I suppose hemight move in circles where you could get access to some funny business in drugs. He might havea scientific friend. But as regards possibility he’s pretty well out of it. He did leave his seat, butonly to go to the toilet—that’s in the opposite direction. On his way back to his seat he couldn’t befarther than the gangway here, and to shoot off a thorn from a blowpipe so as to catch the old ladyin the neck he’d have to have a kind of pet thorn that would do tricks and make a right-angle turn.

So he’s pretty well out of it.’

‘I agree,’ said Fournier. ‘Let us proceed.’

‘We’ll cross the gangway now. 17.’

‘That was my seat originally,’ said Poirot. ‘I yielded it to one of the ladies since she desired tobe near her friend.’

‘That’s the Honourable²² Venetia. Well, what about her? She’s a big bug²³. She might haveborrowed from Giselle. Doesn’t look as though she had any guilty secrets in her life—but perhapsshe pulled a horse in a point-to-point, or whatever they call it. We’ll have to pay a little attentionto her. The position’s possible. If Giselle had got her head turned a little looking out of thewindow the Hon. Venetia could take a sporting shot (or do you call it a sporting puff²⁴?) diagonallyacross down the car. It would be a bit of a fluke, though. I rather think she’d have to stand up to doit. She’s the sort of woman who goes out with the guns in the autumn. I don’t know whethershooting with a gun is any help to you with a native blowpipe? I suppose it’s a question of eye justthe same—eye and practice; and she’s probably got friends—men—who’ve been big-gamehunting in odd parts of the globe. She might have got hold of some queer native stuff that way.

What balderdash it all sounds, though! It doesn’t make sense.’

‘It does indeed seem unlikely,’ said Fournier. ‘Mademoiselle Kerr—I saw her at the inquesttoday—’ He shook his head. ‘One does not readily connect her with murder.’

‘Seat 13,’ said Japp. ‘Lady Horbury. She’s a bit of a dark horse. I know something about her I’lltell you presently. I shouldn’t be surprised if she had a guilty secret or two.’

‘I happen to know,’ said Fournier, ‘that the lady in question has been losing very heavily at thebaccarat table at Le Pinet.’

‘That’s smart of you. Yes, she’s the type of pigeon to be mixed up with Giselle.’

‘I agree absolutely.’

‘Very well, then—so far, so good. But how did she do it? She didn’t leave her seat either, youremember. She’d have had to have knelt up in her seat and leaned over the top—with ten peoplelooking at her. Oh, hell, let’s get on.’

‘9 and 10,’ said Fournier, moving his finger on the plan.

‘M. Hercule Poirot and Dr Bryant,’ said Japp. ‘What has M. Poirot to say for himself?’

Poirot shook his head sadly.

‘Mon estomac,’ he said pathetically. ‘Alas, that the brain should be the servant of the stomach.’

‘I, too,’ said Fournier with sympathy. ‘In the air I do not feel well.’

He closed his eyes and shook his head expressively²⁵.

‘Now then, Dr Bryant. What about Dr Bryant? Big bug in Harley Street. Not very likely to go toa French woman moneylender; but you never know. And if any funny business crops up with adoctor he’s done for life! Here’s where my scientific theory comes in. A man like Bryant, at thetop of the tree, is in with all the medical research people. He could pinch a test-tube of snakevenom as easy as winking²⁶ when he happens to be in some swell²⁷ laboratory.’

‘They check these things, my friend,’ objected Poirot. ‘It would not be just like plucking abuttercup in a meadow.’

‘Even if they do check ’em, a clever man could substitute something harmless. It could be done,simply because a man like Bryant would be above suspicion.’

‘There is much in what you say,’ agreed Fournier.

‘The only thing is, why did he draw attention to the thing? Why not say the woman died fromheart failure—natural death?’

Poirot coughed. The other two looked at him inquiringly.

‘I fancy,’ he said, ‘that that was the doctor’s first—well, shall we say impression? After all, itlooked very like natural death, possibly as the result of a wasp²⁸ sting; there was a wasp, remember—’

‘Not likely to forget that wasp,’ put in Japp. ‘You’re always harping²⁹ on it.’

‘However,’ continued Poirot, ‘I happened to notice the fatal thorn on the ground and picked itup. Once we had found that, everything pointed³⁰ to murder.’

‘The thorn would be bound to be found anyway.’

Poirot shook his head.

‘There is just a chance that the murderer might have been able to pick it up unobserved.’

‘Bryant?’

‘Bryant or another.’

‘H’m—rather risky³¹.’

Fournier disagreed.

‘You think so now,’ he said, ‘because you know that it is murder. But when a lady diessuddenly of heart failure, if a man is to drop his handkerchief and stoop to pick it up, who willnotice the action or think twice about it?’

‘That’s true,’ agreed Japp. ‘Well, I fancy Bryant is definitely on the list of suspects. He couldlean his head round the corner of his seat and do the blowpipe act—again diagonally across thecar. But why nobody saw him—! However, I won’t go into that again. Whoever did it wasn’tseen!’

‘And for that, I fancy, there must be a reason,’ said Fournier. ‘A reason that, by all I haveheard,’ he smiled, ‘will appeal to M. Poirot. I mean a psychological reason.’

‘Continue, my friend,’ said Poirot. ‘It is interesting what you say there.’

‘Supposing,’ said Fournier, ‘that when travelling in a train you were to pass a house in flames.

Everyone’s eyes would at once be drawn³² to the window. Everyone would have their attentionfixed on a certain point. A man in such a moment might whip out a dagger³³ and stab a man, andnobody would see him do it.’

‘That is true,’ said Poirot. ‘I remember a case in which I was concerned—a case of poison,where that very point arose. There was, as you call it, a psychological moment. If we discover thatthere was such a moment during the journey of the Prometheus—’

‘We ought to find that out by questioning the stewards and the passengers,’ said Japp.

‘True. But if there was such a psychological moment, it must follow logically that the cause ofthat moment must have originated with the murderer. He must have been able to produce theparticular effect that caused that moment.’

‘Perfectly, perfectly,’ said the Frenchman.

‘Well, we’ll note down that as a point for questions,’ said Japp. ‘I’m coming now to seat No. 8—Daniel Michael Clancy.’

Japp spoke³⁴ the name with a certain amount of relish³⁵.

‘In my opinion he’s the most likely suspect we’ve got. What’s easier than for a mystery authorto fake up an interest in snake venom and get some unsuspecting scientific chemist to let himhandle the stuff? Don’t forget he went down past Giselle’s seat—the only one of the passengerswho did.’

‘I assure you, my friend,’ said Poirot, ‘that I have not forgotten that point.’

He spoke with emphasis.

Japp went on:

‘He could have used that blowpipe from fairly close quarters without any need of a“psychological moment”, as you call it. And he stood quite a respectable chance of getting awaywith it. Remember, he knows all about blowpipes—he said so.’

‘Which makes one pause, perhaps.’

‘Sheer artfulness,’ said Japp. ‘And as to this blowpipe he produced today, who is to say that it’sthe one he bought two years ago? The whole thing looks very fishy³⁶ to me. I don’t think it’s healthyfor a man to be always brooding over crime and detective stories, reading up all sorts of cases. Itputs ideas into his head.’

‘It is certainly necessary for a writer to have ideas in his head,’ agreed Poirot.

Japp returned to his plan of the plane.

‘No. 4 was Ryder—the seat slap in front of the dead woman. Don’t think he did it. But we can’tleave him out. He went to the toilet. He could have taken a pot shot on the way back from fairlyclose quarters; the only thing is he’d be right up against the archaeologist fellows when he did so.

They’d notice it—couldn’t help it.’

Poirot shook his head thoughtfully.

‘You are not, perhaps, acquainted with many archaeologists? If these two were having a reallyabsorbing discussion on some point at issue—eh bien, my friend, their concentration would besuch that they would be quite blind and deaf to the outside world. They would be existing, yousee, in five thousand or so BC. Nineteen hundred and thirty-five AD would have been non-existentfor them.’

Japp looked a little sceptical.

‘Well, we’ll pass on to them. What can you tell us about the Duponts, Fournier?’

‘M. Armand Dupont is one of the most distinguished³⁷ archaeologists in France.’

‘Then that doesn’t get us anywhere much. Their position in the car is pretty good from my pointof view—across the gangway but slightly farther forward than Giselle. And I suppose that they’veknocked about the world and dug things up in a lot of queer places; they might easily have gothold of some native snake poison.’

‘It is possible, yes,’ said Fournier.

‘But you don’t believe it’s likely?’

Fournier shook his head doubtfully.

‘M. Dupont lives for his profession. He is an enthusiast³⁸. He was formerly³⁹ an antique dealer⁴⁰. Hegave up a flourishing business to devote himself to excavation⁴¹. Both he and his son are devotedheart and soul to their profession. It seems to me unlikely—I will not say impossible, since theramifications of the Stavisky business I will believe anything—unlikely that they are mixed up inthis business.’

‘All right,’ said Japp.

He picked up the sheet of paper on which he had been making notes and cleared his throat.

‘This is where we stand. Jane Grey. Probability—poor. Possibility—practically nil⁴². Gale.

Probability—poor. Possibility—again practically nil. Miss Kerr. Very improbable. Possibility—doubtful. Lady Horbury. Probability — good. Possibility — practically nil. M. Poirot — almostcertainly the criminal; the only man on board who could create a psychological moment.’

Japp enjoyed a good laugh over his little joke, and Poirot smiled indulgently and Fournier atrifle diffidently. Then the detective resumed:

‘Bryant. Probability and possibility—both good. Clancy. Motive doubtful—probability andpossibility very good indeed. Ryder. Probability uncertain — possibility quite fair. The twoDuponts. Probability poor as regards motive—good as to means of obtaining poison. Possibility—good.

‘That’s a pretty fair summary, I think, as far as we can go. We’ll have to do a lot of routineinquiry. I shall take on Clancy and Bryant first—find out what they’ve been up to—if they’ve beenhard up at any time in the past—if they’ve seemed worried or upset lately—their movements inthe last year—all that sort of stuff. I’ll do the same for Ryder. Then it won’t do to neglect theothers entirely⁴³. I’ll get Wilson to nose round there. M. Fournier here will undertake the Duponts.’

The man from the S?reté nodded.

‘Be well assured — that will be attended to. I shall return to Paris tonight. There may besomething to be got out of Elise, Giselle’s maid, now that we know a little more about the case.

Also, I will check up Giselle’s movements very carefully. It will be well to know where she hasbeen during the summer. She was, I know, at Le Pinet once or twice. We may get information asto her contacts with some of the English people involved. Ah, yes, there is much to do.’

They both looked at Poirot, who was absorbed in thought.

‘You going to take a hand at all, M. Poirot?’ asked Japp.

Poirot roused himself.

‘Yes, I think I should like to accompany M. Fournier to Paris.’

‘Enchanté,’ said the Frenchman.

‘What are you up to, I wonder?’ said Japp. He looked at Poirot curiously. ‘You’ve been veryquiet over all this. Got some of your little ideas, eh?’

‘One or two, one or two; but it is very difficult.’

‘Let’s hear about it.’

‘One thing that worries me,’ said Poirot slowly, ‘is the place where the blowpipe was found.’

‘Naturally! It nearly got you locked up.’

Poirot shook his head.

‘I do not mean that. It is not because it was found pushed down beside my seat that it worriesme—it was its being pushed down behind any seat.’

‘I don’t see anything in that,’ said Japp. ‘Whoever did it had got to hide the thing somewhere.

He couldn’t risk its being found on him.’

‘Evidemment. But you may have noticed, my friend, when you examined the plane, thatalthough the windows cannot be opened, there is in each of them a ventilator—a circle of smallround holes in the glass which can be opened or closed by turning a fan of glass. Those holes areof a sufficient circumference⁴⁴ to admit of the passage of our blowpipe. What could be simpler thanto get rid of the blowpipe that way? It falls to the earth beneath, and it is extremely unlikely that itwill ever be found.’

‘I can think of an objection to that—the murderer was afraid of being seen. If he pushed theblowpipe through the ventilator someone might have noticed.’

‘I see,’ said Poirot. ‘He was not afraid of being seen placing the blowpipe to his lips anddispatching the fatal dart, but he was afraid of being seen trying to push the blowpipe through thewindow!’

‘Sounds absurd, I admit,’ said Japp; ‘but there it is. He did hide the blowpipe behind the cushionof a seat. We can’t get away from that.’

Poirot did not answer, and Fournier asked curiously:

‘It gives you an idea, that?’

Poirot bowed his head assentingly.

‘It gives rise to, say, a speculation⁴⁵ in my mind.’

With absent-minded fingers he straightened the unused inkstand that Japp’s impatient hand hadset a little askew⁴⁶.

Then lifting his head sharply, he asked:

‘A propos, have you that detailed⁴⁷ list of the belongings⁴⁸ of the passengers that I asked you to getme?’

 

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