Chapter 15

In Bloomsbury

Of the two startled young people, it was Norman Gale¹ who recovered himself first.

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘it’s Monsieur — Monsieur Poirot. Are you still trying to clear yourcharacter, M. Poirot?’

‘Ah, you remember our little conversation? And it is the poor Mr Clancy you suspect?’

‘So do you,’ said Jane acutely, ‘or you wouldn’t be here.’

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment.

‘Have you ever thought about murder, Mademoiselle? Thought about it, I mean, in the abstract—cold-bloodedly and dispassionately?’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it at all until just lately,’ said Jane.

Hercule Poirot nodded.

‘Yes, you think about it now because a murder has touched you personally. But me, I have dealtwith crime for many years now. I have my own way of regarding things. What should you say themost important thing was to bear in mind when you are trying to solve a murder?’

‘Finding the murderer,’ said Jane.

Norman Gale said, ‘Justice.’

Poirot shook his head. ‘There are more important things than finding the murderer. And justiceis a fine word, but it is sometimes difficult to say exactly what one means by it. In my opinion theimportant thing is to clear the innocent.’

‘Oh, naturally,’ said Jane. ‘That goes without saying. If anyone is falsely accused—’

‘Not even that. There may be no accusation². But until one person is proved guilty beyond anypossible doubt, everyone else who is associated with the crime is liable to suffer in varyingdegrees.’

Norman Gale said with emphasis, ‘How true that is.’

Jane said, ‘Don’t we know it!’

Poirot looked from one to the other.

‘I see. Already you have been finding that out for yourselves.’

He became suddenly brisk.

‘Come now, I have affairs to see to. Since our aims are the same, we three, let us combinetogether. I am about to call upon our ingenious friend, Mr Clancy. I would suggest thatMademoiselle accompanies me—in the guise³ of my secretary. Here, Mademoiselle, is a notebookand a pencil for the shorthand.’

‘I can’t write shorthand,’ gasped⁴ Jane.

‘But naturally not. But you have the quick wits—the intelligence—you can make plausiblesigns in pencil in the book, can you not? Good. As for Mr Gale, I suggest that he meets us in, say,an hour’s time. Shall we say upstairs at Monseigneur’s? Bon! We will compare notes then.’

And forthwith he advanced to the bell and pressed it.

Slightly dazed, Jane followed him, clutching the notebook.

Gale opened his mouth as though to protest, then seemed to think better of it.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘In an hour, at Monseigneur’s.’

The door was opened by a rather forbidding-looking elderly woman attired⁵ in severe black.

Poirot said, ‘Mr Clancy?’

She drew back and Poirot and Jane entered.

‘What name, sir?’

‘Mr Hercule Poirot.’

The severe woman led them upstairs and into a room on the first floor.

‘Mr Air Kule Prott,’ she announced.

Poirot realized at once the force of Mr Clancy’s announcement at Croydon to the effect that hewas not a tidy man. The room, a long one, with three windows along its length and shelves andbookcases on the other walls, was in a state of chaos⁶. There were papers strewn about, cardboardfiles, bananas, bottles of beer, open books, sofa cushions, a trombone, miscellaneous china,etchings, and a bewildering assortment⁷ of fountain-pens.

In the middle of this confusion Mr Clancy was struggling with a camera and a roll of film.

‘Dear me,’ said Mr Clancy, looking up as the visitors were announced. He put the camera downand the roll of film promptly⁸ fell on the floor and unwound itself. He came forward withoutstretched hand. ‘Very glad to see you, I’m sure.’

‘You remember me, I hope?’ said Poirot. ‘This is my secretary, Miss Grey.’

‘How d’you do, Miss Grey.’ He shook her by the hand and then turned back to Poirot. ‘Yes, ofcourse I remember you—at least—now, where was it exactly? Was it at the Skull⁹ and CrossbonesClub?’

‘We were fellow passengers on an aeroplane from Paris on a certain fatal occasion.’

‘Why, of course,’ said Mr Clancy. ‘And Miss Grey too! Only I hadn’t realized she was yoursecretary. In fact, I had some idea that she was in a beauty parlour—something of that kind.’

Jane looked anxiously at Poirot.

The latter was quite equal to the situation.

‘Perfectly correct,’ he said. ‘As an efficient secretary, Miss Grey has at times to undertakecertain work of a temporary nature—you understand?’

‘Of course,’ said Mr Clancy. ‘I was forgetting. You’re a detective—the real thing. Not ScotlandYard. Private investigation¹⁰. Do sit down, Miss Grey. No, not there; I think there’s orange juice onthat chair. If I shift this file—Oh, dear, now everything’s tumbled out. Never mind. You sit here,M. Poirot—that’s right, isn’t it?—Poirot? The back’s not really broken. It only creaks a little asyou lean against it. Well, perhaps it’s best not to lean too hard. Yes, a private investigator¹¹ like myWilbraham Rice. The public have taken very strongly to Wilbraham Rice. He bites his nails andeats a lot of bananas. I don’t know why I made him bite his nails to start with—it’s really ratherdisgusting—but there it is. He started by biting his nails, and now he has to do it in every singlebook. So monotonous¹². The bananas aren’t so bad; you get a bit of fun out of them—criminalsslipping on the skin. I eat bananas myself—that’s what put it into my head. But I don’t bite mynails. Have some beer?’

‘I thank you, no.’

Mr Clancy sighed, sat down himself, and gazed earnestly at Poirot.

‘I can guess what you’ve come about—the murder of Giselle. I’ve thought and thought aboutthat case. You can say what you like, it’s amazing — poisoned darts¹⁴ and a blowpipe in anaeroplane. An idea I have used myself, as I told you, both in book and short story form. Of courseit was a very shocking occurrence, but I must confess, M. Poirot, that I was thrilled, positivelythrilled.’

‘I can quite see,’ said Poirot, ‘that the crime must have appealed to you professionally, MrClancy.’

Mr Clancy beamed.

‘Exactly. You would think that anyone—even the official police—could have understood that!

But not at all. Suspicion—that is all I got, both from the inspector¹⁵ and at the inquest. I go out ofmy way to assist the course of justice, and all I get for my pains is palpable thick- headedsuspicion!’

‘All the same,’ said Poirot, smiling, ‘it does not seem to affect you very much.’

‘Ah,’ said Mr Clancy. ‘But, you see, I have my methods, Watson. If you’ll excuse my callingyou Watson. No offence intended. Interesting, by the way, how the technique of the idiot friendhas hung on. Personally I myself think the Sherlock Holmes stories grossly overrated. Thefallacies—the really amazing fallacies that there are in those stories—But what was I saying?’

‘You said that you had your methods.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Mr Clancy leaned forward. ‘I’m putting that inspector—what is his name, Japp?—yes, I’m putting him in my next book. You should see the way Wilbraham Rice deals with him.’

‘In between bananas, as one might say.’

‘In between bananas—that’s very good, that.’ Mr Clancy chuckled¹⁶.

‘You have a great advantage as a writer, Monsieur,’ said Poirot. ‘You can relieve your feelingsby the expedient¹⁷ of the printed word. You have the power of the pen over your enemies.’

Mr Clancy rocked gently back in his chair.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘I begin to think this murder is going to be a really fortunate thing for me.

I’m writing the whole thing exactly as it happened—only as fiction, of course, and I shall call itThe Air Mail Mystery. Perfect pen portraits of all the passengers. It ought to sell like wildfire—ifonly I can get it out in time.’

‘Won’t you be had up for libel, or something?’ asked Jane.

Mr Clancy turned a beaming face upon her.

‘No, no, my dear lady. Of course, if I were to make one of the passengers the murderer—well,then, I might be liable for damages. But that is the strong part of it all—an entirely¹⁸ unexpectedsolution is revealed in the last chapter.’

Poirot leaned forward eagerly.

‘And that solution is?’

Again Mr Clancy chuckled.

‘Ingenious,’ he said. ‘Ingenious and sensational¹⁹. Disguised as the pilot, a girl gets into the planeat Le Bourget and successfully stows herself away under Madame Giselle’s seat. She has with heran ampoule of the newest gas. She releases this — everybody becomes unconscious for threeminutes—she squirms out—fires the poisoned dart¹³, and makes a parachute descent from the reardoor of the car.’

Both Jane and Poirot blinked.

Jane said, ‘Why doesn’t she become unconscious from the gas too?’

‘Respirator,’ said Mr Clancy.

‘And she descends²⁰ into the Channel?’

‘It needn’t be the Channel—I shall make it the French coast.’

‘And, anyway, nobody could hide under a seat; there wouldn’t be room.’

‘There will be room in my aeroplane,’ said Mr Clancy firmly.

‘Epatant,’ said Poirot. ‘And the motive²¹ of the lady?’

‘I haven’t quite decided,’ said Mr Clancy meditatively²². ‘Probably Giselle ruined the girl’s lover,who killed himself.’

‘And how did she get hold of the poison?’

‘That’s the really clever part,’ said Mr Clancy. ‘The girl’s a snake charmer. She extracts thestuff from her favourite python.’

‘Mon Dieu!’ said Hercule Poirot.

He said, ‘You don’t think, perhaps, it is just a little sensational?’

‘You can’t write anything too sensational,’ said Mr Clancy firmly. ‘Especially when you’redealing with the arrow poison of the South American Indians. I know it was snake juice, really;but the principle is the same. After all, you don’t want a detective story to be like real life? Look atthe things in the papers—dull as ditchwater.’

‘Come, now, Monsieur, would you say this little affair of ours is dull as ditchwater?’

‘No,’ admitted Mr Clancy. ‘Sometimes, you know, I can’t believe it really happened.’

Poirot drew the creaking chair a little nearer to his host. His voice lowered itself confidentially²³.

‘M. Clancy, you are a man of brains and imagination. The police, as you say, have regarded youwith suspicion. They have not sought your advice. But I, Hercule Poirot, desire to consult you.’

Mr Clancy flushed with pleasure.

‘I’m sure that’s very nice of you.’

He looked flustered²⁴ and pleased.

‘You have studied the criminology. Your ideas will be of value. It would be of great interest tome to know who, in your opinion, committed the crime.’

‘Well—’ Mr Clancy hesitated, reached automatically for a banana and began to eat it. Then, theanimation dying out of his face, he shook his head. ‘You see, M. Poirot, it’s an entirely differentthing. When you’re writing you can make it anyone you like; but, of course, in real life there is areal person. You haven’t any command over the facts. I’m afraid, you know, that I’d be absolutelyno good as a real detective.’

He shook his head sadly and threw the banana skin into the grate.

‘It might be amusing, however, to consider the case together?’ suggested Poirot.

‘Oh, that, yes.’

‘To begin with, supposing you had to make a sporting guess, who would you choose?’

‘Oh, well, I suppose one of the two Frenchmen.’

‘Now, why?’

‘Well, she was French. It seems more likely, somehow. And they were sitting on the oppositeside not too far away from her. But really I don’t know.’

‘It depends,’ said Poirot thoughtfully, ‘so much on motive.’

‘Of course—of course. I suppose you tabulate²⁵ all the motives²⁶ very scientifically?’

‘I am old-fashioned in my methods. I follow the old adage²⁷: seek whom the crime benefits.’

‘That’s all very well,’ said Mr Clancy. ‘But I take it that’s a little difficult in a case like this.

There’s a daughter who comes into money, so I’ve heard. But a lot of the people on board mightbenefit, for all we know—that is if they owed her money and haven’t got to pay it back.’

‘True,’ said Poirot. ‘And I can think of other solutions. Let us suppose that Madame Giselleknew of something—attempted murder, shall we say?—on the part of one of those people.’

‘Attempted murder?’ said Mr Clancy. ‘Now, why attempted murder? What a very curioussuggestion.’

‘In cases such as these,’ said Poirot, ‘one must think of everything.’

‘Ah!’ said Mr Clancy. ‘But it’s no good thinking. You’ve got to know.’

‘You have reason—you have reason. A very just observation.’

Then he said, ‘I ask your pardon, but this blowpipe that you bought—’

‘Damn that blowpipe,’ said Mr Clancy. ‘I wish I’d never mentioned it.’

‘You bought it, you say, at a shop in the Charing²⁸ Cross Road? Do you, by any chance,remember the name of that shop?’

‘Well,’ said Mr Clancy, ‘it might have been Absolom’s—or there’s Mitchell & Smith. I don’tknow. But I’ve already told all this to that pestilential inspector. He must have checked up on it bythis time.’

‘Ah,’ said Poirot, ‘but I ask for quite another reason. I desire to purchase such a thing and makea little experiment.’

‘Oh, I see. But I don’t know that you’ll find one all the same. They don’t keep sets of them, youknow.’

‘All the same I can try. Perhaps, Miss Grey, you would be so obliging as to take down thosetwo names?’

Jane opened her notebook and rapidly performed a series of (she hoped) professional-lookingsquiggles. Then she surreptitiously wrote the names in longhand on the reverse side of the sheet incase these instructions of Poirot’s should be genuine.

‘And now,’ said Poirot, ‘I have trespassed²⁹ on your time too long. I will take my departure with athousand thanks for your amiability³⁰.’

‘Not at all. Not at all,’ said Mr Clancy. ‘I wish you would have had a banana.’

‘You are most amiable³¹.’

‘Not at all. As a matter of fact, I’m feeling rather happy tonight. I’d been held up in a short storyI was writing—the thing wouldn’t pan out properly, and I couldn’t get a good name for thecriminal. I wanted something with a flavour. Well, just a bit of luck, I saw just the name I wantedover a butcher’s shop. Pargiter. Just the name I was looking for. There’s a sort of genuine sound toit; and about five minutes later I got the other thing. There’s always the same snag in stories—whywon’t the girl speak? The young man tries to make her and she says her lips are sealed. There’snever any real reason, of course, why she shouldn’t blurt³² out the whole thing at once, but you haveto try to think of something that’s not too definitely idiotic³³. Unfortunately it has to be a differentthing every time!’

He smiled gently at Jane.

‘The trials of an author!’

He darted³⁴ past her to a bookcase.

‘One thing you must allow me to give you.’

He came back with a book in his hand.

‘The Clue of the Scarlet³⁵ Petal³⁶. I think I mentioned at Croydon that that book of mine dealt witharrow poison and native darts.’

‘A thousand thanks. You are too amiable.’

‘Not at all. I see,’ said Mr Clancy suddenly to Jane, ‘that you don’t use the Pitman system ofshorthand.’

Jane flushed scarlet. Poirot came to her rescue.

‘Miss Grey is very up to date. She uses the most recent system invented by a Czecho-Slovakian.’

‘You don’t say so? What an amazing place Czecho-Slovakia must be. Everything seems tocome from there—shoes, glass, gloves, and now a shorthand system. Quite amazing.’

He shook hands with them both.

‘I wish I could have been more helpful.’

They left him in the littered room smiling wistfully after them.

 

点击收听单词发音