Chapter 21

The Three Clues

When Japp got back to Scotland Yard he was told that M. Hercule Poirot was waiting to see him.

Japp greeted his friend heartily¹.

‘Well, M. Poirot, and what brings you along. Any news?’

‘I came to ask you for news, my good Japp.’

‘If that isn’t just like you. Well, there isn’t much and that’s the truth. The dealer² fellow in Parishas identified the blowpipe all right. Fournier’s been worrying the life out of me from Paris abouthis moment psychologique. I’ve questioned those stewards³ till I’m blue in the face, and they stickto it that there wasn’t a moment psychologique. Nothing startling or out of the way happened onthe voyage.’

‘It might have occurred when they were both in the front car.’

‘I’ve questioned the passengers, too. Everyone can’t be lying.’

‘In one case I investigated everyone was!’

‘You and your cases! To tell the truth, M. Poirot, I’m not very happy. The more I look intothings the less I get. The Chief ’s inclined to look on me rather coldly. But what can I do? Luckilyit’s one of those semi-foreign cases. We can put it on the Frenchmen over here—and in Paris theysay it was done by an Englishman and that it’s our business.’

‘Do you really believe the Frenchmen did it?’

‘Well, frankly⁴, I don’t. As I look at it an archaeologist is a poor kind of fish. Always burrowingin the ground and talking through his hat about what happened thousands of years ago—and howdo they know, I should like to know? Who’s to contradict them? They say some rotten string ofbeads is five thousand three hundred and twenty-two years old, and who’s to say it isn’t? Well,there they are—liars, perhaps—though they seem to believe it themselves—but harmless. I had anold chap in here the other day who’d had a scarab pinched—terrible state he was in—nice old boy,but helpless as a baby in arms. No, between you and me, I don’t think for a minute that pair ofFrench archaeologists did it.’

‘Who do you think did it?’

‘Well—there’s Clancy, of course. He’s in a queer way. Goes about muttering to himself. He’sgot something on his mind.’

‘The plot of a new book, perhaps.’

‘It may be that—and it may be something else; but, try as I may, I can’t get a line on motive⁵. Istill think CL 52 in the black book is Lady Horbury; but I can’t get anything out of her. She’spretty hard-boiled, I can tell you.’

Poirot smiled to himself. Japp went on:

‘The stewards—well, I can’t find a thing to connect them with Giselle.’

‘Dr Bryant?’

‘I think I’m on to something there. Rumours⁶ about him and a patient. Pretty woman—nastyhusband—takes drugs or something. If he’s not careful he’ll be struck off the medical council.

That fits in with RT 362 well enough, and I don’t mind telling you that I’ve got a pretty shrewdidea where he could have got the snake venom⁷ from. I went to see him and he gave himself awayrather badly over that. Still, so far it is all surmise—no facts. Facts aren’t any too easy to get at inthis case. Ryder seems all square and above board—says he went to raise a loan in Paris andcouldn’t get it—gave names and addresses—all checked up. I’ve found out that the firm wasnearly in Queer Street about a week or two ago, but they seem to be just pulling through. Thereyou are again—unsatisfactory. The whole thing is a muddle⁸.’

‘There is no such thing as muddle—obscurity, yes—but muddle can exist only in a disorderlybrain.’

‘Use any word you choose. The result’s the same. Fournier’s stumped⁹, too. I suppose you’vegot it all taped out, but you’d rather not tell!’

‘You mock yourself at me. I have not got it all taped out. I proceed a step at a time, with orderand method, but there is still far to go.’

‘I can’t help feeling glad to hear that. Let’s hear about these orderly steps.’

Poirot smiled.

‘I make a little table—so.’ He took a paper from his pocket. ‘My idea is this: A murder is anaction performed to bring about a certain result.’

‘Say that again slowly.’

‘It is not difficult.’

‘Probably not—but you make it sound so.’

‘No, no, it is very simple. Say you want money—you get it when an aunt dies. Bien—youperform an action—this is to kill the aunt—and get the result—inherit the money.’

‘I wish I had some aunts like that,’ sighed Japp. ‘Go ahead, I see your idea. You mean there’sgot to be a motive.’

‘I prefer my own way of putting it. An action is performed—the action being murder—whatnow are the results of that action? By studying the different results we should get the answer to ourconundrum. The results of a single action may be very varied—that particular action affects a lotof different people. Eh bien, I study today—three weeks after the crime—the result in elevendifferent cases.’

He spread out the paper.

Japp leaned forward with some interest and read over Poirot’s shoulder:

Miss Grey. Result—temporary improvement. Increased salary.

Mr Gale¹⁰. Result—bad. Loss of practice.

Lady Horbury. Result good, if she’s CL 52.

Miss Kerr. Result—bad, since Giselle’s death makes it more unlikely Lord Horbury will get the evidence todivorce his wife.

‘H’m.’ Japp interrupted his scrutiny¹¹. ‘So you think she’s keen on his lordship? You are a one fornosing out love affairs.’

Poirot smiled. Japp bent¹² over the chart once more.

Mr Clancy. Result—good—expects to make money by book dealing¹³ with the murder.

Dr Bryant. Result—good if RT 362.

Mr Ryder. Result—good, owing to small amount of cash obtained through articles on murder which tidedfirm over delicate time. Also good if Ryder is XVB724.

M. Dupont. Result—unaffected.

M. Jean Dupont. Result—the same.

Mitchell. Result—unaffected.

Davis. Result—unaffected.

‘And you think that’s going to help you?’ asked Japp sceptically. ‘I can’t see that writing down “Idon’t know. I don’t know. I can’t tell,” makes it any better.’

‘It gives one a clear classification,’ explained Poirot. ‘In four cases—Mr Clancy, Miss Grey, MrRyder, and I think I may say Lady Horbury—there is a result on the credit side. In the cases of MrGale and Miss Kerr there is a result on the debit¹⁴ side—in four cases there is no result at all—so faras we know—and in one, Dr Bryant, there is either no result or a distinct gain.’

‘And so?’ asked Japp.

‘And so,’ said Poirot, ‘we must go on seeking.’

‘With precious little to go upon,’ said Japp gloomily. ‘The truth of it is that we’re hung up untilwe can get what we want from Paris. It’s the Giselle side that wants going into. I bet I could havegot more out of that maid than Fournier did.’

‘I doubt it, my friend. The most interesting thing about this case is the personality of the deadwoman. A woman without friends—without relations—without, as one might say—any personallife. A woman who was once young, who once loved and suffered and then—with a firm handpulled down the shutter—all that was over; not a photograph, not a souvenir, not a knick-knack.

Marie Morisot became Madame Giselle—moneylender.’

‘Do you think there is a clue in her past?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Well, we could do with it! There aren’t any clues in this case.’

‘Oh, yes, my friend, there are.’

‘The blowpipe, of course—’

‘No, no, not the blowpipe.’

‘Well, let’s hear your ideas of the clues in the case.’

Poirot smiled.

‘I will give them titles—like the names of Mr Clancy’s stories: The Clue of the Wasp¹⁵. The Cluein the Passenger’s Baggage. The Clue of the Extra Coffee Spoon.’

‘You’re potty,’ said Japp kindly¹⁶, and added: ‘What’s this about a coffee spoon?’

‘Madame Giselle had two spoons in her saucer.’

‘That’s supposed to mean a wedding.’

‘In this case,’ said Poirot, ‘it meant a funeral.’

 

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