Chapter 23

Anne Morisot

At half past ten on the following morning the melancholy¹ M. Fournier walked into Poirot’s sitting-room² and shook the little Belgian warmly by the hand.

His own manner was far more animated³ than usual.

‘Monsieur,’ he said, ‘there is something I want to tell you. I have, I think, at last seen the pointof what you said in London about the finding of the blowpipe.’

‘Ah!’ Poirot’s face lighted up.

‘Yes,’ said Fournier taking a chair. ‘I pondered much over what you had said. Again and again Isay to myself: Impossible that the crime should have been committed as we believe. And at last—at last—I see a connexion between that repetition of mine and what you said about the finding ofthe blowpipe.’

Poirot listened attentively⁴, but said nothing.

‘That day in London you said, Why was the blowpipe found, when it might so easily have beenpassed out through the ventilator? And I think now that I have the answer. The blowpipe wasfound because the murderer wanted it to be found.’

‘Bravo!’ said Poirot.

‘That was your meaning, then? Good, I thought so. And I went on a step further. I ask myself:

Why did the murderer want the blowpipe to be found? And to that I got the answer: Because theblowpipe was not used.’

‘Bravo! Bravo! My reasoning exactly.’

‘I say to myself: The poisoned dart⁵, yes, but not the blowpipe. Then something else was used tosend that dart through the air—something that a man or woman might put to their lips in a normalmanner and which would cause no remark. And I remembered your insistence⁶ on a complete listof all that was found in the passengers’ luggage and upon their persons. There were two things thatespecially attracted my attention—Lady Horbury had two cigarette holders⁷, and on the table infront of the Duponts were a number of Kurdish pipes.’

M. Fournier paused. He looked at Poirot. Poirot did not speak.

‘Both those things could have been put to the lips naturally without anyone remarking on it…Iam right, am I not?’

Poirot hesitated, then he said:

‘You are on the right track, yes, but go a little further; and do not forget the wasp⁸.’

‘The wasp?’ Fournier stared. ‘No, there I do not follow you. I cannot see where the wasp comesin.’

‘You cannot see? But it is there that I—’

He broke off as the telephone rang.

He took up the receiver.

‘’Allo, ’allo. Ah, good morning. Yes, it is I myself, Hercule Poirot.’ In an aside to Fournier hesaid, ‘It is Thibault…’

‘Yes—yes, indeed. Very well. And you? M. Fournier? Quite right. Yes, he has arrived. He ishere at this moment.’

Lowering the receiver, he said to Fournier:

‘He tried to get you at the S?reté. They told him that you had come to see me here. You hadbetter speak to him. He sounds excited.’

Fournier took the telephone.

‘’Allo —’allo. Yes, it is Fournier speaking… What… What… In verity⁹, is that so…? Yes,indeed…Yes…Yes, I am sure he will. We will come round at once.’

He replaced the telephone on its hook and looked across at Poirot.

‘It is the daughter. The daughter of Madame Giselle.’

‘What?’

‘Yes, she has arrived to claim her heritage.’

‘Where has she come from?’

‘America, I understand. Thibault has asked her to return at half past eleven. He suggests weshould go round and see him.’

‘Most certainly. We will go immediately…I will leave a note for Mademoiselle Grey.’

He wrote:

Some developments have occurred which force me to go out. If M. Jean Dupontshould ring up or call, be amiable¹⁰ to him. Talk of buttons and socks, but not asyet of prehistoric¹¹ pottery¹². He admires you; but he is intelligent!

Au revoir,

Hercule Poirot.

‘And now let us come, my friend,’ he said, rising. ‘This is what I have been waiting for—the entryon the scene of the shadowy figure of whose presence I have been conscious all along. Now—soon—I ought to understand everything.’

II

Ma?tre Thibault received Poirot and Fournier with great affability.

After an interchange of compliments and polite questions and answers, the lawyer settled downto the discussion of Madame Giselle’s heiress.

‘I received a letter yesterday,’ he said, ‘and this morning the young lady herself called uponme.’

‘What age is Mademoiselle Morisot?’

‘Mademoiselle Morisot—or rather Mrs Richards—for she is married, is exactly twenty-fouryears of age.’

‘She brought documents to prove her identity?’ asked Fournier.

‘Certainly. Certainly.’

He opened a file at his elbow.

‘To begin with, there is this.’

It was a copy of a marriage certificate between George Leman, bachelor, and Marie Morisot—both of Quebec. Its date was 1910. There was also the birth certificate of Anne Morisot Leman.

There were various other documents and papers.

‘This throws a certain light on the early life of Madame Giselle,’ said Fournier.

Thibault nodded.

‘As far as I can piece it out,’ he said, ‘Marie Morisot was nursery governess or sewing-maidwhen she met this man Leman.

‘He was, I gather, a bad lot who deserted¹³ her soon after the marriage, and she resumed hermaiden name.

‘The child was received in the Institut de Marie at Quebec and was brought up there. MarieMorisot or Leman left Quebec shortly afterwards—I imagine with a man—and came to France.

She remitted¹⁵ sums of money from time to time, and finally dispatched a lump sum of ready moneyto be given to the child on attaining¹⁶ the age of twenty-one. At that time Marie Morisot or Lemanwas, no doubt, living an irregular life, and considered it better to sunder¹⁷ any personal relations.’

‘How did the girl realize that she was the heiress to a fortune?’

‘We have inserted discreet¹⁸ advertisements in various journals. It seems one of these came to thenotice of the Principal of the Institut de Marie, and she wrote or telegraphed to Mrs Richards, whowas then in Europe, but on the point of returning to the States.’

‘Who is Richards?’

‘I gather he is an American or Canadian from Detroit—by profession a maker¹⁹ of surgicalinstruments.’

‘He did not accompany his wife?’

‘No, he is still in America.’

‘Is Mrs Richards able to throw any light upon a possible reason for her mother’s murder?’

The lawyer shook his head.

‘She knows nothing about her. In fact, although she had once heard the Principal mention it, shedid not even remember what her mother’s maiden¹⁴ name was.’

‘It looks,’ said Fournier, ‘as though her appearance on the scene is not going to be of any helpin solving the murder problem. Not, I must admit, that I ever thought it would. I am on quiteanother tack²⁰ at present. My inquiries²¹ have narrowed down to a choice of three persons.’

‘Four,’ said Poirot.

‘You think four?’

‘It is not I who say four, but on the theory that you advanced to me you cannot confine yourselfto three persons.’ He made a sudden rapid motion with his hands. ‘The two cigarette holders—theKurdish pipes and a flute²². Remember the flute, my friend.’

Fournier gave an exclamation²³, but at that moment the door opened and an aged²⁴ clerk mumbled²⁵:

‘The lady has returned.’

‘Ah,’ said Thibault. ‘Now you will be able to see the heiress for yourself. Come in, Madame.

Let me present to you M. Fournier of the S?reté, who is in charge in this country of the inquiriesinto your mother’s death. This is M. Hercule Poirot, whose name may be familiar to you and whois kindly²⁶ giving us his assistance. Madame Richards.’

Giselle’s daughter was a dark, chic-looking young woman. She was very smartly though plainlydressed.

She held out her hand to each of the men in turn, murmuring a few appreciative²⁷ words.

‘Though, I fear, Messieurs, that I have hardly the feeling of a daughter in the matter. I havebeen to all intents and purposes an orphan²⁸ all my life.’

In answer to Fournier’s questions she spoke²⁹ warmly and gratefully of Mère Angélique, the headof the Institut de Marie.

‘She has always been kindness itself to me.’

‘You left the Institut—when, Madame?’

‘When I was eighteen, Monsieur. I started to earn my living. I was, for a time, a manicurist. Ihave also been in a dressmaker’s establishment. I met my husband in Nice. He was then justreturning to the States. He came over again on business to Holland and we were married inRotterdam a month ago. Unfortunately, he had to return to Canada. I was detained—but I am nowabout to rejoin him.’

Anne Richards’s French was fluent and easy. She was clearly more French than English.

‘You heard of the tragedy—how?’

‘Naturally I read of it in the papers, but I did not know—that is, I did not realize—that thevictim in the case was my mother. Then I received a telegram here in Paris from Mère Angéliquegiving me the address of Ma?tre Thibault and reminding me of my mother’s maiden name.’

Fournier nodded thoughtfully.

They talked a little further, but it seemed clear that Mrs Richards could be of little assistance tothem in their search for the murderer. She knew nothing at all of her mother’s life or businessrelations.

Having elicited³⁰ the name of the hotel at which she was staying, Poirot and Fournier took leaveof her.

‘You are disappointed, mon vieux,’ said Fournier. ‘You had some idea in your brain about thisgirl? Did you suspect that she might be an impostor? Or do you, in fact, still suspect that she is animpostor?’

Poirot shook his head in a discouraged manner.

‘No—I do not think she is an impostor. Her proofs of identity sound genuine enough…It is odd,though, I feel that I have either seen her before—or that she reminds me of someone…’

‘A likeness³¹ to the dead woman?’ suggested Fournier doubtfully. ‘Surely not.’

‘No—it is not that—I wish I could remember what it was. I am sure her face reminds me ofsomeone…’

Fournier looked at him curiously³².

‘You have always, I think, been intrigued³³ by the missing daughter.’

‘Naturally,’ said Poirot, his eyebrows³⁴ rising a little. ‘Of all the people who may or may notbenefit by Giselle’s death, this young woman does benefit—very definitely—in hard cash.’

‘True—but does that get us anywhere?’

Poirot did not answer for a minute or two. He was following the train of his own thoughts. Hesaid at last:

‘My friend—a very large fortune passes to this girl. Do you wonder that from the beginning Ispeculated as to her being implicated³⁵. There were three women on that plane. One of them, MissVenetia Kerr, was of well-known and authenticated³⁶ family. But the other two? Ever since EliseGrandier advanced the theory that the father of Madame Giselle’s child was an Englishman I havekept it in my mind that one of the two other women might conceivably be this daughter. Theywere both of approximately the right age. Lady Horbury was a chorus girl whose antecedents weresomewhat obscure and who acted under a stage name. Miss Jane Grey, as she once told me, hadbeen brought up in an orphanage³⁷.’

‘Ah ha!’ said the Frenchman. ‘So that is the way your mind has been running? Our friend Jappwould say that you were being over-ingenious.’

‘It is true that he always accuses me of preferring to make things difficult.’

‘You see?’

‘But as a matter of fact it is not true—I proceed always in the simplest manner imaginable! AndI never refuse to accept facts.’

‘But you are disappointed? You expected more from this Anne Morisot?’

They were just entering Poirot’s hotel. An object lying on the reception desk recalled Fournier’smind to something Poirot had said earlier in the morning.

‘I have not thanked you,’ he said, ‘for drawing my attention to the error I had committed. Inoted the two cigarette holders of Lady Horbury and the Kurdish pipes of the Duponts. It wasunpardonable on my part to have forgotten the flute of Dr Bryant, though I do not seriouslysuspect him—’

‘You do not?’

‘No. He does not strike me as the kind of man to—’

He stopped. The man standing³⁸ at the reception desk talking to the clerk turned, his hand on theflute case. His glance fell on Poirot and his face lit up in grave recognition.

Poirot went forward—Fournier discreetly³⁹ withdrew into the background. As well that Bryantshould not see him.

‘Dr Bryant,’ said Poirot, bowing.

‘M. Poirot.’

They shook hands. A woman who had been standing near Bryant moved away towards the lift.

Poirot sent just a fleeting⁴⁰ glance after her.

He said:

‘Well, M. le docteur, are your patients managing to do without you for a little?’

Dr Bryant smiled—that melancholy attractive smile that the other remembered so well. Helooked tired, but strangely peaceful.

‘I have no patients now,’ he said.

Then, moving towards a little table, he said:

‘A glass of sherry, M. Poirot, or some other apéritif?’

‘I thank you.’

They sat down, and the doctor gave the order. Then he said slowly:

‘No, I have no patients now. I have retired⁴¹.’

‘A sudden decision?’

‘Not so very sudden.’

He was silent as the drinks were set before them. Then, raising the glass, he said:

‘It is a necessary decision. I resign of my own free will before I am struck off the register.’ Hewent on speaking in a gentle, faraway voice. ‘There comes to everyone a turning-point in theirlives, M. Poirot. They stand at the cross-roads and have to decide. My profession interests meenormously—it is a sorrow—a very great sorrow to abandon it. But there are other claims…Thereis, M. Poirot, the happiness of a human being.’

Poirot did not speak. He waited.

‘There is a lady—a patient of mine—I love her very dearly. She has a husband who causes herinfinite misery⁴². He takes drugs. If you were a doctor you would know what that meant. She has nomoney of her own, so she cannot leave him…

‘For some time I have been undecided—but now I have made up my mind. She and I are nowon our way to Kenya to begin a new life. I hope that at last she may know a little happiness. Shehas suffered so long…’

Again he was silent. Then he said in a brisker tone:

‘I tell you this, M. Poirot, because it will soon be public property, and the sooner you know thebetter.’

‘I understand,’ said Poirot. After a minute he said, ‘You take your flute, I see?’

Dr Bryant smiled.

‘My flute, M. Poirot, is my oldest companion…When everything else fails—music remains⁴³.’

His hand ran lovingly over the flute case, then with a bow he rose.

Poirot rose also.

‘My best wishes for your future, M. le docteur—and for that of Madame,’ said Poirot.

When Fournier rejoined his friend, Poirot was at the desk making arrangements for a trunk callto Quebec.

 

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