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II
Hercule Poirot was just going down to his taxi when the telephone rang. He took off the receiver.
“Yes?”
Japp’s voice spoke.
“Glad I’ve just caught you. It’s all off, old man. Found a message at the Yard when I got
back. The girl’s turned up. At the side of the main road fifteen miles from Amiens. She’s dazed
and they can’t get any coherent story from her, doctor says she’s been doped—However, she’s all
right. Nothing wrong with her.”
Poirot said slowly:
“So you have, then, no need of my services?”
“Afraid not! In fact—sorrrry you have been trrrroubled.”
Japp laughed at his witticism and rang off.
Hercule Poirot did not laugh. He put back the receiver slowly. His face was worried.
III
Detective Inspector Hearn looked at Poirot curiously.
He said:
“I’d no idea you’d be so interested, sir.”
Poirot said:
“You had word from Chief Inspector Japp that I might consult with you over this matter?”
Hearn nodded.
“He said you were coming over on some business, and that you’d give us a hand with this
puzzle. But I didn’t expect you now it’s all cleared up. I thought you’d be busy on your own job.”
Hercule Poirot said:
“My own business can wait. It is this affair here that interests me. You called it a puzzle, and
you say it is now ended. But the puzzle is still there, it seems.”
“Well, sir, we’ve got the child back. And she’s not hurt. That’s the main thing.”
“But it does not solve the problem of how you got her back, does it? What does she herself
say? A doctor saw her, did he not? What did he say?”
“Said she’d been doped. She was still hazy with it. Apparently, she can’t remember anything
much after starting off from Cranchester. All later events seem to have been wiped out. Doctor
thinks she might just possibly have had slight concussion. There’s a bruise on the back of her
head. Says that would account for a complete blackout of memory.”
Poirot said:
“Which is very convenient for—someone!”
Inspector Hearn said in a doubtful voice:
“You don’t think she is shamming, sir?”
“Do you?”
“No, I’m sure she isn’t. She’s a nice kid—a bit young for her age.”
“No, she is not shamming.” Poirot shook his head. “But I would like to know how she got off
that train. I want to know who is responsible—and why?”
“As to why, I should say it was an attempt at kidnapping, sir. They meant to hold her to
ransom.”
“But they didn’t!”
“Lost their nerve with the hue and cry—and planted her by the road quick.”
Poirot inquired sceptically:
“And what ransom were they likely to get from a Canon of Cranchester Cathedral? English
Church dignitaries are not millionaires.”
Detective Inspector Hearn said cheerfully:
“Made a botch of the whole thing, sir, in my opinion.”
“Ah, that’s your opinion.”
Hearn said, his face flushing slightly:
“What’s yours, sir?”
“I want to know how she was spirited off that train.”
The policeman’s face clouded over.
“That’s a real mystery, that is. One minute she was there, sitting in the dining car, chatting to
the other girls. Five minutes later she’s vanished—hey presto—like a conjuring trick.”
“Precisely, like a conjuring trick! Who else was there in the coach of the train where
Miss Pope’s reserved compartments
were?”
Inspector Hearn nodded.
“That’s a good point, sir. That’s important. It’s particularly important because it was the last
coach on the train and as soon as all the people were back from the restaurant car, the doors
between the coaches were locked—actually so as to prevent people crowding along to the
restaurant car and demanding tea before they’d had time to clear up lunch and get ready. Winnie
King came back to the coach with the others—the school had three reserved compartments there.”
“And in the other compartments of the coach?”
Hearn pulled out his notebook.
“Miss Jordan and Miss Butters—two middle-aged spinsters going to Switzerland. Nothing
wrong with them, highly respectable, well known in Hampshire where they come from. Two
French commercial travellers, one from Lyons, one from Paris. Both respectable middle-aged
men. A young man, James Elliot, and his wife—flashy piece of goods she was. He’s got a bad
reputation, suspected by the police of being mixed up in some questionable transactions—but has
never touched kidnapping. Anyway, his compartment was searched and there was nothing in his
hand luggage to show that he was mixed up in this. Don’t see how he could have been. Only other
person was an American lady, Mrs. Van Suyder, travelling to Paris. Nothing known about her.
Looks O.K. That’s the lot.”
Hercule Poirot said:
“And it is quite definite that the train did not stop after it left Amiens?”
“Absolutely. It slowed down once, but not enough to let anyone jump off—not without
damaging themselves pretty severely and risking being killed.”
Hercule Poirot murmured:
“That is what makes the problem so peculiarly interesting. The schoolgirl vanishes into thin
air just outside Amiens. She reappears from thin air just outside Amiens. Where has she been in the
meantime?”
Inspector Hearn shook his head.
“It sounds mad, put like that. Oh! by the way, they told me you were asking something about
shoes—the girl’s shoes. She had her shoes on all right when she was found, but there was a pair of
shoes on the line, a signalman found them. Took ’em home with him as they seemed in good
condition. Stout black walking shoes.”
“Ah,” said Poirot. He looked gratified.
Inspector Hearn said curiously:
“I don’t get the meaning of the shoes, sir? Do they mean anything?”
“They confirm a theory,” said Hercule Poirot. “A theory of how the conjuring trick was
done.”
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