Three

“At any rate give it a trial, Charles.”

It was half an hour later. The two men were in Lord Mayfield’s study, and Sir George hadbeen expending¹ a considerable amount of persuasion² to induce his friend to adopt a certain course.

Lord Mayfield, at first most unwilling³, was gradually becoming less averse⁴ to the idea.

Sir George went on:

“Don’t be so damned pigheaded, Charles.”

Lord Mayfield said slowly:

“Why drag in a wretched foreigner we know nothing about?”

“But I happen to know a lot about him. The man’s a marvel⁵.”

“Humph.”

“Look here, Charles. It’s a chance! Discretion⁶ is the essence of this business. If it leaks out—”

“When it leaks out is what you mean!”

“Not necessarily. This man, Hercule Poirot—”

“Will come down here and produce the plans like a conjurer taking rabbits out of his hat, Isuppose?”

“He’ll get at the truth. And the truth is what we want. Look here, Charles, I take allresponsibility on myself.”

Lord Mayfield said slowly:

“Oh, well, have it your own way, but I don’t see what the fellow can do. . . .”

Sir George picked up the phone.

“I’m going to get through to him—now.”

“He’ll be in bed.”

“He can get up. Dash it all, Charles, you can’t let that woman get away with it.”

“Mrs.?Vanderlyn, you mean?”

“Yes. You don’t doubt, do you, that she’s at the bottom of this?”

“No, I don’t. She’s turned the tables on me with a vengeance⁷. I don’t like admitting, George,that a woman’s been too clever for us. It goes against the grain. But it’s true. We shan’t be able toprove anything against her, and yet we both know that she’s been the prime mover in the affair.”

“Women are the devil,” said Carrington with feeling.

“Nothing to connect her with it, damn it all! We may believe that she put the girl up to thatscreaming trick, and that the man lurking⁸ outside was her accomplice⁹, but the devil of it is wecan’t prove it.”

“Perhaps Hercule Poirot can.”

Suddenly Lord Mayfield laughed.

“By the Lord, George, I thought you were too much of an old John Bull to put your trust in aFrenchman, however clever.”

“He’s not even a Frenchman, he’s a Belgian,” said Sir George in a rather shamefaced manner.

“Well, have your Belgian down. Let him try his wits on this business. I’ll bet he can’t makemore of it than we can.”

Without replying, Sir George stretched a hand to the telephone.

 

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