Seven

Mrs.?Vanderlyn swept into the room looking very handsome. She was wearing an artfully-cutrusset sports suit that showed up the warm lights of her hair. She swept to a chair and smiled in adazzling fashion at the little man in front of her.

For a moment something showed through the smile. It might have been triumph, it mightalmost have been mockery. It was gone almost immediately, but it had been there. Poirot foundthe suggestion of it interesting.

“Burglars? Last night? But how dreadful! Why no, I never heard a thing. What about thepolice? Can’t they do anything?”

Again, just for a moment, the mockery showed in her eyes.

Hercule Poirot thought:

“It is very clear that you are not afraid of the police, my lady. You know very well that theyare not going to be called in.”

And from that followed—what?

He said soberly:

“You comprehend, madame, it is an affair of the most discreet¹.”

“Why, naturally, M.—Poirot—isn’t it?—I shouldn’t dream of breathing a word. I’m muchtoo great an admirer of dear Lord Mayfield’s to do anything to cause him the least little bit ofworry.”

She crossed her knees. A highly-polished slipper² of brown leather dangled³ on the tip of hersilk-shod foot.

She smiled, a warm, compelling smile of perfect health and deep satisfaction.

“Do tell me if there’s anything at all I can do?”

“I thank you, madame. You played bridge in the drawing room last night?”

“Yes.”

“I understand that then all the ladies went up to bed?”

“That is right.”

“But someone came back to fetch a book. That was you, was it not, Mrs.?Vanderlyn?”

“I was the first one to come back—yes.”

“What do you mean—the first one?” said Poirot sharply.

“I came back right away,” explained Mrs.?Vanderlyn. “Then I went up and rang for my maid.

She was a long time in coming. I rang again. Then I went out on the landing. I heard her voice andI called her. After she had brushed my hair I sent her away, she was in a nervous, upset state andtangled the brush in my hair once or twice. It was then, just as I sent her away, that I saw LadyJulia coming up the stairs. She told me she had been down again for a book, too. Curious, wasn’tit?”

Mrs.?Vanderlyn smiled as she finished, a wide, rather feline⁴ smile. Hercule Poirot thought tohimself that Mrs.?Vanderlyn did not like Lady Julia Carrington.

“As you say, madame. Tell me, did you hear your maid scream?”

“Why, yes, I did hear something of that kind.”

“Did you ask her about it?”

“Yes. She told me she thought she had seen a floating figure in white—such nonsense!”

“What was Lady Julia wearing last night?”

“Oh, you think perhaps—Yes, I see. She was wearing a white evening dress. Of course, thatexplains it. She must have caught sight of her in the darkness just as a white figure. These girls areso superstitious⁵.”

“Your maid has been with you a long time, madame?”

“Oh, no.” Mrs.?Vanderlyn opened her eyes rather wide. “Only about five months.”

“I should like to see her presently, if you do not mind, madame.”

Mrs.?Vanderlyn raised her eyebrows⁶.

“Oh, certainly,” she said rather coldly.

“I should like, you understand, to question her.”

“Oh, yes.”

Again a flicker⁷ of amusement.

Poirot rose and bowed.

“Madame,” he said. “You have my complete admiration⁸.”

Mrs.?Vanderlyn for once seemed a trifle taken aback.

“Oh, M. Poirot, how nice of you, but why?”

“You are, madame, so perfectly⁹ armoured, so completely sure of yourself.”

Mrs.?Vanderlyn laughed a little uncertainly.

“Now I wonder,” she said, “if I am to take that as a compliment?”

Poirot said:

“It is, perhaps, a warning—not to treat life with arrogance¹⁰.”

Mrs.?Vanderlyn laughed with more assurance. She got up and held out a hand.

“Dear M. Poirot, I do wish you all success. Thank you for all the charming things you havesaid to me.”

She went out. Poirot murmured to himself:

“You wish me success, do you? Ah, but you are very sure I am not going to meet withsuccess! Yes, you are very sure indeed. That, it annoys me very much.”

With a certain petulance¹¹, he pulled the bell and asked that Mademoiselle Leonie might besent to him.

His eyes roamed over her appreciatively as she stood hestiating in the doorway¹², demure¹³ inher black dress with her neatly¹⁴ parted black waves of hair and her modestly-dropped eyelids¹⁵. Henodded slow approval.

“Come in, Mademoiselle Leonie,” he said. “Do not be afraid.”

She came in and stood demurely¹⁶ before him.

“Do you know,” said Poirot with a sudden change of tone, “that I find you very good to lookat.”

Leonie responded promptly¹⁷. She flashed him a glance out of the corner of her eyes andmurmured softly:

“Monsieur is very kind.”

“Figure to yourself,” said Poirot. “I demand of M. Carlile whether you are or not good-looking and he replies that he does not know!”

Leonie cocked her chin up contemptuously.

“That image!”

“That describes him very well.”

“I do not believe he has ever looked at a girl in his life, that?one.”

“Probably not. A pity. He has missed a lot. But there are others in this house who are moreappreciative, is it not so?”

“Really, I do not know what monsieur means.”

“Oh, yes, Mademoiselle Leonie, you know very well. A pretty history that you recount lastnight about a ghost that you have seen. As soon as I hear that you are standing¹⁸ there with yourhands to your head, I know very well that there is no question of ghosts. If a girl is frightened sheclasps her heart, or she raises her hands to her mouth to stifle¹⁹ a cry, but if her hands are on her hairit means something very different. It means that her hair has been ruffled²⁰ and that she is hastilygetting it into shape again! Now then, mademoiselle, let us have the truth. Why did you scream onthe stairs?”

“But monsieur it is true, I saw a tall figure all in white—”

“Mademoiselle, do not insult my intelligence. That story, it may have been good enough forM. Carlile, but it is not good enough for Hercule Poirot. The truth is that you had just been kissed,is it not so? And I will make a guess that it was M. Reggie Carrington who kissed you.”

Leonie twinkled an unabashed eye at him.

“Eh bien,” she demanded, “after all, what is a kiss?”

“What, indeed?” said Poirot gallantly²¹.

“You see, the young gentleman he came up behind me and caught me round the waist—andso naturally he startled me and I screamed. If I had known—well, then naturally I would not havescreamed.”

“Naturally,” agreed Poirot.

“But he came upon me like a cat. Then the study door opened and out came M. le secrétaireand the young gentleman slipped away upstairs and there I was looking like a fool. Naturally I hadto say something—especially to——” she broke into French, “un jeune homme comme ?a,tellement comme il faut!”

“So you invent a ghost?”

“Indeed, monsieur, it was all I could think of. A tall figure all in white, that floated. It isridiculous but what else could I do?”

“Nothing. So now, all is explained. I had my suspicions from the first.”

Leonie shot him a provocative²² glance.

“Monsieur is very clever, and very sympathetic.”

“And since I am not going to make you any embarrassments²³ over the affair you will dosomething for me in return?”

“Most willingly, monsieur.”

“How much do you know of your mistress’s affairs?”

The girl shrugged²⁴ her shoulders.

“Not very much, monsieur. I have my ideas, of course.”

“And those ideas?”

“Well, it does not escape me that the friends of madame are always soldiers or sailors orairmen. And then there are other friends—foreign gentlemen who come to see her very quietlysometimes. Madame is very handsome, though I do not think she will be so much longer. Theyoung men, they find her very attractive. Sometimes I think, they say too much. But it is only myidea, that. Madame does not confide²⁵ in me.”

“What you would have me to understand is that madame plays a lone²⁶ hand?”

“That is right, monsieur.”

“In other words, you cannot help me.”

“I fear not, monsieur. I would do if I could.”

“Tell me, your mistress is in a good mood today?”

“Decidedly, monsieur.”

“Something has happened to please her?”

“She has been in good spirits ever since she came here.”

“Well, Leonie, you should know.”

The girl answered confidently:

“Yes, monsieur. I could not be mistaken there. I know all madame’s moods. She is in highspirits.”

“Positively triumphant²⁷?”

“That is exactly the word, monsieur.”

Poirot nodded gloomily.

“I find that—a little hard to bear. Yet I perceive that it is inevitable²⁸. Thank you,mademoiselle, that is all.”

Leonie threw him a coquettish glance.

“Thank you, monsieur. If I meet monsieur on the stairs, be well-assured that I shall notscream.”

“My child,” said Poirot with dignity. “I am of advanced years. What have I to do with suchfrivolities?”

But with a little twitter of laughter, Leonie took herself off.

Poirot paced slowly up and down the room. His face became grave and anxious.

“And now,” he said at last, “for Lady Julia. What will she say, I wonder?”

Lady Julia came into the room with a quiet air of assurance. She bent²⁹ her head graciously,accepted the chair that Poirot drew forward and spoke³⁰ in a low, well-bred voice.

“Lord Mayfield says that you wish to ask me some questions.”

“Yes, madame. It is about last night.”

“About last night, yes?”

“What happened after you had finished your game of bridge?”

“My husband thought it was too late to begin another. I went up to bed.”

“And then?”

“I went to sleep.”

“That is all?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything of much interest. When did this”—she hesitated—“burglary occur?”

“Very soon after you went upstairs.”

“I see. And what exactly was taken?”

“Some private papers, madame.”

“Important papers?”

“Very important.”

She frowned a little and then said:

“They were—valuable?”

“Yes, madame, they were worth a good deal of money.”

“I see.”

There was a pause, and then Poirot said:

“What about your book, madame?”

“My book?” She raised bewildered eyes to him.

“Yes, I understand Mrs.?Vanderlyn to say that some time after you three ladies had retiredyou went down again to fetch a book.”

“Yes, of course, so I did.”

“So that, as a matter of fact, you did not go straight to bed when you went upstairs? Youreturned to the drawing room?”

“Yes, that is true. I had forgotten.”

“While you were in the drawing room, did you hear someone scream?”

“No—yes—I don’t think so.”

“Surely, madame. You could not have failed to hear it in the drawing room.”

Lady Julia flung her head back and said firmly:

“I heard nothing.”

Poirot raised his eyebrows, but did not reply.

The silence grew uncomfortable. Lady Julia asked abruptly³¹:

“What is being done?”

“Being done? I do not understand you, madame.”

“I mean about the robbery. Surely the police must be doing something.”

Poirot shook his head.

“The police have not been called in. I am in charge.”

She stared at him, her restless haggard face sharpened and tense. Her eyes, dark andsearching, sought to pierce his impassivity.

They fell at last—defeated.

“You cannot tell me what is being done?”

“I can only assure you, madame, that I am leaving no stone unturned.”

“To catch the thief—or to—recover the papers?”

“The recovery of the papers is the main thing, madame.”

Her manner changed. It became bored, listless.

“Yes,” she said indifferently. “I suppose it is.”

There was another pause.

“Is there anything else, M. Poirot?”

“No, madame. I will not detain you further.”

“Thank you.”

He opened the door for her. She passed out without glancing at him.

Poirot went back to the fireplace and carefully rearranged the ornaments³² on the mantelpiece.

He was still at it when Lord Mayfield came in through the window.

“Well?” said the latter.

“Very well, I think. Events are shaping themselves as they should.”

Lord Mayfield said, staring at him:

“You are pleased.”

“No, I am not pleased. But I am content.”

“Really, M. Poirot, I cannot make you out.”

“I am not such a charlatan³³ as you think.”

“I never said—”

“No, but you thought! No matter. I am not offended. It is sometimes necessary for me toadopt a certain pose.”

Lord Mayfield looked at him doubtfully with a certain amount of distrust. Hercule Poirot wasa man he did not understand. He wanted to despise him, but something warned him that thisridiculous little man was not so futile³⁴ as he appeared. Charles McLaughlin had always been able torecognize capability³⁵ when he saw it.

“Well,” he said, “we are in your hands. What do you advise next?”

“Can you get rid of your guests?”

“I think it might be arranged . . . I could explain that I have to go to London over this affair.

They will then probably offer to leave.”

“Very good. Try and arrange it like that.”

Lord Mayfield hesitated.

“You don’t think—?”

“I am quite sure that that would be the wise course to take.”

Lord Mayfield shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, if you say so.”

He went out.

 

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