We had reached the door when Miss Carroll’s voice recalled us.
‘M. Poirot, these aren’t my glasses. I can’t see through them.’
‘Comment?’ Poirot stared at her in amazement. Then his face broke up into smiles.
‘Imbecile that I am! My own glasses fell out of my pocket as I stooped to get the gloves and pick up yours. I have mixed the two pairs. They look very alike, you see.’
An exchange was made, with smiles on both sides, and we took our departure.
‘Poirot,’ I said when we were outside. ‘You don’t wear glasses.’
He beamed at me.
‘Penetrating! How quickly you see the point.’
‘Those were the pince-nez I found in Carlotta Adams’ handbag?’
‘Correct.’
‘Why did you think they might be Miss Carroll’s?’
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
‘She is the only person connected with the case who wears glasses.’
‘However, they are not hers,’ I said thoughtfully.
‘So she affirms.’
‘You suspicious old devil.’
‘Not at all, not at all. Probably she spoke the truth. I think she did speak the truth. Otherwise I doubt if she would have noticed the substitution. I did it very adroitly, my friend.’
We were strolling through the streets more or less at random. I suggested a taxi, but Poirot shook his head.
‘I have need to think, my friend. Walking aids me.’
I said no more. The night was a close one and I was in no hurry to return home.
‘Were your questions about Paris mere camouflage?’ I asked curiously.
‘Not entirely.’
‘We still haven’t solved the mystery of the initial D,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘It’s odd that nobody to do with the case has an initial D – either surname or Christian name – except – oh! yes, that’s odd – except Donald Ross himself. And he’s dead.’
‘Yes,’ said Poirot in a sombre voice. ‘He is dead.’
I remembered another evening when three of us had walked at night. Remembered something else, too, and drew my breath in sharply.
‘By Jove, Poirot,’ I said. ‘Do you remember?’
‘Remember what, my friend?’
‘What Ross said about thirteen at table. And he was the first to get up. ’
Poirot did not answer. I felt a little uncomfortable as one always does when superstition is proved justified.
‘It is queer,’ I said in a low voice. ‘You must admit it is queer.’
‘Eh?’
‘I said it was queer – about Ross and thirteen. Poirot, what are you thinking about?’
To my utter amazement and, I must admit, somewhat to my disgust, Poirot began suddenly to shake with laughter. He shook and he shook. Something was evidently causing him the most exquisite mirth.
‘What the devil are you laughing at?’ I said sharply.
‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ gasped Poirot. ‘It is nothing. It is that I think of a riddle I heard the other day. I will tell it to you. What is it that has two legs, feathers, and barks like a dog?’
‘A chicken, of course,’ I said wearily. ‘I knew that in the nursery.’
‘You are too well informed, Hastings. You should say, “I do not know.” And then me, I say, “A chicken,” and then you say, “But a chicken does not bark like a dog,” and I say, “Ah! I put that in to make it more difficult.” Supposing, Hastings, that there we have the explanation of the letter D?’
‘What nonsense!’
‘Yes, to most people, but to a certain type of mind. Oh! if I had only someone I could ask…’
We were passing a big cinema. People were streaming out of it discussing their own affairs, their servants, their friends of the opposite sex, and just occasionally, the picture they had just seen.
With a group of them we crossed the Euston Road.
‘I loved it,’ a girl was sighing. ‘I think Bryan Martin’s just wonderful. I never miss any picture he’s in. The way he rode down the cliff and got there in time with the papers.’
Her escort was less enthusiastic.
‘Idiotic story. If they’d just had the sense to ask Ellis right away. Which anyone worth sense would have done–’
The rest was lost. Reaching the pavement I turned back to see Poirot standing in the middle of the road with buses bearing down on him from either side. Instinctively I put my hands over my eyes. There was a jarring of brakes, and some rich bus driver language. In a dignified manner Poirot walked to the kerb. He looked like a man walking in his sleep.
‘Poirot,’ I said, ‘were you mad?’
‘No, mon ami. It was just that – something came to me. There, at that moment.’
‘A damned bad moment,’ I said. ‘And very nearly your last one.’
‘No matter. Ah, mon ami – I have been blind, deaf, insensible. Now I see the answers to all those questions – yes, all five of them. Yes – I see it all… So simple, so childishly simple…’
Chapter 28. Poirot Asks a Few Questions
We had a curious walk home.
Poirot was clearly following out some train of thought in his own mind. Occasionally he murmured a word under his breath. I heard one or two of them. Once he said, ‘Candles’, and another time he said something that sounded like ‘douzaine’. I suppose if I had been really bright I should have seen the line his thoughts were taking. It was really such a clear trail. However, at the time, it sounded to me mere gibberish.
No sooner were we at home than he flew to the telephone. He rang up the Savoy and asked to speak to Lady Edgware.
‘Not a hope, old boy,’ I said with some amusement.
Poirot, as I have often told him, is one of the worst-informed men in the world.
‘Don’t you know?’ I went on. ‘She’s in a new play. She’ll be at the theatre. It’s only half-past ten.’
Poirot paid no attention to me. He was speaking to the hotel clerk, who was evidently telling him exactly what I had just told him.
‘Ah! is that so? I should like then to speak to Lady Edgware’s maid.’
In a few minutes the connection was made.
‘Is that Lady Edgware’s maid? This is M. Poirot speaking. M. Hercule Poirot. You remember me, do you not?’
‘…’
‘Tres bien. Now, you understand, something of importance has arisen. I would like you to come and see me at once.’
‘…’
‘But yes, very important. I will give you the address. Listen carefully.’
He repeated it twice, then hung up the receiver with a thoughtful face.
‘What is the idea?’ I asked curiously. ‘Have you really got a piece of information?’
‘No, Hastings, it is she who will give me the information.’
‘What information?’
‘Information about a certain person.’
‘Jane Wilkinson?’
‘Oh! as to her, I have all the information I need. I know her back side before, as you say.’
‘Who, then?’
Poirot gave me one of his supremely irritating smiles and told me to wait and see.
He then busied himself in tidying up the room in a fussy manner.
Ten minutes later the maid arrived. She seemed a little nervous and uncertain. A small neat figure dressed in black, she peered about her doubtfully.
Poirot bustled forward.
‘Ah! you have come. That is most kind. Sit here, will you now, Mademoiselle – Ellis, I think?’
‘Yes, sir. Ellis.’
She sat down on the chair Poirot had drawn forward for her.
She sat with her hands folded on her lap looking from one to the other of us. Her small bloodless face was quite composed and her thin lips were pinched together.
‘To begin with, Miss Ellis, you have been with Lady Edgware how long?’
‘Three years, sir.’
‘That is as I thought. You know her affairs well.’