'Ohl' I said, rather crestfallen. 'Where did you find it?
Here?' 'There was nothing sensational about it. It had simply not been taken out with the other cards. It was in the box.' 'H'm All the same, it gave you an idea, didn't it?' 'Yes, my friend. I present my respects to His Majesty.' 'And to Madame Zaral' 'Ah, yes - to the lady also.' 'Well, what are we going to do now?' 'We are going to return to town. But I must have a few words with a certain lady at Daisymead first.' The same little maid opened the door to us.
'They're all at lunch now, sir - unless it's Miss $aintclair you want to see, and she's resting.' 'It will do if I can see Mrs Oglander for a few minutes. Will you tell her?' We were led into the drawing-room to wait. I had a glimpse of the family in the dining-room as we passed, now reinforced by the presence of two heavy, solid-looking men, one with a moustache, the other with a beard also.
In a few minutes Mrs Oglander came into the room, looking inquiringly at Poirot, who bowed.
'Madame, we, in our country, have a great tenderness, a great respect for the mother. The mi, re defamille, she is everything!' Mrs Oglander looked rather astonished at this opening.
'It is for that reason that I have come - to allay a mother's anxiety. The murderer of Mr Reedburn will not be discovered.
Have no fear. I, Hercule Poirot, tell you so. I am right, am I not?
Or is it a wife that I must reassure?'
There was a moment's pause. Mrs Oglander seemed searching Poirot with her eyes. At last she said quietly: 'I don't know how you know - but yes, you are right.'
Poirot nodded gravely. 'That is all, madame. But do not be uneasy. Your English policemen have not the eyes of Hercule Poirot.' He tapped the family portrait on the wall with his finger-nail.
'You had another daughter once. She is dead, madame?'
Again there was a pause, as she searched him with her eyes.
Then she answered: 'Yes, she is dead.'
'Ahl' said Poirot briskly. 'Well, we must return to town. You permit that I return the king of clubs to the pack? It was your only slip. You understand, to have played bridge for an hour or so, with only fifty-one cards - well, no one who knows anything of the game would credit it for a minute! Bonjourl'
'find now, my friend,' said Poirot as we stepped towards the station, 'you see it all?
'I see nothing! Who killed Reedburn?'
'John Oglander, Junior. I was not quite sure if it was the father or the son, but I fixed on the son as being the stronger and younger of the two. It had to be one of them, because of the win-dow.'
'Why?'
'There were four exits from the library - two doors, two win-dows; but evidently only one would do. Three exits gave on the front, directly or indirectly. The tragedy had to occur in the back window in order to make it appear that Valerie Saintclair came to Daisymead by chance. Really, of course, she fainted, and John
Oglander carried her across over his shoulders. That is why I said he must be a strong man.' 'Did they go there together, then?' 'Yes. You remember Valerie's hesitation when I asked her if she was not afraid to go alone? John Oglander went with her which didn't improve Reedburn's temper, I fancy. They quarrelled, and it was probably some insult levelled at?alerie that made Oglander hit him. The rest, you know.' 'But why the bridge?' 'Bridge presupposes four players. A simple thing like that carries a lot of conviction. Who would have supposed that there had been only three people in that room all the evening?' I was still puzzled.
'There's one thing I don't understand. What have the Oglanders to do with the dancer Valerie Saintclair?' 'Ah, that I wonder you did not see. And yet you looked long enough at that picture on the wall - longer than I did. Mrs Oglander's other daughter may be dead to her family, but the world knows her as Valerie Saintclairl' 'What?' 'Did you not see the resemblance the moment you saw the two sisters together?' 'No,' I confessed. 'I only thought how extraordinarily dissimilar they were.' 'That is because your mind is so open to external romantic impressions, my dear Hastings. The features are almost identical.
$o is the colouring. The interesting thing is that?alerie is ashamed of her family, and her family is ashamed of her. Nevertheless, in a moment of peril, she turned to her brother for help, and when things went wrong, they all hung together in a remarkable way.
Family strength is a marvellous thing. They can all act, that family. That is where Valerie gets her histrionic talent from. I, like Prince Paul, believe in heredityl They deceived rnel But for a lucky accident, and test question to Mrs Oglander by which I got her to contradict her daughter's account of how they were sitting, the Oglander family would have put a defeat on Hercule Poirot.' 'What shall you tell the Prince?'
'That Valerie could not possibly have committed the crime, and that I doubt if that tramp will ever be found. Also, to convey my compliments to Zara. A curious coincidence, thatl I think I shall call this little affair the Adventure of the King of Clubs.
What do you think, my friend?'
Chapter VII. The Lemesurier Inheritance
In company with Poirot, I have investigated many strange eases, but none, I think, to compare with that extraordinary series of events which held our interest over a period of many years, and which culminated in the ultimate problem brought to Poirot to solve. Our attention was first drawn to the family history of the Lemesuriers one evening during the war. Poirot and I had but recently come together again, renewing the old days of our acquaintanceship in Belgium. He had been handling some little matter for the War Office - disposing of it to their entire satisfac-tion; and we had been dining at the Carlton with a Brass Hat who paid Poirot heavy compliments in the intervals of the meal. The Brass Hat had to rush away to keep an appointment with someone, and we finished our coffee in a leisurely fashion before following his example.
As we were leaving the room, I was hailed by a voice which struck a familiar note, and turned to see Captain Vincent Lemesurier, a young fellow whom I had known in France. He was with an older man whose likeness to him proclaimed him to be of the same family. Such proved to be the case, and he was introduced to us as Mr Hugo Lemesurier, uncle of my young friend.
I did not really know Captain Lemesurier at all intimately, but he was a pleasant young fellow, somewhat dreamy in manner, and I remembered hearing that he belonged to an old and exclusive family with a property in Northumberland which dated from before the Reformation. Poirot and I were not in a hurry, and at the younger man's invitation, we sat down at the table with our two new-found friends, and chattered pleasantly enough on various matters. The elder Lemesurier was a man of about forty, with a touch of the scholar in his stooping shoulders; he was engaged at the moment upon some chemical research work for the Government, it appeared.
Our conversation was interrupted by a tall dark young man who strode up to the table, evidently labouring under some agitation Of mind.
'Thank goodness I've found you bothl' he exclaimed.
'What's the matter, Roger?' 'Your guv'nor, Vincent. Bad fall. Young horse.' The rest trailed off, as he drew the other aside.
In a few minutes our two friends had hurriedly taken leave of us. Vincent Lemesurier's father had had a serious accident while trying a young horse, and was not expected to live until morning.
Vincent had gone deadly white, and appeared almost stunned by the news. In a way, I was surprised - for from the few words he had let fall on the subject while in France, I had gathered that he and his father were not on particularly friendly terms, and so his display of filial feeling now rather astonished me.
The dark young man, who had been introduced to us as a cousin, Mr Roger Lemesurier, remained behind, and we three strolled out together.