We lay down and a Chinese boy took off our boots. It was the best moment of the evening. Then they brought us the opium-pipes and cooked the opium-pills, and we pretended to smoke and then to sleep and dream. But when we were alone, Mr Pearson called softly to me, and immediately he began crawling along the floor. We went into another room where other people were asleep, and so on, until we heard two men talking. We stayed behind a curtain and listened. They were speaking of Wu Ling.
' "What about the papers?" said one.
' "Mr Lester, he takee those," answered the other, who was a Chinaman. "He say, puttee them alice in saree place - where pleeceman no lookee."
' "Ah, but he's nabbed," said the first one.
' "He gettee free. Pleeceman not sure he done it."
'There was more of the same kind of thing, then apparently the two men were coming our way, and we scuttled back to our beds.
' "We'd better get out of here," said Pearson, after a few minutes had elapsed. "This place isn't healthy."
'"You are right, monsieur," I agreed. "We have played the farce long enough."
'We succeeded in getting away, all right, paying handsomely for our smoke. Once clear of Limehouse, Pearson drew a long breath.
' "I'm glad to get out of that," he said. "But it's something to be sure."
' "It is indeed," I agreed. "And I fancy that we shall not have much difficulty in finding what we want - after this evening', masquerade."
'And there was no difficulty whatsoever,' finished Poirot suddenly.
This abrupt ending seemed so extraordinary that I stared at him.
'But - but where were they?' I asked.
'In his pocket - tout simplement.' 'But in whose pocket?' 'Mr Pearson's, parbleul' Then, observing my look of bewilderment, he continued gently: 'You do not yet see it? Mr Pearson, like Charles Lester, was in debt. Mr Pearson, like Charles Lester, was fond of gambling. And he conceived the idea of stealing the papers from the Chinaman. He met him all right at Southampton, came up to London with him, and took him straight to Limehouse.
It was foggy that day; the Chinaman would not notice where he was going. I fancy Mr Pearson smoked the opium fairly often down there and had some peculiar friends in consequence. I do not think he meant murder. His idea was that one of the Chinamen should impersonate Wu Ling and receive the money for the sale of the document. So far, so goodl But, to the Oriental mind, it was infinitely simpler to kill Wu [,ing and throw his body into the river, and Pearson's Chinese accomplices followed their own methods without consulting him. Imagine, then, what you would call the "funk bleu" of M. Pearson. Someone may have seen him in the train with Wu Ling - murder is a very different thing from simple abduction.
'His salvation lies with the Chinaman who is personating Wu Ling at the Russell Square Hotel. If only the body is not discovered too soon! Probably Wu Ling had told him of the arrangement between him and Charles [,ester whereby the latter was to call for him at the hotel. Pearson sees there an excellent way of diverting suspicion from himself. Charles Lester shall be the last person to be seen in company with Wu Ling. The impersonator has orders to represent himself to Lester as the servant of Wu [,ing, and to bring him as speedily as possible to Limehouse.
There, very likely, he was offered a drink. The drink would be suitably drugged, and when Lester emerged an hour later, he would have a very hazy impression of what had happened. 8o much was this the case, that as soon as Lester learned of Wu [,ing's death, he loses his nerve, and denies that he ever reached [,imehouse.
'By that, of course, he plays right into Pearson's hands. But is Pearson content? No - my manner disquiets him, and he deter104
mines to complete the case against Lester. So he arranges an elaborate masquerade. Me, I am to be gulled completely. Did I not say just now that he was as a child acting the charades? Eh bien, I play my part. He goes home rejoicing. But in the morning, Inspector Miller arrives on his doorstep. The papers are found on him; the game is up. Bitterly he regrets permitting himself to play the farce with Hercule Poirot! There was only one real difficulty in the affair.' 'What was that?' I demanded curiously.
'Convincing Inspector Millerl What an animal, thatl Both obstinate and imbecile. And in the end he took all the credit?
'Too bad,' I cried.
'Ah, well, I had my compensations. The other director of the Burma Mines Ltd awarded me fourteen thousand shares as a small recompense for my services. Not so bad, eh? But when investing money, keep, I beg of you, Hastings, strictly to the conservative. The things you. read in the paper, they may not be true. The directors of the Porcupine - they may be so many Mr Pearsons!'
Chapter IX. The Plymouth Express
Alee Simpson, RN, stepped from the platform at Newton Abbot into a first-class compartment of the Plymouth Express. A porter followed him with a heavy suitcase. He was about to swing it up to the rack, but the young sailor stopped him.
'No - leave it on the seat. I'll put it up later. Here you are.' 'Thank you, sir.' The porter, generously tipped, withdrew.
Doors banged; a stentorian voice shouted: 'Plymouth only.
Change for Torquay. Plymouth next stop.' Then a whistle blew, and the train drew slowly out of the station.
Lieutenant Simpson had the carriage to himself. The December air was chilly, and he pulled up the window. Then he sniffed vaguely, and frowned. What a smell there wasl Reminded him of that time in hospital, and the operation on his leg. Yes, chloroform; that was it!
He let the window down again, changing his seat to one with its back to the engine. He pulled a pipe out of his pocket and lit it.
For a little time he sat inactive, looking out into the night and smoking.
At last he roused himself, and opening the suitcase, took out some papers and magazines, then closed the suitcase again and endeavoured to shove it under the opposite seat - without success.
Some hidden obstacle resisted it. He shoved harder with rising impatience, but it still stuck out half-way into the carriage.
'Why the devil won't it go in?' he muttered, and hauling it out completely, he stooped down and peered under the seat o o.
A moment later a cry rang out into the night, and the great train came to an unwilling halt in obedience to the imperative jerking of the communication cord.
'Mon ami,' said Poirot, 'you have, I know, been deeply inter106 ested in this mystery of the Plymouth Express. Read this.'
I picked up the note he flicked across the table to me. It was brief and to the point.
Dear Sir,
I shall be obliged if you will call upon me at your earliest convenience.
Yours faithfully,
EBENEZER HALLIDAY
The connection was not clear to my mind, and I looked in-quiringly at Poirot.
For answer he took up the newspaper and read alohd: '"A sensational discovery was made last night. A young naval officer returning to Plymouth found under the seat of his compartment the body of a woman, stabbed through the heart. The officer at once pulled the communication cord, and the train was brought to a Standstill. The woman, who was about thirty years of age, and richly dressed, has not yet been identified."
'And later we have this: "The woman found dead in tl,e Plymouth Express has been identified as the Honourable Mrs Rupert Carrington." You see now, my friend? Or if you do not, I will add this - Mrs Rupert Carrington was, before her marriage, Flossie Halliday, daughter of old man Halliday, the steel king of America.'
'And he has sent for you? Splendidl'
'I did him a little service in the past - an affair of bearer bonds.
And once, when I was in Paris for a royal visit, I had Mademoiselle Flossie pointed out to me. Lajolie petite pensionnairel She had the joli dot too! It caused trouble. She nearly made a bad affair.' 'How was that?'
'A certain Count de la Rochefour. Un bien tnauvais sujet! A bad hat, as you would say. An adventurer pure and simple, who knew how to appeal to a romantic young girl. Luckily her father got wind cfi it in time. He took her back to America in haste. I heard of her marriage some years later, but I know nothing of her husband.'