Seven

THE JEWEL ROBBERY AT THE

GRAND METROPOLITAN¹

“Poirot,” I said, “a change of air would do you good.”

“You think so, mon ami?”

“I am sure of it.”

“Eh—eh?” said my friend, smiling. “It is all arranged, then?”

“You will come?”

“Where do you propose to take me?”

“Brighton. As a matter of fact, a friend of mine in the City put me on to a very good thing,and—well, I have money to burn, as the saying goes. I think a weekend at the Grand Metropolitanwould do us all the good in the world.”

“Thank you, I accept most gratefully. You have the good heart to think of an old man. Andthe good heart, it is in the end worth all the little grey cells. Yes, yes, I who speak to you am indanger of forgetting that sometimes.”

I did not relish² the implication. I fancy that Poirot is sometimes a little inclined tounderestimate my mental capacities. But his pleasure was so evident that I put my slightannoyance aside.

“Then, that’s all right,” I said hastily.

Saturday evening saw us dining at the Grand Metropolitan in the midst of a gay throng⁴. Allthe world and his wife seemed to be at Brighton. The dresses were marvellous, and the jewels—worn sometimes with more love of display than good taste—were something magnificent.

“Hein, it is a good sight, this!” murmured Poirot. “This is the home of the Profiteer, is it notso, Hastings?”

“Supposed to be,” I replied. “But we’ll hope they aren’t all tarred with the Profiteeringbrush.”

Poirot gazed round him placidly⁶.

“The sight of so many jewels makes me wish I had turned my brains to crime, instead of to itsdetection. What a magnificent opportunity for some thief of distinction! Regard, Hastings, thatstout woman by the pillar. She is, as you would say, plastered with gems⁸.”

I followed his eyes.

“Why,” I exclaimed, “it’s Mrs.?Opalsen.”

“You know her?”

“Slightly. Her husband is a rich stockbroker⁹ who made a fortune in the recent oil boom.”

After dinner we ran across the Opalsens in the lounge, and I introduced Poirot to them. Wechatted for a few minutes, and ended by having our coffee together.

Poirot said a few words in praise of some of the costlier¹⁰ gems displayed on the lady’s amplebosom, and she brightened up at once.

“It’s a perfect hobby of mine, Mr.?Poirot. I just love jewellery. Ed knows my weakness, andevery time things go well he brings me something new. You are interested in precious stones?”

“I have had a good deal to do with them one time and another, madame. My profession hasbrought me into contact with some of the most famous jewels in the world.”

He went on to narrate¹², with discreet¹³ pseudonyms¹⁴, the story of the historic jewels of a reigninghouse, and Mrs.?Opalsen listened with bated breath.

“There now,” she exclaimed, as he ended. “If it isn’t just like a play! You know, I’ve gotsome pearls of my own that have a history attached to them. I believe it’s supposed to be one ofthe finest necklaces in the world—the pearls are so beautifully matched and so perfect in colour. Ideclare I really must run up and get it!”

“Oh, madame,” protested Poirot, “you are too amiable¹⁵. Pray do not derange¹⁶ yourself!”

“Oh, but I’d like to show it to you.”

The buxom¹⁷ dame¹¹ waddled¹⁸ across to the lift briskly enough. Her husband, who had beentalking to me, looked at Poirot inquiringly.

“Madame your wife is so amiable as to insist on showing me her pearl necklace,” explainedthe latter.

“Oh, the pearls!” Opalsen smiled in a satisfied fashion. “Well, they are worth seeing. Cost apretty penny too! Still, the money’s there all right; I could get what I paid for them any day—perhaps more. May have to, too, if things go on as they are now. Money’s confoundedly tight inthe City. All this infernal EPD.” He rambled¹⁹ on, launching into technicalities where I could notfollow him.

He was interrupted by a small page boy who approached him and murmured something in hisear.

“Eh—what? I’ll come at once. Not taken ill, is she? Excuse me, gentlemen.”

He left us abruptly²⁰. Poirot leaned back and lit one of his tiny Russian cigarettes. Then,carefully and meticulously²¹, he arranged the empty coffee cups in a neat row, and beamed happilyon the result.

The minutes passed. The Opalsens did not return.

“Curious,” I remarked, at length. “I wonder when they will come back.”

Poirot watched the ascending²² spirals of smoke, and then said thoughtfully:

“They will not come back.”

“Why?”

“Because, my friend, something has happened.”

“What sort of thing? How do you know?” I asked curiously²³.

Poirot smiled.

“A few minutes ago the manager came hurriedly out of his office and ran upstairs. He wasmuch agitated²⁴. The liftboy is deep in talk with one of the pages. The lift-bell has rung three times,but he heeds²⁵ it not. Thirdly, even the waiters are distrait²⁶; and to make a waiter distrait—” Poirotshook his head with an air of finality. “The affair must indeed be of the first magnitude. Ah, it is asI thought! Here come the police.”

Two men had just entered the hotel—one in uniform, the other in plain clothes. They spoketo a page, and were immediately ushered²⁸ upstairs. A few minutes later, the same boy descendedand came up to where we were sitting.

“Mr.?Opalsen’s compliments, and would you step upstairs?”

Poirot sprang nimbly to his feet. One would have said that he awaited the summons. Ifollowed with no less alacrity²⁹.

The Opalsens’ apartments were situated³⁰ on the first floor. After knocking on the door, thepage boy retired³¹, and we answered the summons. “Come in!” A strange scene met our eyes. Theroom was Mrs.?Opalsen’s bedroom, and in the centre of it, lying back in an armchair, was the ladyherself, weeping violently. She presented an extraordinary spectacle, with the tears making greatfurrows in the powder with which her complexion³² was liberally coated. Mr.?Opalsen was stridingup and down angrily. The two police officials stood in the middle of the room, one with anotebook in hand. An hotel chambermaid, looking frightened to death, stood by the fireplace; andon the other side of the room a Frenchwoman, obviously Mrs.?Opalsen’s maid, was weeping andwringing her hands, with an intensity³³ of grief that rivalled that of her mistress.

Into this pandemonium³⁴ stepped Poirot, neat and smiling. Immediately, with an energysurprising in one of her bulk Mrs.?Opalsen sprang from her chair towards him.

“There now; Ed may say what he likes, but I believe in luck, I do. It was fated I should meetyou the way I did this evening, and I’ve a feeling that if you can’t get my pearls back for menobody can.”

“Calm yourself, I pray of you, madame.” Poirot patted her hand soothingly³⁵. “Reassureyourself. All will be well. Hercule Poirot will aid you!”

Mr.?Opalsen turned to the police inspector³⁶.

“There will be no objection to my—er—calling in this gentleman, I suppose?”

“None at all, sir,” replied the man civilly, but with complete indifference³⁷. “Perhaps now yourlady’s feeling better she’ll just let us have the facts?”

Mrs.?Opalsen looked helplessly at Poirot. He led her back to her chair.

“Seat yourself, madame, and recount to us the whole history without agitating³⁸ yourself.”

Thus abjured³⁹, Mrs.?Opalsen dried her eyes gingerly, andbegan.

“I came upstairs after dinner to fetch my pearls for Mr.?Poirot here to see. The chambermaidand Célestine were both in the room as usual—”

“Excuse me, madame, but what do you mean by ‘as usual?’ ”

Mr.?Opalsen explained.

“I make it a rule that no one is to come into this room unless Célestine, the maid, is therealso. The chambermaid does the room in the morning while Célestine is present, and comes inafter dinner to turn down the beds under the same conditions; otherwise she never enters theroom.”

“Well, as I was saying,” continued Mrs.?Opalsen, “I came up. I went to the drawer here”—she indicated the bottom right-hand drawer of the kneehole dressing⁴⁰ table—“took out my jewelcase and unlocked it. It seemed quite as usual—but the pearls were not there!”

The inspector had been busy with his notebook. When had you last seen them?” he asked.

“They were there when I went down to dinner.”

“You are sure?”

“Quite sure. I was uncertain whether to wear them or not, but in the end I decided⁴¹ on theemeralds, and put them back in the jewel case.”

“Who locked up the jewel case?”

“I did. I wear the key on a chain round my neck.” She held it up as she spoke²⁷.

The inspector examined it, and shrugged⁴² his shoulders.

“The thief must have had a duplicate key. No difficult matter. The lock is quite a simple one.

What did you do after you’d locked the jewel case?”

“I put it back in the bottom drawer where I always keep it.”

“You didn’t lock the drawer?”

“No, I never do. My maid remains⁴³ in the room till I come up, so there’s no need.”

The inspector’s face grew greyer.

“Am I to understand that the jewels were there when you went down to dinner, and that sincethen the maid has not left the room?”

Suddenly, as though the horror of her own situation for the first time burst upon her,Célestine uttered a piercing shriek⁴⁴, and, flinging herself upon Poirot, poured out a torrent⁴⁵ ofincoherent French.

The suggestion was infamous⁴⁶! That she should be suspected of robbing Madame! The policewere well known to be of a stupidity incredible! But Monsieur, who was a Frenchman—”

“A Belgian,” interjected Poirot, but Célestine paid no attention to the correction.

Monsieur would not stand by and see her falsely accused, while that infamous chambermaidwas allowed to go scot-free. She had never liked her—a bold, red-faced thing—a born thief. Shehad said from the first that she was not honest. And had kept a sharp watch over her too, when shewas doing Madame’s room! Let those idiots of policemen search her, and if they did not findMadame’s pearls on her it would be very surprising!

Although this harangue⁴⁷ was uttered in rapid and virulent⁴⁸ French, Célestine had interlarded itwith a wealth of gesture, and the chambermaid realized at least a part of her meaning. Shereddened angrily.

“If that foreign woman’s saying I took the pearls, it’s a lie!” she declared heatedly. “I neverso much as saw them.”

“Search her!” screamed the other. “You will find it is asI say.”

“You’re a lair⁴⁹ — do you hear?” said the chambermaid, advancing upon her. “Stole ’emyourself, and want to put it on me. Why, I was only in the room about three minutes before thelady came up, and then you were sitting here the whole time, as you always do, like a cat watchinga mouse.”

The inspector looked across inquiringly at Célestine. “Is that true? Didn’t you leave the roomat all?”

“I did not actually leave her alone,” admitted Célestine reluctantly, “but I went into my ownroom through the door here twice—once to fetch a reel of cotton, and once for my scissors. Shemust have done it then.”

“You wasn’t gone a minute,” retorted the chambermaid angrily. “Just popped out and inagain. I’d be glad if the police would search me. I’ve nothing to be afraid of.”

At this moment there was a tap at the door. The inspector went to it. His face brightenedwhen he saw who it was.

“Ah!” he said. “That’s rather fortunate. I sent for one of our female searchers, and she’s justarrived. Perhaps if you wouldn’t mind going into the room next door.”

He looked at the chambermaid, who stepped across the threshold with a toss of her head, thesearcher following her closely.

The French girl had sunk sobbing⁵⁰ into a chair. Poirot was looking round the room, the mainfeatures of which I have made clear by a sketch⁵¹.

“Where does that door lead?” he inquired, nodding his head towards the one by the window.

“Into the next apartment, I believe,” said the inspector. “It’s bolted, anyway, on this side.”

Poirot walked across to it, tried it, then drew back the bolt and tried it again.

“And on the other side as well,” he remarked. “Well, that seems to rule out that.”

He walked over to the windows, examining each of them in turn.

“And again—nothing. Not even a balcony outside.”

“Even if there were,” said the inspector impatiently, “I don’t see how that would help us, ifthe maid never left the room.”

“?videmment,” said Poirot, not disconcerted. “As Mademoiselle is positive she did not leavethe room—”

He was interrupted by the reappearance of the chambermaid and the police searcher.

“Nothing,” said the latter laconically⁵².

“I should hope not, indeed,” said the chambermaid virtuously⁵³. “And that French hussy oughtto be ashamed of herself taking away an honest girl’s character.”

“There, there, my girl; that’s all right,” said the inspector, opening the door. “Nobodysuspects you. You go along and get on with your work.”

The chambermaid went unwillingly⁵⁴.

“Going to search her?” she demanded, pointing at Célestine.

“Yes, yes!” He shut the door on her and turned the key.

Célestine accompanied the searcher into the small room in her turn. A few minutes later shealso returned. Nothing had been found on her.

The inspector’s face grew graver.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to come along with me all the same, miss.” He turned toMrs.?Opalsen. “I’m sorry, madam, but all the evidence points that way. If she’s not got them onher, they’re hidden somewhere about the room.”

Célestine uttered a piercing shriek, and clung to Poirot’s arm. The latter bent⁵⁵ and whisperedsomething in the girl’s ear. She looked up at him doubtfully.

“Si, si, mon enfant—I assure you it is better not to resist.” Then he turned to the inspector.

“You permit, monsieur? A little experiment—purely for my own satisfaction.”

“Depends on what it is,” replied the police officer noncommittally.

Poirot addressed Célestine once more.

“You have told us that you went into your room to fetch a reel of cotton. Whereabouts wasit?”

“On top of the chest of drawers, monsieur.”

“And the scissors?”

“They also.”

“Would it be troubling you too much, mademoiselle, to ask you to repeat those two actions?

You were sitting here with your work, you say?”

Célestine sat down, and then, at a sign from Poirot, rose, passed into the adjoining room, tookup an object from the chest of drawers, and returned.

Poirot divided his attention between her movements and a large turnip⁵⁶ of a watch which heheld in the palm of his hand.

“Again, if you please, mademoiselle.”

At the conclusion of the second performance, he made a note in his pocketbook, and returnedthe watch to his pocket.

“Thank you, mademoiselle. And you, monsieur”—he bowed to the inspector—“for yourcourtesy.”

The inspector seemed somewhat entertained by this excessive politeness. Célestine departedin a flood of tears, accompanied by the woman and the plainclothes official.

Then, with a brief apology to Mrs.?Opalsen, the inspector set to work to ransack⁵⁷ the room. Hepulled out drawers, opened cupboards, completely unmade the bed, and tapped the floor.

Mr.?Opalsen looked on sceptically.

“You really think you will find them?”

“Yes, sir. It stands to reason. She hadn’t time to take them out of the room. The lady’sdiscovering the robbery so soon upset her plans. No, they’re here right enough. One of the twomust have hidden them—and it’s very unlikely for the chambermaid to have done so.”

“More than unlikely—impossible!” said Poirot quietly.

“Eh?” The inspector stared.

Poirot smiled modestly.

“I will demonstrate. Hastings, my good friend, take my watch in your hand—with care. It is afamily heirloom! Just now I timed Mademoiselle’s movements—her first absence from the roomwas of twelve seconds, her second of fifteen. Now observe my actions. Madame will have thekindness to give me the key of the jewel case. I thank you. My friend Hastings will have thekindness to say?‘Go!’ ”

“Go!” I said.

With almost incredible swiftness, Poirot wrenched⁵⁸ open the drawer of the dressing table,extracted the jewel case, fitted the key in the lock, opened the case, selected a piece of jewellery,shut and locked the case, and returned it to the drawer, which he pushed to again. His movementswere like lightning.

“Well, mon ami?” he demanded of me breathlessly.

“Forty-six seconds,” I replied.

“You see?” He looked round. “There would have not been time for the chambermaid even totake the necklace out, far less hide it.”

“Then that settles it on the maid,” said the inspector with satisfaction, and returned to hissearch. He passed into the maid’s bedroom next door.

Poirot was frowning thoughtfully. Suddenly he shot a question at Mr.?Opalsen.

“This necklace—it was, without doubt, insured?”

Mr.?Opalsen looked a trifle surprised at the question.

“Yes,” he said hesitatingly, “that is so.”

“But what does that matter?” broke in Mrs.?Opalsen tearfully. “It’s my necklace I want. Itwas unique. No money could be the same.”

“I comprehend, madame,” said Poirot soothingly. “I comprehend perfectly⁵⁹. To la femmesentiment is everything—is it not so? But, monsieur, who has not the so fine susceptibility, willdoubtless find some slight consolation⁶⁰ in the fact.”

“Of course, of course,” said Mr.?Opalsen rather uncertainly. “Still—”

He was interrupted by a shout of triumph from the inspector. He came in dangling⁶¹ somethingfrom his fingers.

With a cry, Mrs.?Opalsen heaved herself up from her chair. She was a changed woman.

“Oh, oh, my necklace!”

She clasped it to her breast with both hands. We crowded round.

“Where was it?” demanded Opalsen.

“Maid’s bed. In among the springs of the wire mattress⁶². She must have stolen it and hidden itthere before the chambermaid arrived on the scene.”

“You permit, madame?” said Poirot gently. He took the necklace from her and examined itclosely; then handed it back with a?bow.

“I’m afraid, madame, you’ll have to hand it over to us for the time being,” said the inspector.

“We shall want it for the charge. But it shall be returned to you as soon as possible.”

Mr.?Opalsen frowned.

“Is that necessary?”

“I’m afraid so, sir. Just a formality.”

“Oh, let him take it, Ed!” cired his wife. “I’d feel safer if he did. I shouldn’t sleep a winkthinking someone else might try to get hold of it. That wretched girl! And I would never havebelieved it of her.”

“There, there, my dear, don’t take on so.”

I felt a gentle pressure on my arm. It was Poirot.

“Shall we slip away, my friend? I think our services are no longer needed.”

Once outside, however, he hesitated, and then, much to my surprise, he remarked:

“I should rather like to see the room next door.”

The door was not locked, and we entered. The room, which was a large double one, wasunoccupied. Dust lay about rather noticeably, and my sensitive friend gave a characteristicgrimace as he ran his finger round a rectangular mark on a table near thewindow.

“The service leaves to be desired,” he observed dryly.

He was staring thoughtfully out of the window, and seemed to have fallen into a brown study.

“Well?” I demanded impatiently. “What did we come in here?for?”

He started.

“Je vous demande pardon, mon ami. I wished to see if the door was really bolted on this sidealso.”

“Well,” I said, glancing at the door which communicated with the room we had just left, “it isbolted.”

Poirot nodded. He still seemed to be thinking.

“And anyway,” I continued, “what does it matter? The case is over. I wish you’d had morechance of distinguishing yourself. But it was the kind of case that even a stiff-backed idiot like thatinspector couldn’t go wrong over.”

Poirot shook his head.

“The case is not over, my friend. It will not be over until we find out who stole the pearls.”

“But the maid did!”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why,” I stammered⁶³, “they were found—actually in her mattress.”

“Ta, ta, ta!” said Poirot impatiently. “Those were not the pearls.”

“What?”

“Imitation, mon ami.”

The statement took my breath away. Poirot was smiling placidly.

“The good inspector obviously knows nothing of jewels. But presently there will be a finehullabaloo!”

“Come!” I cried, dragging at his arm.

“Where?”

“We must tell the Opalsens at once.”

“I think not.”

“But that poor woman—”

“Eh bien; that poor woman, as you call her, will have a much better night believing thejewels to be safe.”

“But the thief may escape with them!”

“As usual, my friend, you speak without reflection. How do you know that the pearlsMrs.?Opalsen locked up so carefully tonight were not the false ones, and that the real robbery didnot take place at a much earlier date?”

“Oh!” I said, bewildered.

“Exactly,” said Poirot, beaming. “We start again.”

He led the way out of the room, paused a moment as though considering, and then walkeddown to the end of the corridor, stopping outside the small den³ where the chambermaids andvalets of the respective floors congregated⁶⁴. Our particular chambermaid appeared to be holding asmall court there, and to be retailing⁶⁵ her late experiences to an appreciative⁶⁶ audience. She stoppedin the middle of a sentence. Poirot bowed with his usual politeness.

“Excuse that I derange you, but I shall be obliged if you will unlock for me the door ofMr.?Opalsen’s room.”

The woman rose willingly, and we accompanied her down the passage again. Mr.?Opalsen’sroom was on the other side of the corridor, its door facing that of his wife’s room. Thechambermaid unlocked it with her passkey, and we entered.

As she was about to depart Poirot detained her.

“One moment; have you ever seen among the effects of Mr.Opalsen a card like this?”

He held out a plain white card, rather highly glazed⁶⁷ and uncommon⁶⁸ in appearance. The maidtook it and scrutinized⁶⁹ it carefully.

“No, sir, I can’t say I have. But, anyway, the valet has most to do with the gentlemen’srooms.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Poirot took back the card. The woman departed. Poirot appeared to reflect a little. Then hegave a short, sharp nod of the head.

“Ring the bell, I pray you, Hastings. Three times for the valet.”

I obeyed, devoured⁷⁰ with curiosity. Meanwhile Poirot had emptied the wastepaper basket onthe floor, and was swiftly going through its contents.

In a few moments the valet answered the bell. To him Poirot put the same question, andhanded him the card to examine. But the response was the same. The valet had never seen a cardof that particular quality among Mr.?Opalsen’s belongings⁷¹. Poirot thanked him, and he withdrew,somewhat unwillingly, with an inquisitive⁷² glance at the overturned wastepaper basket and the litteron the floor. He could hardly have helped overhearing Poirot’s thoughtful remark as he bundledthe torn papers back again:

“And the necklace was heavily insured. .?.?.”

“Poirot,” I cried, “I see—”

“You see nothing, my friend,” he replied quickly. “As usual, nothing at all! It is incredible—but there it is. Let us return to our own apartments.”

We did so in silence. Once there, to my intense surprise, Poirot effected a rapid change ofclothing.

“I go to London tonight,” he explained. “It is imperative⁷³.”

“What?”

“Absolutely. The real work, that of the brain (ah, those brave little grey cells), it is done. I goto seek the confirmation⁷⁴. I shall find it! Impossible to deceive Hercule Poirot!”

“You’ll come a cropper one of these days,” I observed, rather disgusted by his vanity.

“Do not be enraged⁷⁵, I beg of you, mon ami. I count on you to do me a service—of yourfriendship.”

“Of course,” I said eagerly, rather ashamed of my moroseness⁷⁶. “What is it?”

“The sleeve of my coat that I have taken off—will you brush it? See you, a little whitepowder has clung to it. You without doubt observed me run my finger round the drawer of thedressing table?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You should observe my actions, my friend. Thus I obtained the powder on my finger, and,being a little overexcited, I rubbed it on my sleeve; an action without method which I deplore—false to all my principles.”

“But what was the powder?” I asked, not particularly interested in Poirot’s principles.

“Not the poison of the Borgias,” replied Poirot with a twinkle. “I see your imaginationmounting. I should say it was French chalk.”

“French chalk?”

“Yes, cabinetmakers use it to make drawers run smoothly⁷⁷.”

I laughed.

“You old sinner! I thought you were working up to something exciting.”

“Au revoir, my friend. I save myself. I fly!”

The door shut behind him. With a smile, half of derision, half of affection, I picked up thecoat and stretched out my hand for the clothes brush.

II

The next morning, hearing nothing from Poirot, I went out for a stroll, met some old friends, andlunched with them at their hotel. In the afternoon we went for a spin. A punctured⁷⁸ tyre delayed us,and it was past eight when I got back to the Grand Metropolitan.

The first sight that met my eyes was Poirot, looking even more diminutive⁷⁹ than usual,sandwiched between the Opalsens, beaming in a state of placid⁷ satisfaction.

“Mon ami Hastings!” he cried, and sprang to meet me. “Embrace me, my friend; all hasmarched to a marvel⁵!”

Luckily, the embrace was merely figurative—not a thing one is always sure of with Poirot.

“Do you mean—” I began.

“Just wonderful, I call it!” said Mrs.?Opalsen, smiling all over her fat face. “Didn’t I tell you,Ed, that if he couldn’t get back my pearls nobody would?”

“You did, my dear, you did. And you were right.”

I looked helplessly at Poirot, and he answered the glance.

“My friend Hastings is, as you say in England, all at the seaside. Seat yourself, and I willrecount to you all the affair that has so happily ended.”

“Ended?”

“But yes. They are arrested.”

“Who are arrested?”

“The chambermaid and the valet, parbleu! You did not suspect? Not with my parting hintabout the French chalk?”

“You said cabinetmakers used it.”

“Certainly they do—to make drawers slide easily. Somebody wanted the drawer to slide inand out without any noise. Who could that be? Obviously, only the chambermaid. The plan was soingenious that it did not at once leap to the eye—not even to the eye of Hercule Poirot.

“Listen, this was how it was done. The valet was in the empty room next door, waiting. TheFrench maid leaves the room. Quick as a flash the chambermaid whips open the drawer, takes outthe jewel case and, slipping back the bolt, passes it through the door. The valet opens it at hisleisure with the duplicate key with which he has provided himself, extracts the necklace, and waitshis time. Célestine leaves the room again, and—pst!—in a flash the case is passed back again andreplaced in the drawer.

“Madame arrives, the theft is discovered. The chambermaid demands to be searched, with agood deal of righteous indignation, and leaves the room without a stain on her character. Theimitation necklace with which they have provided themselves has been concealed⁸⁰ in the Frenchgirl’s bed that morning by the chambermaid—a master stroke, ?a!?”

“But what did you go to London for?”

“You remember the card?”

“Certainly. It puzzled me—and puzzles me still. I thought—”

I hesitated delicately, glancing at Mr.?Opalsen.

Poirot laughed heartily⁸¹.

“Une blague! For the benefit of the valet. The card was one with a specially⁸² prepared surface—for fingerprints⁸³. I went straight to Scotland Yard, asked for our old friend Inspector Japp, andlaid the facts before him. As I had suspected, the fingerprints proved to be those of two well-known jewel thieves who have been ‘wanted’ for some time. Japp came down with me, the thieveswere arrested, and the necklace was discovered in the valet’s possession. A clever pair, but theyfailed in method. Have I not told you, Hastings, at least thirty-six times, that without method—”

“At least thirty- six thousand times!” I interrupted. “But where did their ‘method’ breakdown⁸⁴?”

“Mon ami, it is a good plan to take a place as chambermaid or valet—but you must not shirkyour work. They left an empty room undusted; and therefore, when the man put down the jewelcase on the little table near the communicating door, it left a square mark—”

“I remember,” I cried.

“Before, I was undecided. Then—I knew!?”

There was a moment’s silence.

“And I’ve got my pearls,” said Mrs.?Opalsen as a sort of Greek chorus.

“Well,” I said, “I’d better have some dinner.”

Poirot accompanied me.

“This ought to mean kudos⁸⁵ for you,” I observed.

“Pas du tout,” replied Poirot tranquilly⁸⁶. “Japp and the local inspector will divide the creditbetween them. But”—he tapped his pocket—“I have a cheque here, from Mr.?Opalsen, and, howyou say, my friend? This weekend has not gone according to plan. Shall we return here nextweekend—at my expense this time?”

 

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