Chapter 25

‘I Am Afraid’

This sudden revelation had an almost stunning¹ effect on the three people sitting round theluncheon table. It opened up an entirely² new aspect of the case.

Instead of being a person wholly remote from the tragedy, Anne Morisot was now shown tohave been actually present on the scene of the crime. It took a minute or two for everyone toreadjust their ideas.

Poirot made a frantic³ gesture with his hands—his eyes closed—his face contorted in agony.

‘A little minute—a little minute,’ he implored⁴ them. ‘I have got to think, to see, to realize howthis affects my ideas of the case. I must go back in my mind. I must remember…A thousandmaledictions on my unfortunate stomach. I was preoccupied⁵ only with my internal sensations!’

‘She was actually on the plane, then,’ said Fournier. ‘I see. I begin to see.’

‘I remember,’ said Jane. ‘A tall, dark girl.’ Her eyes half closed in an effort of memory.

‘Madeleine, Lady Horbury called her.’

‘That is it, Madeleine,’ said Poirot.

‘Lady Horbury sent her along to the end of the plane to fetch a case—a scarlet⁶ dressing-case.’

‘You mean,’ said Fournier, ‘that this girl went right past the seat where her mother was sitting?’

‘That is right.’

‘The motive⁷,’ said Fournier. He gave a great sigh.

‘And the opportunity…Yes, it is all there.’

Then with a sudden vehemence⁸ most unlike his usual melancholy⁹ manner, he brought down hishand with a bang on the table.

‘But, parbleu!’ he cried. ‘Why did no one mention this before? Why was she not includedamongst the suspected persons?’

‘I have told you, my friend. I have told you,’ said Poirot wearily. ‘My unfortunate stomach.’

‘Yes, yes, that is understandable. But there were other stomachs unaffected—the stewards’, theother passengers’.’

‘I think,’ said Jane, ‘that perhaps it was because it was so very early this happened. The planehad only just left Le Bourget; and Giselle was alive and well an hour or so after that. It seemed asthough she must have been killed much later.’

‘That is curious,’ said Fournier thoughtfully. ‘Can there have been a delayed action of thepoison? Such things happen…’

Poirot groaned¹⁰ and dropped his head into his hands.

‘I must think. I must think…Can it be possible that all along my ideas have been entirelywrong?’

‘Mon vieux,’ said Fournier, ‘such things happen. They happen to me. It is possible that theyhave happened to you. One has occasionally to pocket one’s pride and readjust one’s ideas.’

‘That is true,’ agreed Poirot. ‘It is possible that all along I have attached too much importance toone particular thing. I expected to find a certain clue. I found it, and I built up my case from it. Butif I have been wrong from the beginning—if that particular article was where it was merely as theresult of an accident…why, then—yes—I will admit that I have been wrong—completely wrong.’

‘You cannot shut your eyes to the importance of this turn of events,’ said Fournier. ‘Motive andopportunity—what more can you want?’

‘Nothing. It must be as you say. The delayed action of the poison is indeed extraordinary—practically speaking—one would say impossible. But where poisons are concerned the impossibledoes happen. One has to reckon with idiosyncrasy…’

His voice tailed off.

‘We must discuss a plan of campaign,’ said Fournier. ‘For the moment it would, I think, beunwise to arouse Anne Morisot’s suspicions. She is completely unaware¹¹ that you have recognizedher. Her bona fide have been accepted. We know the hotel at which she is staying and we can keepin touch with her through Thibault. Legal formalities can always be delayed. We have two pointsestablished—opportunity and motive. We have still to prove that Anne Morisot had snake venomin her possession. There is also the question of the American who bought the blowpipe and bribedJules Perrot. It might certainly be the husband—Richards. We have only her word for it that he isin Canada.’

‘As you say—the husband…Yes, the husband. Ah, wait—wait!’

Poirot pressed his hands upon his temples.

‘It is all wrong,’ he murmured. ‘I do not employ the little grey cells of the brain in an orderlyand methodical way. No, I leap to conclusions. I think, perhaps, what I am meant to think. No, thatis wrong again. If my original idea were right, I could not be meant to think—’

He broke off.

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Jane.

Poirot did not answer for a moment or two; then he took his hands from his temples, sat veryupright and straightened two forks and a salt-cellar which offended his sense of symmetry.

‘Let us reason,’ he said. ‘Anne Morisot is either guilty or innocent of the crime. If she isinnocent why has she lied? Why has she concealed¹³ the fact that she was lady’s maid to LadyHorbury?’

‘Why, indeed?’ said Fournier.

‘So we say Anne Morisot is guilty because she has lied. But wait. Suppose my first suppositionwas correct. Will that supposition fit in with Anne Morisot’s guilt¹², or with Anne Morisot’s lie?

Yes—yes—it might—given one premise¹⁴. But in that case—and if that premise is correct—thenAnne Morisot should not have been on the plane at all.’

The others looked at him politely, if with, perhaps, a rather perfunctory interest.

Fournier thought:

‘I see now what the Englishman, Japp, meant. He makes difficulties, this old one. He tries tomake an affair which is now simple sound complicated. He cannot accept a straightforwardsolution without pretending that it squares with his preconceived ideas.’

Jane thought:

‘I don’t see in the least what he means…Why couldn’t the girl be on the plane? She had to gowherever Lady Horbury wanted her to go…I think he’s rather a mountebank¹⁵, really…’

Suddenly Poirot drew in his breath with a hiss¹⁶.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It is a possibility; and it ought to be very simple to find out.’

He rose.

‘What now, my friend?’ asked Fournier.

‘Again the telephone,’ said Poirot.

‘The transatlantic to Quebec?’

‘This time it is merely a call to London.’

‘To Scotland Yard?’

‘No, to Lord Horbury’s house in Grosvenor Square. If only I have the good fortune to find LadyHorbury at home.’

‘Be careful, my friend. If any suspicion gets round to Anne Morisot that we have been makinginquiries about her it would not suit our affairs. Above all, we must not put her upon her guard.’

‘Have no fears. I will be discreet¹⁷. I ask only one little question—a question of a most harmlessnature.’ He smiled. ‘You shall come with me if you like.’

‘No, no.’

‘But yes. I insist.’

The two men went off, leaving Jane in the lounge.

It took some little time to put the call through; but Poirot’s luck was in. Lady Horbury waslunching at home.

‘Good. Will you tell Lady Horbury that it is M. Hercule Poirot speaking from Paris.’ There wasa pause. ‘That is you, Lady Horbury? No, no, all is well. I assure you all is well. It is not thatmatter at all. I want you to answer me a question. Yes…When you go from Paris to England by airdoes your maid usually go with you, or does she go by train? By train…And so on that particularoccasion…I see…You are sure? Ah, she has left you. I see. She left you very suddenly at amoment’s notice. Mais oui, base ingratitude¹⁸. It is too true. A most ungrateful class! Yes, yes,exactly. No, no, you need not worry. Au revoir. Thank you.’

He replaced the receiver and turned to Fournier, his eyes green and shining.

‘Listen, my friend, Lady Horbury’s maid usually travelled by train and boat. On the occasion ofGiselle’s murder Lady Horbury decided¹⁹ at the last moment that Madeleine had better go by air,too.’

He took the Frenchman by the arm.

‘Quick, my friend,’ he said. ‘We must go to her hotel. If my little idea is correct—and I think itis—there is no time to be lost.’

Fournier stared at him. But before he could frame a question Poirot had turned away and washeading for the revolving²⁰ doors leading out of the hotel.

Fournier hastened after him.

‘But I do not understand. What is all this?’

The commissionaire was holding open the door of a taxi. Poirot jumped in and gave the addressof Anne Morisot’s hotel.

‘And drive quickly, but quickly!’

Fournier jumped in after him.

‘What fly is this that has bitten you? Why this mad rush—this haste?’

‘Because, my friend, if, as I say, my little idea is correct—Anne Morisot is in imminent²¹ danger.’

‘You think so?’

Fournier could not help a sceptical tone creeping into his voice.

‘I am afraid,’ said Poirot. ‘Afraid. Bon Dieu—how this taxi crawls!’

The taxi at the moment was doing a good forty miles an hour and cutting in and out of trafficwith a miraculous²² immunity²³ due to the excellent eye of the driver.

‘It crawls to such an extent that we shall have an accident in a minute,’ said Fournier drily. ‘AndMademoiselle Grey, we have left her planted there awaiting our return from the telephone, andinstead we leave the hotel without a word. It is not very polite, that!’

‘Politeness or impoliteness—what does it matter in an affair of life and death?’

‘Life or death?’ Fournier shrugged²⁴ his shoulders.

He thought to himself:

‘It is all very well, but this obstinate²⁵ madman may endanger the whole business. Once the girlknows that we are on her track—’

He said in a persuasive²⁶ voice:

‘See now, M. Poirot, be reasonable. We must go carefully.’

‘You do not understand,’ said Poirot. ‘I am afraid—afraid—’

The taxi drew up with a jerk at the quiet hotel where Anne Morisot was staying.

Poirot sprang out and nearly collided with a young man just leaving the hotel.

Poirot stopped dead for a moment, looking after him.

‘Another face that I know — but where —? Ah, I remember — it is the actor RaymondBarraclough.’

As he stepped forward to enter the hotel, Fournier placed a restraining hand on his arm.

‘M. Poirot, I have the utmost respect, the utmost admiration²⁷ for your methods—but I feel verystrongly that no precipitate²⁸ action must be taken. I am responsible here in France for the conductof this case…’

Poirot interrupted him:

‘I comprehend your anxiety; but do not fear any “precipitate action” on my part. Let us makeinquiries at the desk. If Madame Richards is here and all is well—then no harm is done—and wecan discuss together our future action. You do not object to that?’

‘No, no, of course not.’

‘Good.’

Poirot passed through the revolving door and went up to the reception desk. Fournier followedhim.

‘You have a Mrs Richards staying here, I believe,’ said Poirot.

‘No, Monsieur. She was staying here, but she left today.’

‘She has left?’ demanded Fournier.

‘Yes, Monsieur.’

‘When did she leave?’

The clerk glanced up at the clock.

‘A little over half an hour ago.’

‘Was her departure unexpected? Where has she gone?’

The clerk stiffened²⁹ at the questions and was disposed to refuse to answer; but when Fournier’scredentials were produced the clerk changed his tone and was eager to give any assistance in hispower.

No, the lady had not left an address. He thought her departure was the result of a sudden changeof plans. She had formerly³⁰ said she was making a stay of about a week.

More questions. The concierge³¹ was summoned, the luggage porters, the lift boys.

According to the concierge a gentleman had called to see the lady. He had come while she wasout, but had awaited her return, and they had lunched together. What kind of gentleman? AnAmerican gentleman—very American. She had seemed surprised to see him. After lunch the ladygave orders for her luggage to be brought down and put in a taxi.

Where had she driven to? She had driven to the Gare du Nord—at least that is the order she hadgiven to the taximan. Did the American gentleman go with her? No, she had gone alone.

‘The Gare du Nord,’ said Fournier. ‘That means England on the face of it. The two o’clockservice. But it may be a blind. We must telephone to Boulogne and also try and get hold of thattaxi.’

It was as though Poirot’s fears had communicated themselves to Fournier.

The Frenchman’s face was anxious.

Rapidly and efficiently³² he set the machinery³³ of the law in motion.

It was five o’clock when Jane, sitting in the lounge of the hotel with a book, looked up to seePoirot coming towards her.

She opened her mouth reproachfully, but the words remained unspoken. Something in his facestopped her.

‘What was it?’ she said. ‘Has anything happened?’

Poirot took both her hands in his.

‘Life is very terrible, Mademoiselle,’ he said.

Something in his tone made Jane feel frightened.

‘What is it?’ she said again.

Poirot said slowly:

‘When the boat train reached Boulogne they found a woman in a first-class carriage—dead.’

The colour ebbed³⁴ from Jane’s face.

‘Anne Morisot?’

‘Anne Morisot. In her hand was a little blue glass bottle which had contained hydrocyanic acid.’

‘Oh!’ said Jane. ‘Suicide?’

Poirot did not answer for a moment or two. Then he said, with the air of one who chooses hiswords carefully:

‘Yes, the police think it was suicide.’

‘And you?’

Poirot slowly spread out his hands in an expressive³⁵ gesture.

‘What else—is there to think?’

‘She killed herself—why? Because of remorse—or because she was afraid of being found out?’

Poirot shook his head.

‘Life can be very terrible,’ he said. ‘One needs much courage.’

‘To kill oneself? Yes, I suppose one does.’

‘Also to live,’ said Poirot, ‘one needs courage.’

 

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