Big Four - Agatha Christie [52]
‘Austen Lee. Assumed name. Real name Austen Foly. Good family. Always had taste for acting and distinguished himself in that way at Oxford. Brilliant war record. Acted in—(The usual list followed. It included many repertory plays.) An enthusiast on criminology. Had bad nervous breakdown as the result of a motor accident three and a half years ago, and has not appeared on the stage since. No clue to his present whereabouts. Age 35, height 5ft. 9½in., complexion fair, eyes blue, hair brown.
‘Claud Darrell. Supposed to be real name. Some mystery about his origin. Played at music halls, and also in repertory plays. Seems to have had no intimate friends. Was in China in 1919. Returned by way of America. Played a few parts in New York. Did not appear on stage one night, and has never been heard of since. New York police say most mysterious disappearance. Age about 33, hair brown, fair complexion, grey eyes. Height 5ft. 10½in.’
‘Most interesting,’ I said, as I laid down the paper. ‘And so this is the result of the investigation of months? These four names. Which of them are you inclined to suspect?’
Poirot made an eloquent gesture.
‘Mon ami, for the moment it is an open question. I would just point out to you that Claud Darrell has been in China and America—a fact not without significance, perhaps, but we must not allow ourselves to be unduly biased by that point. It may be a mere coincidence.’
‘And the next step?’ I asked eagerly.
‘Affairs are already in train. Every day cautiously worded advertisements will appear. Friends and relatives of one or the other will be asked to communicate with my solicitor at his office. Even today we might—Aha, the telephone! Probably it is, as usual, the wrong number, and they will regret to have troubled us, but it may be—yes, it may be—that something has arisen.’
I crossed the room and picked up the receiver.
‘Yes, yes. M. Poirot’s rooms. Yes, Captain Hastings speaking. Oh, it’s you, Mr McNeil! (McNeil and Hodgson were Poirot’s solicitors.) I’ll tell him. Yes, we’ll come round at once.’
I replaced the receiver and turned to Poirot, my eyes dancing with excitement.
‘I say, Poirot, there’s a woman there. Friend of Claud Darrell’s. Miss Flossie Monro. McNeil wants you to come round.’
‘At the instant!’ cried Poirot, disappearing into his bedroom, and reappearing with a hat.
A taxi soon took us to our destination, and we were ushered into Mr McNeil’s private office. Sitting in the armchair facing the solicitor was a somewhat lurid-looking lady no longer in her first youth. Her hair was of an impossible yellow, and was prolific in curls over each ear, her eyelids were heavily blackened, and she had by no means forgotten the rouge and the lip salve.
‘Ah, here is M. Poirot!’ said Mr McNeil. ‘M. Poirot, this is Miss—er—Monro, who has very kindly called to give us some information.’
‘Ah, but that is most kind!’ cried Poirot.
He came forward with great empressement, and shook the lady warmly by the hand.
‘Mademoiselle blooms like a flower in this dry-as-dust old office,’ he added, careless of the feelings of Mr McNeil.
This outrageous flattery was not without effect. Miss Monro blushed and simpered.
‘Oh, go on now, Mr Poirot!’ she exclaimed. ‘I know what you Frenchmen are like.’
‘Mademoiselle, we are not mute like Englishmen before beauty. Not that I am a Frenchman—I am a Belgian, you see.’
‘I’ve been to Ostend myself,’ said Miss Monro.
The whole affair, as Poirot would have said, was marching splendidly.
‘And so you can tell us something about Mr Claud Darrell?’ continued Poirot.
‘I knew Mr Darrell very well at one time,’ explained the lady. ‘And I saw your advertisement, being out of a shop for the moment, and, my time being my own, I said to myself: There, they want to know about poor old Claudie—lawyers, too—maybe it’s a fortune looking for the rightful heir. I’d better go round at once.’
Mr McNeil rose.
‘Well,