Cat Among the Pigeons - Agatha Christie [69]
“It’s a great many years ago,” said Inspector Kelsey. “Chief Inspector Warrender was in charge of the case. I was a fairly raw sergeant, knowing my place.”
“The gentleman called, for convenience’s sake by us—Mr. Adam Goodman, is not known to you, M. Poirot, but I believe you do know his—his—er—chief. Special Branch,” he added.
“Colonel Pikeaway?” said Hercule Poirot thoughtfully.
“Ah, yes it is some time since I have seen him. Is he still as sleepy as ever?” he asked Adam.
Adam laughed. “I see you know him all right, M. Poirot. I’ve never seen him wide-awake. When I do, I’ll know that for once he isn’t paying attention to what goes on.”
“You have something there, my friend. It is well observed.”
“Now,” said the Chief Constable, “let’s get down to things. I shan’t push myself forward or urge my own opinions. I’m here to listen to what the men who are actually working on the case know and think. There are a great many sides to all this, and one thing perhaps I ought to mention first of all. I’m saying this as a result of representations that have been made to me from—er—various quarters high up.” He looked at Poirot. “Let’s say,” he said, “that a little girl—a schoolgirl—came to you with a pretty tale of something she’d found in the hollowed-out handle of a tennis racquet. Very exciting for her. A collection, shall we say, of coloured stones, paste, good imitation—something of that kind—or even semi-precious stones which often look as attractive as the other kind. Anyway let’s say something that a child would be excited to find. She might even have exaggerated ideas of its value. That’s quite possible, don’t you think?” He looked very hard at Hercule Poirot.
“It seems to me eminently possible,” said Hercule Poirot.
“Good,” said the Chief Constable. “Since the person who brought these—er—coloured stones into the country did so quite unknowingly and innocently, we don’t want any question of illicit smuggling to arise.
“Then there is the question of our foreign policy,” he went on. “Things, I am led to understand, are rather—delicate just at present. When it comes to large interests in oil, mineral deposits, all that sort of thing, we have to deal with whatever government’s in power. We don’t want any awkward questions to arise. You can’t keep murder out of the Press, and murder hasn’t been kept out of the Press. But there’s been no mention of anything like jewels in connection with it. For the present, at any rate, there needn’t be.”
“I agree,” said Poirot. “One must always consider international complications.”
“Exactly,” said the Chief Constable. “I think I’m right in saying that the late ruler of Ramat was regarded as a friend of this country, and that the powers that be would like his wishes in respect of any property of his that might be in this country to be carried out. What that amounts to, I gather, nobody knows at present. If the new Government of Ramat is claiming certain property which they allege belongs to them, it will be much better if we know nothing about such property being in this country. A plain refusal would be tactless.”
“One does not give plain refusals in diplomacy,” said Hercule Poirot. “One says instead that such a matter shall receive the utmost attention but that at the moment nothing definite is known about any little—nest egg, say—that the late ruler of Ramat may have possessed. It may be still in Ramat, it may be in the keeping of a faithful friend of the late Prince Ali Yusuf, it may have been taken out of the country by half a dozen people, it may be hidden somewhere in the city of Ramat itself.” He shrugged his shoulders. “One simply does not know.”
The Chief Constable heaved a sigh. “Thank you,” he said. “That’s just what I mean.” He went on, “M. Poirot, you have friends in very high quarters in this country. They put much trust in you. Unofficially they would like to leave a certain article in your hands if you do not object.”
“I do not object,” said Poirot. “Let us leave it at that. We have more serious things to consider,