Death in the Clouds - Agatha Christie [60]
Aloud he said rather insolently:
‘Quite so—well, what about it, Lady Horbury?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Come, come. Must we really go into details? Everyone knows how pleasant a—well, call it a weekend at the seaside—can be; but husbands seldom agree. I think you know, Lady Horbury, just exactly what the evidence consists of. Wonderful woman, old Giselle. Always had the goods. Hotel evidence, etc., is quite first class. Now the question is who wants it most—you or Lord Horbury? That’s the question.’
She stood there quivering.
‘I’m a seller,’ said Norman, his voice growing commoner as he threw himself more whole-heartedly into the part of Mr Robinson. ‘Are you a buyer? That’s the question.’
‘How did you get hold of this—evidence?’
‘Now really, Lady Horbury, that’s rather beside the point. I’ve got it, that’s the main thing.’
‘I don’t believe you. Show it to me.’
‘Oh, no.’ Norman shook his head with a cunning leer. ‘I didn’t bring anything with me. I’m not so green as that. If we agree to do business, that’s another matter. I’ll show you the stuff before you hand the money over. All fair and above board.’
‘How—how much?’
‘Ten thousand of the best—pounds, not dollars.’
‘Impossible. I could never lay my hands on anything like that amount.’
‘It’s wonderful what you can do if you try. Jewels aren’t fetching what they did, but pearls are still pearls. Look here, to oblige a lady I’ll make it eight thousand. That’s my last word. And I’ll give you two days to think it over.’
‘I can’t get the money, I tell you.’
Norman sighed and shook his head.
‘Well, perhaps it’s only right Lord Horbury should know what’s been going on. I believe I’m correct in saying that a divorced woman gets no alimony—and Mr Barraclough’s a very promising young actor, but he’s not touching big money. Now not another word. I’ll leave you to think it over; and mind what I say—I mean it.’
He paused and then added:
‘I mean it, just as Giselle meant it…’
Then quickly, before the wretched woman could reply, he had left the room.
‘Ouch!’ said Norman as he reached the street. He wiped his brow. ‘Thank goodness that’s over.’
III
It was a bare hour later when a card was brought to Lady Horbury.
‘M. Hercule Poirot.’
She thrust it aside. ‘Who is he? I can’t see him!’
‘He said, m’lady, that he was here at the request of Mr Raymond Barraclough.’
‘Oh.’ She paused. ‘Very well, show him in.’
The butler departed, reappeared.
‘M. Hercule Poirot.’
Exquisitely dressed in the most dandiacal style, M. Poirot entered, bowed.
The butler closed the door. Cicely took a step forward.
‘Mr Barraclough sent you—?’
‘Sit down, Madame.’ His tone was kindly but authoritative.
Mechanically she sat. He took a chair near her. His manner was fatherly and reassuring.
‘Madame, I entreat you, look upon me as a friend. I come to advise you. You are, I know, in grave trouble.’
She murmured faintly, ‘I don’t—’
‘Ecoutez, Madame, I do not ask you to give away your secrets. It is unnecessary. I know them beforehand. That is the essence of being a good detective—to know.’
‘A detective?’ Her eyes widened. ‘I remember—you were on the plane. It was you—’
‘Precisely, it was me. Now, Madame, let us get to business. As I said just now, I do not press you to confide in me. You shall not start by telling me things. I will tell to you. This morning, not an hour ago, you had a visitor. That visitor—his name was Brown, perhaps?’
‘Robinson,’ said Cicely faintly.
‘It is the same thing—Brown, Smith, Robinson—he uses them in turn. He came here to blackmail you, Madame. He has in his possession certain proofs of—shall we say—indiscretion? Those proofs were once in the keeping of Madame Giselle. Now this man has them. He offers them to you for, perhaps, seven thousand pounds.’
‘Eight.’
‘Eight, then. And you, Madame, will not find it easy to get that sum very quickly?’
‘I can’t do it—I simply can’t do it…I’m in debt already. I don’t know what to do…’
‘Calm yourself, Madame. I come to assist you.’
She