Hickory Dickory Dock - Agatha Christie [58]
“You would agree that it is one of the chief difficulties when you are running an illicit trade—the entry from abroad into this country?”
“Decidedly. And I’ll say more. For some time now, we’ve been worried. More stuff is coming in than we can keep pace with.”
“And what about other things, such as gems?”
Sergeant Bell spoke.
“There’s a good deal of it going on, sir. Illicit diamonds and other stones are coming out of South Africa and Australia, some from the Far East. They’re coming into this country in a steady stream, and we don’t know how. The other day a young woman, an ordinary tourist, in France, was asked by a casual acquaintance if she’d take a pair of shoes across the Channel. Not new ones, nothing dutiable, just some shoes someone had left behind. She agreed quite unsuspiciously. We happened to be on to that. The heels of the shoes turned out to be hollow and packed with uncut diamonds.”
Superintendent Wilding said:
“But look here, M. Poirot, what is it you’re on the track of, dope or smuggled gems?”
“Either. Anything, in fact, of high value and small bulk. There is an opening, it seems to me, for what you might call a freight service, conveying goods such as I have described to and fro across the Channel. Stolen jewellery, the stones removed from their settings, could be taken out of England, illicit stones and drugs brought in. It could be a small independent agency, unconnected with distribution, that carried stuff on a commission basis. And the profits might be high.”
“I’ll say you’re right there! You can pack ten or twenty thousand pounds’ worth of heroin in a very small space and the same goes for uncut stones of high quality.”
“You see,” said Poirot, “the weakness of the smuggler is always the human element. Sooner or later you suspect a person, an airline steward, a yachting enthusiast with a small cabin cruiser, the woman who travels to and fro to France too often, the importer who seems to be making more money than is reasonable, the man who lives well without visible means of support. But if the stuff is brought into this country by an innocent person, and what is more, by a different person each time, then the difficulties of spotting the cargoes are enormously increased.”
Wilding pushed a finger towards the rucksack. “And that’s your suggestion?”
“Yes. Who is the person who is least vulnerable to suspicion these days? The student. The earnest, hard-working student. Badly off, travelling about with no more luggage than what he can carry on his back. Hitchhiking his way across Europe. If one particular student were to bring the stuff in all the time, no doubt you’d get wise to him or her, but the whole essence of the arrangement is that the carriers are innocent and that there are a lot of them.”
Wilding rubbed his jaw.
“Just how exactly do you think it’s managed, M. Poirot?” he asked.
Hercule Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
“As to that it is my guess only. No doubt I am wrong in many details, but I should say that it worked roughly like this: First, a line of rucksacks is placed on the market. They are of the ordinary, conventional type, just like any other rucksack, well and strongly made and suitable for their purpose. When I say ‘just like any other rucksack’ that is not so. The lining at the base is slightly different. As you see, it is quite easily removable and is of a thickness and composition to allow for rouleaux of gems or powder concealed in the corrugations. You would never suspect it unless you were looking for it. Pure heroin or pure cocaine would take up very little room.”
“Too true,” said Wilding. “Why,” he measured with rapid fingers, “you could bring in stuff worth five or six thousand pounds each time without anyone being the wiser.”
“Exactly,