Peril at End House - Agatha Christie [66]
He said this kindly—with an air of one making a valuable admission.
‘It is all exactly as you thought, Poirot,’ I said, when we were outside.
‘Mon ami, it was bound to be. It could not be any other way. We will go now to the Cheshire Cheese where Japp meets us for an early dinner.’
We found Inspector Japp of Scotland Yard awaiting us at the chosen rendezvous. He greeted Poirot with every sign of warmth.
‘Years since I’ve seen you, Moosior Poirot. Thought you were growing vegetable marrows in the country.’
‘I tried, Japp, I tried. But even when you grow vegetable marrows you cannot get away from murder.’
He sighed. I knew of what he was thinking—that strange affair at Fernley Park. How I regretted that I had been far away at that time.
‘And Captain Hastings too,’ said Japp. ‘How are you, sir?’
‘Very fit, thanks,’ I said.
‘And now there are more murders?’ continued Japp, facetiously.
‘As you say—more murders.’
‘Well, you mustn’t be depressed, old cock,’ said Japp. ‘Even if you can’t see your way clear—well—you can’t go about at your time of life and expect to have the success you used to do. We all of us get stale as the years go by. Got to give the young ’uns a chance, you know.’
‘And yet the old dog is the one who knows the tricks,’ murmured Poirot. ‘He is cunning. He does not leave the scent.’
‘Oh! well—we’re talking about human beings, not dogs.’
‘Is there so much difference?’
‘Well, it depends how you look at things. But you’re a caution, isn’t he, Captain Hastings? Always was. Looks much the same—hair a bit thinner on top but the face fungus fuller than ever.’
‘Eh?’ said Poirot. ‘What is that?’
‘He’s congratulating you on your moustaches,’ I said, soothingly.
‘They are luxuriant, yes,’ said Poirot, complacently caressing them.
Japp went off into a roar of laughter.
‘Well,’ he said, after a minute or two, ‘I’ve done your bit of business. Those finger-prints you sent me—’
‘Yes?’ said Poirot, eagerly.
‘Nothing doing. Whoever the gentleman may be—he hasn’t passed through our hands. On the other hand, I wired to Melbourne and nobody of that description or name is known there.’
‘Ah!’
‘So there may be something fishy after all. But he’s not one of the lads.’
‘As to the other business,’ went on Japp.
‘Yes?’
‘Lazarus and Son have a good reputation. Quite straight and honourable in their dealings. Sharp, of course—but that’s another matter. You’ve got to be sharp in business. But they’re all right. They’re in a bad way, though—financially, I mean.’
‘Oh!—is that so?’
‘Yes—the slump in pictures has hit them badly. And antique furniture too. All this modern continental stuff coming into fashion. They built new premises last year and—well—as I say, they’re not far from Queer Street.’
‘I am much obliged to you.’
‘Not at all. That sort of thing isn’t my line, as you know. But I made a point of finding out as you wanted to know. We can always get information.’
‘My good Japp, what should I do without you?’
‘Oh! that’s all right. Always glad to oblige an old friend. I let you in on some pretty good cases in the old days, didn’t I?’
This, I realized, was Japp’s way of acknowledging indebtedness to Poirot, who had solved many a case which had baffled the inspector.
‘They were the good days—yes.’
‘I wouldn’t mind having a chat with you now and again even in these days. Your methods may be old-fashioned but you’ve got your head screwed on the right way, M. Poirot.’
‘What about my other question. The Dr MacAllister?’
‘Oh, him! He’s a woman’s doctor. I don’t mean a gynaecologist. I mean one of these nerve doctors—tell you to sleep in purple walls and orange ceiling—talk to you about your libido, whatever that is—tell you to let it rip. He’s a bit of a quack, if you ask me—but he gets the women all right. They flock to him. Goes abroad a good deal—does some kind of medical work in Paris, I believe.’
‘Why Dr MacAllister?’ I asked, bewildered. I had never heard of the name. ‘Where does he come in?’
‘Dr MacAllister