Poirot investigates - Agatha Christie [21]
‘It is to be hoped your husband will not suffer from a chill. I observed that he had slippers on his feet, and that his dressing-gown was a warm one.’
‘Who are you? What are you doing in my house?’
‘It is true that none of us have the pleasure of your acquaintance, madame. It is especially to be regretted as one of our number has come specially from New York in order to meet you.’
The curtains parted and the Italian stepped out. To my horror I observed that he was brandishing my revolver, which Poirot must doubtless have put down through inadvertence in the cab.
The woman gave a piercing scream and turned to fly, but Poirot was standing in front of the closed door.
‘Let me by,’ she shrieked. ‘He will murder me.’
‘Who was it dat croaked Luigi Valdarno?’ asked the Italian hoarsely, brandishing the weapon, and sweeping each one of us with it. We dared not move.
‘My God, Poirot, this is awful. What shall we do?’ I cried.
‘You will oblige me by refraining from talking so much, Hastings. I can assure you that our friend will not shoot until I give the word.’
‘Youse sure o’ dat, eh?’ said the Italian, leering unpleasantly.
It was more than I was, but the woman turned to Poirot like a flash.
‘What is it you want?’
Poirot bowed.
‘I do not think it is necessary to insult Miss Elsa Hardt’s intelligence by telling her.’
With a swift movement, the woman snatched up a big black velvet cat which served as a cover for the telephone.
‘They are stitched in the lining of that.’
‘Clever,’ murmured Poirot appreciatively. He stood aside from the door. ‘Good evening, madame. I will detain your friend from New York whilst you make your getaway.’
‘Whatta fool!’ roared the big Italian, and raising the revolver he fired point-blank at the woman’s retreating figure just as I flung myself upon him.
But the weapon merely clicked harmlessly and Poirot’s voice rose in mild reproof.
‘Never will you trust your old friend, Hastings. I do not care for my friends to carry loaded pistols about with them and never would I permit a mere acquaintance to do so. No, no, mon ami.’ This to the Italian who was swearing hoarsely. Poirot continued to address him in a tone of mild reproof: ‘See now, what I have done for you. I have saved you from being hanged. And do not think that our beautiful lady will escape. No, no, the house is watched, back and front. Straight into the arms of the police they will go. Is not that a beautiful and consoling thought? Yes, you may leave the room now. But be careful–be very careful. I–Ah, he is gone! And my friend Hastings looks at me with eyes of reproach. But it’s all so simple! It was clear, from the first, that out of several hundred, probably, applicants for No 4 Montagu Mansions, only the Robinsons were considered suitable. Why? What was there that singled them out from the rest–at practically a glance. Their appearance? Possibly, but it was not so unusual. Their name, then!’
‘But there’s nothing unusual about the name of Robinson,’ I cried. ‘It’s quite a common name.’
‘Ah! Sapristi, but exactly! That was the point. Elsa Hardt and her husband, or brother or whatever he really is, come from New York, and take a flat in the name of Mr and Mrs Robinson. Suddenly they learn that one of these secret societies, the Mafia, or the Camorra, to which doubtless Luigi Valdarno belonged, is on their track. What do they do? They hit on a scheme of transparent simplicity. Evidently they knew that their pursuers were not personally acquainted with either of them. What, then, can be simpler? They offer the flat at an absurdly low rental. Of the thousands of young couples in London looking for flats, there cannot fail to be several Robinsons. It is only a matter of waiting. If you will look at the name of Robinson in the telephone directory, you will realize that a fair-haired Mrs Robinson was pretty sure to come along sooner or later. Then what will happen? The avenger arrives. He knows the name, he knows the address. He strikes! All is over, vengeance is satisfied, and Miss Elsa Hardt has escaped by the skin of her teeth