Poirot investigates - Agatha Christie [45]
‘Excuse that I derange you, but I shall be obliged if you will unlock for me the door of Mr Opalsen’s room.’
The woman rose willingly, and we accompanied her down the passage again. Mr Opalsen’s room was on the other side of the corridor, its door facing that of his wife’s room. The chambermaid unlocked it with her pass-key, and we entered.
As she was about to depart Poirot detained her.
‘One moment; have you ever seen among the effects of Mr Opalsen a card like this?’
He held out a plain white card, rather highly glazed and uncommon in appearance. The maid took it and scrutinized it carefully.
‘No, sir, I can’t say I have. But, anyway, the valet has most to do with the gentlemen’s rooms.’
‘I see. Thank you.’
Poirot took back the card. The woman departed. Poirot appeared to reflect a little. Then he gave a short, sharp nod of the head.
‘Ring the bell, I pray you, Hastings. Three times for the valet.’
I obeyed, devoured with curiosity. Meanwhile Poirot had emptied the waste-paper basket on the floor, and was swiftly going through its contents.
In a few moments the valet answered the bell. To him Poirot put the same question, and handed him the card to examine. But the response was the same. The valet had never seen a card of that particular quality among Mr Opalsen’s belongings. Poirot thanked him, and he withdrew, somewhat unwillingly, with an inquisitive glance at the overturned waste-paper basket and the litter on the floor. He could hardly have helped overhearing Poirot’s thoughtful remark as he bundled the torn papers back again:
‘And the necklace was heavily insured…’
‘Poirot,’ I cried, ‘I see–’
‘You see nothing, my friend,’ he replied quickly. ‘As usual, nothing at all! It is incredible–but there it is. Let us return to our own apartments.’
We did so in silence. Once there, to my intense surprise, Poirot effected a rapid change of clothing.
‘I go to London tonight,’ he explained. ‘It is imperative.’
‘What?’
‘Absolutely. The real work, that of the brain (ah, those brave little grey cells), it is done. I go to seek the confirmation. I shall find it! Impossible to deceive Hercule Poirot!’
‘You’ll come a cropper one of these days,’ I observed, rather disgusted by his vanity.
‘Do not be enraged, I beg of you, mon ami. I count on you to do me a service–of your friendship.’
‘Of course,’ I said eagerly, rather ashamed of my moroseness. ‘What is it?’
‘The sleeve of my coat that I have taken off–will you brush it? See you, a little white powder has clung to it. You without doubt observed me run my finger round the drawer of the dressing-table?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘You should observe my actions, my friend. Thus I obtained the powder on my finger, and, being a little overexcited, I rubbed it on my sleeve; an action without method which I deplore–false to all my principles.’
‘But what was the powder?’ I asked, not particularly interested in Poirot’s principles.
‘Not the poison of the Borgias,’ replied Poirot with a twinkle. ‘I see your imagination mounting. I should say it was French chalk.’
‘French chalk?’
‘Yes, cabinet-makers use it to make drawers run smoothly.’
I laughed.
‘You old sinner! I thought you were working up to something exciting.’
‘Au revoir, my friend. I save myself. I fly!’
The door shut behind him. With a smile, half of derision, half of affection, I picked up the coat and stretched out my hand for the clothes-brush.
II
The next morning, hearing nothing from Poirot, I went out for a stroll, met some old friends, and lunched with them at their hotel. In the afternoon we went for a spin. A punctured tyre delayed us, and it was past eight when I got back to the Grand Metropolitan.
The first sight that met my eyes was Poirot, looking even more diminutive than usual,