Poirot investigates - Agatha Christie [54]
‘Shut the door, Edith. They are burglars, I expect.’
But Poirot swiftly inserted his foot in the door, and at the same moment blew a whistle. Instantly the other detectives ran up, and poured into the house, shutting the door behind them.
Norman and I spent about five minutes cursing our forced inactivity. Finally the door reopened, and the men emerged, escorting three prisoners–a woman and two men. The woman, and one of the men, were taken to the second car. The other man was placed in our car by Poirot himself.
‘I must go with the others, my friend. But have great care of this gentleman. You do not know him, no? Eh bien, let me present to you, Monsieur O’Murphy!’
O’Murphy! I gaped at him open-mouthed as we started again. He was not handcuffed, but I did not fancy he would try to escape. He sat there staring in front of him as though dazed. Anyway, Norman and I would be more than a match for him.
To my surprise, we still kept a northerly route. We were not returning to London, then! I was much puzzled. Suddenly, as the car slowed down, I recognized that we were close to Hendon Aerodrome. Immediately I grasped Poirot’s idea. He proposed to reach France by aeroplane.
It was a sporting idea, but, on the face of it, impracticable. A telegram would be far quicker. Time was everything. He must leave the personal glory of rescuing the Prime Minister to others.
As we drew up, Major Norman jumped out, and a plainclothes man took his place. He conferred with Poirot for a few minutes, and then went off briskly.
I, too, jumped out, and caught Poirot by the arm.
‘I congratulate you, old fellow! They have told you the hiding-place? But, look here, you must wire to France at once. You’ll be too late if you go yourself.’
Poirot looked at me curiously for a minute or two.
‘Unfortunately, my friend, there are some things that cannot be sent by telegram.’
III
At that moment Major Norman returned, accompanied by a young officer in the uniform of the Flying Corps.
‘This is Captain Lyall, who will fly you over to France. He can start at once.’
‘Wrap up warmly, sir,’ said the young pilot. ‘I can lend you a coat, if you like.’
Poirot was consulting his enormous watch. He murmured to himself: ‘Yes, there is time–just time.’ Then he looked up and bowed politely to the young officer. ‘I thank you, monsieur. But it is not I who am your passenger. It is this gentleman here.’
He moved a little aside as he spoke, and a figure came forward out of the darkness. It was the second male prisoner who had gone in the other car, and as the light fell on his face, I gave a start of surprise.
It was the Prime Minister!
IV
‘For Heaven’s sake, tell me all about it,’ I cried impatiently, as Poirot, Norman and I motored back to London. ‘How in the world did they manage to smuggle him back to England?’
‘There was no need to smuggle him back,’ replied Poirot dryly. ‘The Prime Minister has never left England. He was kidnapped on his way from Windsor to London.’
‘What?’
‘I will make all clear. The Prime Minister was in his car, his secretary beside him. Suddenly a pad of chloroform is clapped on his face–’
‘But by whom?’
‘By the clever linguistic Captain Daniels. As soon as the Prime Minister is unconscious, Daniels picks up the speaking-tube, and directs O’Murphy to turn to the right, which the chauffeur, quite unsuspicious, does. A few yards down that unfrequented road a large car is standing, apparently broken down. Its driver signals to O’Murphy to stop. O’Murphy slows up. The stranger approaches. Daniels leans out of the window, and, probably with the aid of an instantaneous anaesthetic, such as ethylchloride, the chloroform trick is repeated. In a few seconds, the two helpless men are dragged out and transferred to the other car, and a pair of substitutes take their places.’
‘Impossible!’
‘Pas du tout! Have you not seen music-hall turns imitating celebrities with marvellous accuracy? Nothing is easier than to personate a public character. The Prime Minister of England is far easier to understudy than Mr John Smith of