The Labors of Hercules - Agatha Christie [74]
“It was quite a small picture, you see,” explained Mr. Simpson. “A man could put it under his arm and walk out while everyone was looking at those miserable idiots of unemployed.”
The men in question, it was discovered, had been paid for their innocent part in the robbery. They were to demonstrate at Simpson’s Galleries. But they had known nothing of the reason until afterwards.
Hercule Poirot thought that it was an amusing trick but did not see what he could do about it. The police, he pointed out, could be trusted to deal with a straightforward robbery.
Alexander Simpson said:
“Listen to me, Poirot. I know who stole the picture and where it is going.”
According to the owner of Simpson’s Galleries it had been stolen by a gang of international crooks on behalf of a certain millionaire who was not above acquiring works of art at a surprisingly low price—and no questions asked! The Rubens, said Simpson, would be smuggled over to France where it would pass into the millionaire’s possession. The English and French police were on the alert, nevertheless Simpson was of the opinion that they would fail. “And once it has passed into this dirty dog’s possession, it’s going to be more difficult. Rich men have to be treated with respect. That’s where you come in. The situation’s going to be delicate. You’re the man for that.”
Finally, without enthusiasm, Hercule Poirot was induced to accept the task. He agreed to depart for France immediately. He was not very interested in his quest, but because of it, he was introduced to the case of the Missing Schoolgirl which interested him very much indeed.
He first heard of it from Chief Inspector Japp who dropped in to see him just as Poirot was expressing approval of his valet’s packing.
“Ha,” said Japp. “Going to France, aren’t you?”
Poirot said:
“Mon cher, you are incredibly well informed at Scotland Yard.”
Japp chuckled. He said:
“We have our spies! Simpson’s got you on to this Rubens business. Doesn’t trust us, it seems! Well, that’s neither here nor there, but what I want you to do is something quite different. As you’re going to Paris anyway, I thought you might as well kill two birds with one stone. Detective Inspector Hearn’s over there
cooperating with the Frenchies—you know Hearn? Good chap—but perhaps not very imaginative. I’d like your opinion on the
business.”
“What is this matter of which you speak?”
“Child’s disappeared. It’ll be in the papers this evening. Looks as though she’s been kidnapped. Daughter of a Canon down at Cranchester. King, her name is, Winnie King.”
He proceeded with the story.
Winnie had been on her way to Paris, to join that select and high-class establishment for English and American girls—Miss Pope’s. Winnie had come up from Cranchester by the early train—had been seen across London by a member of Elder Sisters Ltd who undertook such work as seeing girls from one station to another, had been delivered at Victoria to Miss Burshaw, Miss Pope’s second-in-command, and had then, in company with eighteen other girls, left Victoria by the boat train. Nineteen girls had crossed the channel, had passed through the customs at Calais, had got into the Paris train, had lunched in the restaurant car. But when, on the outskirts of Paris, Miss Burshaw had counted heads, it was discovered that only eighteen girls could be found!
“Aha,” Poirot nodded. “Did the train stop anywhere?”
“It stopped at Amiens, but at that time the girls were in the restaurant car and they all say positively that Winnie was with them then. They lost her, so to speak, on the return journey to their compartments. That is to say, she did not enter her own compartment with the other five girls who were in it. They did not suspect anything