The Labors of Hercules - Agatha Christie [89]
“A pretty history,” Poirot murmured.
“Its career has always been associated with violence. It has been stolen more than once. Murder has been done to gain possession of it. A trail of bloodshed has followed it through the ages.”
“On account of its intrinsic value or for other reasons?”
“Its intrinsic value is certainly considerable. The workmanship is exquisite (it is said to have been made by Benvenuto Cellini). The design represents a tree round which a jewelled serpent is coiled and the apples on the tree are formed of very beautiful emeralds.”
Poirot murmured with an apparent quickening of interest:
“Apples?”
“The emeralds are particularly fine, so are the rubies in the serpent, but of course the real value of the cup is its historical associations. It was put up for sale by the Marchese di San Veratrino in 1929. Collectors bid against each other and I secured it finally for a sum equalling (at the then rate of exchange) thirty thousand pounds.”
Poirot raised his eyebrows. He murmured:
“Indeed a princely sum! The Marchese di San Veratrino was fortunate.”
Emery Power said:
“When I really want a thing, I am willing to pay for it, M. Poirot.”
Hercule Poirot said softly:
“You have no doubt heard the Spanish proverb: ‘Take what you want—and pay for it, says God.’ ”
For a moment the financier frowned—a swift light of anger showed in his eyes. He said coldly:
“You are by way of being a philosopher, M. Poirot.”
“I have arrived at the age of reflection, Monsieur.”
“Doubtless. But it is not reflection that will restore my goblet to me.”
“You think not?”
“I fancy action will be necessary.”
Hercule Poirot nodded placidly.
“A lot of people make the same mistake. But I demand your pardon, Mr. Power, we have digressed from the matter in hand. You were saying that you had bought the cup from the Marchese di San Veratrino?”
“Exactly. What I have now to tell you is that it was stolen before it actually came into my possession.”
“How did that happen?”
“The Marchese’s Palace was broken into on the night of the sale and eight or ten pieces of considerable value were stolen, including the goblet.”
“What was done in the matter?”
Power shrugged his shoulders.
“The police, of course, took the matter in hand. The robbery was recognized to be the work of a well-known international gang of thieves. Two of their number, a Frenchman called Dublay and an Italian called Riccovetti, were caught and tried—some of the stolen goods were found in their possession.”
“But not the Borgia goblet?”
“But not the Borgia goblet. There were, as far as the police could ascertain, three men actually engaged in the robbery—the two I have just mentioned and a third, an Irishman named Patrick Casey. This last was an expert cat burglar. It was he who is said to have actually stolen the things. Dublay was the brains of the group and planned their coups; Riccovetti drove the car and waited below for the goods to be lowered down to him.”
“And the stolen goods? Were they split up into three parts?”
“Possibly. On the other hand, the articles that were recovered were those of least value. It seems possible that the more noteworthy and spectacular pieces had been hastily smuggled out of the country.”
“What about the third man, Casey? Was he never brought to justice?”
“Not in the sense you mean. He was not a very young man. His muscles were stiffer than formerly. Two weeks later he fell from the fifth floor of a building and was killed instantly.”
“Where was this?”
“In Paris. He was attempting to rob the house of the millionaire banker, Duvauglier.”
“And the goblet has never been seen since?”
“Exactly.”
“It has never been offered for sale?”
“I am quite sure it has not. I may say that not only the police, but also private inquiry agents, have been on the lookout for it.”
“What about the money you had paid over?”