The Mystery of the Blue Train - Agatha Christie [39]
It was M. Carrège, mindful of his status and his duties, who tackled the unpleasant subject.
“Perhaps, Monsieur,” he murmured, “you are aware by whom—er—this letter was written?”
“Yes, I know,” said Van Aldin heavily.
“Ah?” said the magistrate inquiringly.
“A scoundrel who calls himself the Comte de la Roche.”
There was a pause; then M. Poirot leaned forward, straightened a ruler on the judge’s desk, and addressed the millionaire directly.
“M. Van Aldin, we are all sensible, deeply sensible, of the pain it must give you to speak of these matters, but believe me, Monsieur, it is not the time for concealments. If justice is to be done, we must know everything. If you will reflect a little minute you will realize the truth of that clearly for yourself.”
Van Aldin was silent for a moment or two, then almost reluctantly he nodded his head in agreement.
“You are quite right, M. Poirot,” he said. “Painful as it is, I have no right to keep anything back.”
The Commissary gave a sigh of relief, and the Examining Magistrate leaned back in his chair and adjusted a pince-nez on his long thin nose.
“Perhaps you will tell us in your own words, M. Van Aldin,” he said, “all that you know of this gentleman.”
“It began eleven or twelve years ago—in Paris. My daughter was a young girl then, full of foolish, romantic notions, like all young girls are. Unknown to me, she made the acquaintance of this Comte de la Roche. You have heard of him, perhaps?”
The Commissary and Poirot nodded in assent.
“He calls himself the Comte de la Roche,” continued Van Aldin, “but I doubt if he has any right to the title.”
“You would not have found his name in the Almanac de Gotha,” agreed the Commissary.
“I discovered as much,” said Van Aldin. “The man was a good-looking, plausible scoundrel, with a fatal fascination for women. Ruth was infatuated with him, but I soon put a stop to the whole affair. The man was no better than a common swindler.”
“You are quite right,” said the Commissary. “The Comte de la Roche is well known to us. If it were possible, we should have laid him by the heels before now, but ma foi! it is not easy; the fellow is cunning, his affairs are always conducted with ladies of high social position. If he obtains money from them under false pretences or as the fruit of blackmail, eh bien! naturally they will not prosecute. To look foolish in the eyes of the world, oh no, that would never do, and he has an extraordinary power over women.”
“That is so,” said the millionaire heavily. “Well, as I told you, I broke the affair up pretty sharply. I told Ruth exactly what he was, and she had, perforce, to believe me. About a year afterwards, she met her present husband and married him. As far as I knew, that was the end of the matter; but only a week ago, I discovered, to my amazement, that my daughter had resumed her acquaintance with the Comte de la Roche. She had been meeting him frequently in London and Paris. I remonstrated with her on her imprudence, for I may tell you gentlemen that, on my insistence, she was preparing to bring a suit for divorce against her husband.”
“That is interesting,” murmured Poirot softly, his eyes on the ceiling.
Van Aldin looked at him sharply, and then went on.
“I pointed out to her the folly of continuing to see the Comte under the circumstances. I thought she agreed with me.”
The Examining Magistrate coughed delicately.
“But according to this letter—” he began, and then stopped.
Van Aldin’s jaw set itself squarely.
“I know. It’s no good mincing matters. However unpleasant, we have got to face facts. It seems clear that Ruth had arranged to go to Paris and meet de la Roche there. After my warnings to her, however, she must have written to the Count suggesting a change of rendezvous.”
“The Isles d’Or,” said the Commissary thoughtfully, “are situated just opposite Hyères, a remote and idyllic spot.”
Van Aldin nodded.