Third girl - Agatha Christie [51]
‘Oh!’ Poirot looked faintly startled, though reflecting that that was the sort of thing that Sir Roderick would do.
‘Asked me who I wanted to speak to. I said, put me on to the top. That’s the thing to do in life, my boy. Never accept second in charge. No good. Go to the top, that’s what I say. I said who I was, mind you. Said I wanted to speak to the top brass and I got on to it in the end. Very civil fellow. Told him I wanted the address of a chap in Allied Intelligence who was out with me at a certain place in France at a certain date. The chap seemed a bit at sea, so I said: “You know who I mean.” A Frenchman, I said, or a Belgian. Belgian, weren’t you? I said: “He’s got a Christian name something like Achilles. It’s not Achilles,” I said, “but it’s like Achilles. Little chap,” I said, “big moustaches.” And then he seemed to catch on, and he said you’d be in the telephone book, he thought. I said that’s all right, but I said: “He won’t be listed under Achilles or Hercules (as he said it was), will he? and I can’t remember his second name.” So then he gave it me. Very civil sort of fellow. Very civil, I must say.’
‘I am delighted to see you,’ said Poirot, sparing a hurried thought for what might be said to him later by Sir Roderick’s telephone acquaintance. Fortunately it was not likely to have been quite the top brass. It was presumably someone with whom he was already acquainted, and whose job it was to produce civility on tap for distinguished persons of a bygone day.
‘Anyway,’ said Sir Roderick, ‘I got here.’
‘I am delighted. Let me offer you some refreshment. Tea, a grenadine, a whisky and soda, some sirop de cassis —’
‘Good lord, no,’ said Sir Roderick, alarmed at the mention of sirop de cassis. ‘I’ll take whisky for choice. Not that I’m allowed it,’ he added, ‘but doctors are all fools, as we know. All they care for is stopping you having anything you’ve a fancy for.’
Poirot rang for George and gave him the proper instructions. The whisky and the siphon were placed at Sir Roderick’s elbow and George withdrew.
‘Now,’ said Poirot, ‘what can I do for you?’
‘Got a job for you, old boy.’
After the lapse of time, he seemed even more convinced of the close liaison between him and Poirot in the past, which was as well, thought Poirot, since it would produce an even greater dependence on his, Poirot’s, capabilities by Sir Roderick’s nephew.
‘Papers,’ said Sir Roderick, dropping his voice. ‘Lost some papers and I’ve got to find ’em, see? So I thought what with my eyes not being as good as they were, and the memory being a trifle off key sometimes, I’d better go to someone in the know. See? You came along in the nick of time the other day, just in time to be useful, because I’ve got to cough ’em up, you understand.’
‘It sounds most interesting,’ said Poirot. ‘What are these papers, if I may ask?’
‘Well, I suppose if you’re going to find them, you’ll have to ask, won’t you? Mind you, they’re very secret and confidential. Top secret — or they were once. And it seems as though they are going to be again. An inter-change of letters, it was. Not of any particular importance at the time — or it was thought they were of no importance; but then of course politics change. You know the way it is. They go round and face the other way. You know how it was when the war broke out. None of us knew whether we were on our head or on our heels. One war we’re pals with the Italians, next war we’re enemies. I don’t know which of them all was the worst. First war the Japanese were our dear allies, and the next war there they are blowing up Pearl Harbor! Never knew where you were! Start one way with the Russians, and finish the opposite way. I tell you, Poirot, nothing’s more difficult nowadays than the question of allies. They can change overnight.’
‘And you have lost some papers,’ said Poirot, recalling the old man to the subject of his visit.
‘Yes. I’ve got a lot of papers, you know, and I’ve dug ’em out lately. I had ’em put away safely. In a bank, as a matter of fact, but I got ’em all