Agatha Christie - Hercule Poirot's Casebook

if she never had my letter, she might think it a bit cool of me.'

Poirot had listened attentively to this long history. Now he nodded his head as though completely satisfied.

'Thank you, mademoiselle. There had been, as you say, a little muddle. Permit me to recompense you for your trouble.'

He handed her an envelope. 'You return to Cumberland immediately? A little word in your ear. Do not forget h to cook. It is always useful to have something to fall back upon in 'Credulous,' he murmured, as our visitor departed, 'but perhaps not more than most of her cls.' His face grew grave.

'Come, Hastings, there is no time to be lost. Get a taxi while I write a note to Japp.'

Poirot was waiting on the doorstep when I returned with e taxi.

'Where are we going?' I asked anxiously.

'First, to despatch this note by spec/al .', This was done, and re-entering the taxi Poirot gave the address to the driver.

'Eighty-eight Prince Albert Road, Clapham.'

'So we are going there?'

'Mais oui. Though frankly I fear we shall be too late. Our bird will have flown, Hastings.'

'Who is our bird?'

Poirot smiled.

'The inconspicuous Mr Simpson.'

'What?' I exclaimed.

'Oh, come now, Hastings, do not tell me that all is not dear to you now?

'The cook --s got out of the Way, I realize that,' I said, sI;'''

'But why? Why should Simpson wish to get se? Did she know something about him?'

'No, my friend - something quite different.' He paused a and then said gravely: 'A battered tin trunk...'

I looked sideways at him. His statement seemed so fantastic I suspected him of pulling my leg, but he was perfectly i'$rave and serious.

'Surely he could buy a trunk if he wanted one,' I cried.

'He did not want a new trunk. He wanted a trunk of pedigree. A trunk of assured respectability.'

'Look here, Poitot,' I cried, 'this really is a bit thick. You're pulling my leg.'

He looked at me.

'You lack the brains and the imagination of Mr Simpson, Hastings. See here: On Wednesday evening, Simpson decoys away the cook. A printed card and a printed sheet of notepaper are simple matters to obtain, and he is willing to pay £150 and a year's house rem to assure the success of his plan. Miss Dunn does not recognize him - the beard the hat and the slight colonial accent completely deceive her. That is the end of Wednesday - except for the trifling fact that Simpson has helped himself to fty thousand pounds' worth of negotiable securities.'

'Simpson - but it was Dads '

'If you will kindly permit me to continue, Hastings!

Simpson knows that the theft will be discovered on Thursday afternoon. He does not go to the bank on Thursday, but he lies in wait for Davis when he comes out to lunch, perhaps he admits the theft and tells Davis he will return the securities to him - anyhow he succeeds .in getting Davis to come to Clapham with him. It is the maid's day out, and Mrs Todd was.

at the sales, so there is no one in the house. When the theft is .discovered and Davis is missing, the implication will be overwhelming. Davis is the thiefl Mr Simpsgn will be perfectly safe, and can return to work on the morrow like the honest clerk they think him.'

'And Davis?'

Poirot made an expressive gesture, and slowly shook his head.

'It seems too cold-blooded to be believed, and yet what oe6;

explanation can there be, mon am/. The one difficulty for a murderer is the disposal of the body - and Simpson had planned that out beforehand. I was struck at once by the fact that although Eliza Dunn obviously meant to return that night when she went out (witness her remark about the stewed peaches) yet her trunk vxt$ all ready tnzcked vahen they came for it. It was Simpson who sent word to Carter Paterson to call on Friday and it was Simpson who corded up the box on Thursday afternoon. What suspicion could possibly arise? A maid leaves and sends for her box, it is labelled and addressed ready in her name, probably to a railway station within easy reach of London. On Saturday afternoon, Simpson, in his Australian disguise, claims it, he afl'utes a new label and address and redespatches it somewhere else, again "to be left till called for". When the authorities get suspicious, for excellent reasons, and open it, all that can be elicited will be that a bearded colonial despatched it from some junction near London. There will be nothing to connect it with 88 Prince Albert Road. Ah!

Here we are.'

Poirot's prognostications had been correa. Simpson had left days previously. But he was not to escape the consequences of his crime. By the a/d of wireless, he was discovered on the Olympia, en route to America.

A tin trunk, addreai to Mr Henry Wintergreen, attracted the attention of railway offidals at Glasgow. It was opened and found to contain the body of the unfortunate Davis.

Mrs Todd's cheque for a guinea was never cashed. Instead Poirot had it framed and hung on, the wall of our sitting-room.

'It is to me a little reminder, Hastings. Never to deapiae the trivial - the undignified. A disappearing domestic at one end a cold-blooded murder at the other. To me one of the most i,,y cases.'