Agatha Christie: Death in the Clouds

He gave an order to the constable and then addressed the passengers:

"Will you please follow me, ladies and gentlemen?"

He escorted them out of the plane and across the aerodrome, but he did not enter the usual customs department. Instead, he brought them to a small private room.

"I hope not to keep you waiting any longer than is unavoidable, ladies and gentlemen."

"Look here, inspector," said Mr James Ryder. "I have an important business engagement in London."

"Sorry, sir."

"I am Lady Horbury. I consider it absolutely outrageous that I should be detained in this manner!"

"I'm sincerely sorry, Lady Horbury. But, you see, this is a very serious matter. It looks like a case of murder."

"The arrow poison of the South American Indians," murmured Mr Clancy deliriously, a happy smile on his face.

The inspector looked at him suspiciously.

The French archaeologist spoke excitedly in French, and the inspector replied to him slowly and carefully in the same language.

Venetia Kerr said: "All this is a most crashing bore, but I suppose you have your duty to do, inspector," to which that worthy replied, "Thank you, madam," in accents of some gratitude.

He went on:

"If you ladies and gentlemen will remain here, I want a few words with Doctor – er – Doctor -"

"Bryant, my name is."

"Thank you. Just come this way with me, doctor."

"May I assist at your interview?"

It was the little man with the mustaches who spoke.

The inspector turned on him, a sharp retort on his lips. Then his face changed suddenly.

"Sorry, M. Poirot," he said. "You're so muffled up I didn't recognize you. Come along by all means."

He held the door open and Bryant and Poirot passed through, followed by the suspicious glances of the rest of the company.

"And why should he be allowed out and we made to stay here?" cried Cicely Horbury.

Venetia Kerr sat down resignedly on a bench.

"Possibly one of the French police," she said. "Or a customs spy."

She lit a cigarette.

Norman Gale said rather diffidently to Jane:

"I think I saw you at – er – Le Pinet."

"I was at Le Pinet."

Norman Gale said: "It's an awfully attractive place. I like the pine trees."

Jane said: "Yes, they smell so nice."

And then they both paused for a minute or two, uncertain what to say next.

Finally Gale said:

"I – er – recognized you at once in the plane."

Jane expressed great surprise.

"Did you?"

Gale said: "Do you think that woman was really murdered?"

"I suppose so," said Jane. "It's rather thrilling, in a way, but it's rather nasty too -" and she shuddered a little, and Norman Gale moved just a little nearer in a protective manner.

The Duponts were talking French to each other. Mr Ryder was making calculations in a little notebook and looking at his watch from time to time. Cicely Horbury sat with her foot tapping impatiently on the floor. She lit a cigarette with a shaking hand.

Against the door on the inside leaned a very large, blue-clad, impassive-looking policeman.

In a room near by, Inspector Japp was talking to Doctor Bryant and Hercule Poirot.

"You've got a knack of turning up in the most unexpected places, M. Poirot."

"Isn't Croydon aerodrome a little out of your beat, my friend?" asked Poirot.

"Ah! I'm after rather a big bug in the smuggling line. A bit of luck, my being on the spot. This is the most amazing business I've come across for years. Now, then, let's get down to it… First of all, doctor, perhaps you'll give me your full name and address."

"Roger James Bryant. I am a specialist on diseases of the ear and throat. My address is 329 Harley street."

A stolid constable sitting at a table took down these particulars.

"Our own surgeons will, of course, examine the body," said Japp, "but we want you at the inquest, doctor."

"Quite so, quite so."

"Can you give us any idea of the time of death?"

"The woman must have been dead at least half an hour when I examined her – that was a few minutes before we arrived at Croydon. I can't go nearer than that, but I understand from the steward that he had spoken to her about an hour before."

"Well, that narrows it down for all practical purposes. I suppose it's no good asking you if you observed anything of a suspicious nature?"

The doctor shook his head.

"And me, I was asleep," said Poirot with deep chagrin. "I suffer almost as badly in the air as on the sea. Always I wrap myself up well and try to sleep."

"Any idea as to the cause of death, doctor?"

"I should not like to say anything definite at this stage. This is a case for post-mortem examination and analysis."

Japp nodded comprehendingly.

"Well, doctor," he said, "I don't think we need detain you now. I'm afraid you'll – er – have to go through certain formalities – all the passengers will. We can't make exceptions."

Doctor Bryant smiled.

"I should prefer you to make sure that I have no – er – blowpipes or other lethal weapons concealed upon my person," he said gravely.

" Rogers will see to that," Japp nodded to his subordinate. "By the way, doctor, have you any idea what would be likely to be on this -"

He indicated the discolored thorn, which was lying in a small box on the table in front of him.

Doctor Bryant shook his head.

"Difficult to say without an analysis. Curare is the usual poison employed by the South American natives, I believe."

"Would that do the trick?"

"It is a very swift and rapid poison."

"But not very easy to obtain, eh?"

"Not at all easy for a layman."

"Then we'll have to search you extra carefully," said Japp, who was always fond of his joke… " Rogers!"

The doctor and the constable left the room together.

Japp tilted back his chair and looked at Poirot.

"Rum business this," he said. "Bit too sensational to be true. I mean, blowpipes and poisoned darts in an aeroplane – well, it insults one's intelligence."

"That, my friend, is a very profound remark," said Poirot.

"A couple of my men are searching the plane," said Japp. "We've got a fingerprint man and a photographer coming along. I think we'd better see the stewards next.

He strode to the door and gave an order. The two stewards were ushered in. The younger steward had recovered his balance. He looked more excited than anything else. The other steward still looked white and frightened.

"That's all right, my lads," said Japp. "Sit down. Got the passports there?… Good."

He sorted through them quickly.

"Ah, here we are. Marie Morisot, French passport. Know anything about her?"

"I've seen her before. She crossed to and fro from England fairly often," said Mitchell.

"Ah, in business of some kind. You don't know what her business was?"

Mitchell shook his head. The younger steward said: "I remember her too. I saw her on the early service – the eight o'clock from Paris."

"Which of you was the last to see her alive?"

"Him." The younger steward indicated his companion.

"That's right," said Mitchell. "That's when I took her her coffee."

"How was she looking then?"

"Can't say I noticed. I just handed her the sugar and offered her milk, which she refused."

"What time was that?"

"Well, I couldn't say exactly. We were over the Channel at the time. Might have been somewhere about two o'clock."

"Thereabouts," said Albert Davis, the other steward.

"When did you see her next?"

"When I took the bills round."

"What time was that?"

"About a quarter of an hour later. I thought she was asleep… Crikey! She must have been dead then!" The steward's voice sounded awed.

"You didn't see any signs of this -" Japp indicated the little wasp-like dart.