Agatha Christie: Death in the Clouds

"You cannot shut your eyes to the importance of this turn of events," said Fournier. "Motive and opportunity – what more can you want?"

"Nothing. It must be as you say. The delayed action of the poison is indeed extraordinary – practically speaking, one would say impossible. But where poisons are concerned, the impossible does happen. One has to reckon with idiosyncrasy."

His voice tailed off.

"We must discuss a plan of campaign," said Fournier. "For the moment- it would, I think, be unwise to arouse Anne Morisot's suspicions. She is completely unaware that you have recognized her. Her bona fides has been accepted. We know the hotel at which she is staying and we can keep in touch with her through Thibault. Legal formalities can always be delayed. We have two points established – opportunity and motive. We have still to prove that Anne Morisot had snake venom in her possession. There is also the question of the American who bought the blowpipe and bribed Jules Perrot. It might certainly be the husband, Richards. We have only her word for it that he is in Canada."

"As you say, the husband – yes, the husband. Ah! wait – wait."

Poirot pressed his hands upon his temples.

"It is all wrong," he murmured. "I do not employ the little gray cells of the brain in an orderly and methodical way. No, I leap to conclusions. I think, perhaps, what I am meant to think. No, that is wrong again. If my original idea were right, I could not be meant to think -"

He broke off.

"I beg your pardon," said Jane.

Poirot did not answer for a moment or two. Then he took his hands from his temples, sat very upright and straightened two forks and a saltcellar which offended his sense of symmetry.

"Let us reason," he said. "Anne Morisot is either guilty or innocent of the crime. If she is innocent, why has she lied? Why has she concealed the fact that she was lady's maid to Lady Horbury?"

"Why, indeed?" said Fournier.

"So we say Anne Morisot is guilty because she has lied. But wait. Suppose my first supposition was correct. Will that supposition fit in with Anne Morisot's guilt or with Anne Morisot's lie? Yes, yes, it might – given one premise. But in that case, and if that premise is correct, then Anne Morisot should have not been on the plane at all."

The others looked at him politely, if with, perhaps, a rather perfunctory interest.

Fournier thought:

"I see now what the Englishman, Japp, meant. He makes difficulties, this old one. He tries to make an affair which is now simple sound complicated. He cannot accept a straightforward solution without pretending that it squares with his preconceived ideas."

Jane thought:

"I don't see in the least what he means. Why couldn't the girl be in the plane? She had to go wherever Lady Horbury wanted her to go. I think he's rather a mountebank, really."

Suddenly Poirot drew in his breath with a hiss.

"Of course," he said. "It is a possibility! And it ought to be very simple to find out."

He rose.

"What now, my friend?" asked Fournier.

"Again the telephone," said Poirot.

"The transatlantic to Quebec?"

"This time it is merely to call to London."

"To Scotland Yard?"

"No, to Lord Horbury's house in Grosvenor Square. If only I have the good fortune to find Lady Horbury at home."

"Be careful, my friend, if any suspicion gets round to Anne Morisot that we have been making inquiries about her, it would not suit our affair. Above all, we must not put her upon her guard."

"Have no fears. I will be discreet. I ask only one little question. A question of a most harmless nature." He smiled. "You shall come with me if you like."

"No, no."

"But, yes. I insist."

The two men went off, leaving Jane in the lounge.

It took some little time to put the call through. But Poirot's luck was in. Lady Horbury was lunching at home.

"Good. Will you tell Lady Horbury that it is Mr Hercule Poirot speaking from Paris." There was a pause. "That is you, Lady Horbury?… No, no, all is well. I assure you all is well. It is not that matter at all. I want you to answer me a question… Yes… When you go from Paris to England by air, does your maid usually go with you, or does she go by train?… By train. And so on that particular occasion?… I see… You are sure?… Ah, she has left you… I see. She left you very suddenly, at a moment's notice… Mais oui, base ingratitude. It is too true. A most ungrateful class!… Yes, yes, exactly… No, no, you need not worry. Au revoir. Thank you."

He replaced the receiver and turned to Fournier, his eyes green and shining.

"Listen, my friend; Lady Horbury's maid usually traveled by train and boat. On the occasion of Giselle's murder, Lady Horbury decided at the last moment that Madeleine had better go by air too."

He took the Frenchman by the arm.

"Quick, my friend," he said. "We must go to her hotel. If my little idea is correct – and I think it is – there is no time to be lost."

Fournier stared at him. But before he could frame a question, Poirot had turned away and was heading for the revolving doors leading out of the hotel.

Fournier hastened after him.

"But I do not understand? What is all this?"

The commissionaire was holding open the door of a taxi. Poirot jumped in and gave the address of Anne Morisot's hotel.

"And drive quickly, but quickly!"

Fournier jumped in after him.

"What fly is this that has bitten you? Why this mad rush, this haste?"

"Because, my friend, if, as I say, my little idea is correct, Anne Morisot is in imminent danger."

"You think so?"

Fournier could not help a skeptical tone creeping into his voice.

"I am afraid," said Poirot. "Afraid. Bon Dieu, how this taxi crawls!"

The taxi at the moment was doing a good forty miles an hour and cutting in and out of traffic with a miraculous immunity due to the excellent eye of the driver.

"It crawls to such an extent that we shall have an accident in a minute," said Fournier dryly. "And Mademoiselle Grey, we have left her planted there awaiting our return from the telephone, and instead we leave the hotel without a word. It is not very polite, that!"

"Politeness or impoliteness, what does it matter in an affair of life and death?"

"Life or death?" Fournier shrugged his shoulders.

He thought to himself:

"It is all very well, but this obstinate madman may endanger the whole business. Once the girl knows that we are on her track -"

He said in a persuasive voice:

"See now, M. Poirot; be reasonable. We must go carefully."

"You do not understand," said Poirot. "I am afraid – afraid."

The taxi drew up with a jerk at the quiet hotel where Anne Morisot was staying.

Poirot sprang out and nearly collided with a young man just leaving the hotel.

Poirot stopped dead for a moment, looking after him.

"Another face that I know. But where?… Ah! I remember. It is the actor, Raymond Barraclough."

As he stepped forward to enter the hotel, Fournier placed a restraining hand on his arm.

"M. Poirot, I have the utmost respect, the utmost admiration for your methods, but I feel very strongly that no precipitate action must be taken. I am responsible here in France for the conduct of this case."

Poirot interrupted him:

"I comprehend your anxiety. But do not fear any precipitate action on my part. Let us make inquiries at the desk. If Madame Richards is here and all is well, then no harm is done and we can discuss together our future action. You do not object to that?"

"No, no, of course not."

"Good."

Poirot passed through the revolving door and went up to the reception desk. Fournier followed him.

"You have a Mrs Richards staying here, I believe," said Poirot.

"No, monsieur. She was staying here, but she left today."