Hercule Poirot: The Complete Short Stories

‘Denied first of all that he had ever left the study. But the maid was positive, and he pretended afterwards that he had forgotten just stepping out of the window to examine an unusual species of rose. Rather a weak story! And there’s fresh evidence against him come to light. Mr Davenheim always wore a thick gold ring set with a solitaire diamond on the little finger of his right hand. Well, that ring was pawned in London on Saturday night by a man called Billy Kellett! He’s already known to the police – did three months last autumn for lifting an old gentleman’s watch. It seems he tried to pawn the ring at no less than five different places, succeeded at the last one, got gloriously drunk on the proceeds, assaulted a policeman, and was run in in consequence. I went to Bow Street with Miller and saw him. He’s sober enough now, and I don’t mind admitting we pretty well frightened the life out of him, hinting he might be charged with murder. This is his yarn, and a very queer one it is.

‘He was at Entfield races on Saturday, though I dare say scarfpins was his line of business, rather than betting. Anyway, he had a bad day, and was down on his luck. He was tramping along the road to Chingside, and sat down in a ditch to rest just before he got into the village. A few minutes later he noticed a man coming along the road to the village, “dark-complexioned gent, with a big moustache, one of them city toffs,” is his description of the man.

‘Kellett was half concealed from the road by a heap of stones. Just before he got abreast of him, the man looked quickly up and down the road, and seeing it apparently deserted he took a small object from his pocket and threw it over the hedge. Then he went on towards the station. Now, the object he had thrown over the hedge had fallen with a slight “chink” which aroused the curiosity of the human derelict in the ditch. He investigated and, after a short search, discovered the ring! That is Kellett’s story. It’s only fair to say that Lowen denies it utterly, and of course the word of a man like Kellett can’t be relied upon in the slightest. It’s within the bounds of possibility that he met Davenheim in the lane and robbed and murdered him.’

Poirot shook his head.

‘Very improbable, mon ami. He had no means of disposing of the body. It would have been found by now. Secondly, the open way in which he pawned the ring makes it unlikely that he did murder to get it. Thirdly, your sneak-thief is rarely a murderer. Fourthly, as he has been in prison since Saturday, it would be too much of a coincidence that he is able to give so accurate a description of Lowen.’

Japp nodded. ‘I don’t say you’re not right. But all the same, you won’t get a jury to take much note of a jailbird’s evidence. What seems odd to me is that Lowen couldn’t find a cleverer way of disposing of the ring.’

Poirot shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, after all, if it were found in the neighbourhood, it might be argued that Davenheim himself had dropped it.’

‘But why remove it from the body at all?’ I cried.

‘There might be a reason for that,’ said Japp. ‘Do you know that just beyond the lake, a little gate leads out on to the hill, and not three minutes’ walk brings you to – what do you think? – a lime kiln.’

‘Good heavens!’ I cried. ‘You mean that the lime which destroyed the body would be powerless to affect the metal of the ring?’

‘Exactly.’

‘It seems to me,’ I said, ‘that that explains everything. What a horrible crime!’

By common consent we both turned and looked at Poirot. He seemed lost in reflection, his brow knitted, as though with some supreme mental effort. I felt at last his keen intellect was asserting itself. What would his first words be? We were not long left in doubt. With a sigh, the tension of his attitude relaxed and turning to Japp, he asked:

‘Have you any idea, my friend, whether Mr and Mrs Davenheim occupied the same bedroom?’

The question seemed so ludicrously inappropriate that for a moment we both stared in silence. Then Japp burst into a laugh. ‘Good Lord, Monsieur Poirot, I thought you were coming out with something startling. As to your question, I’m sure I don’t know.’

‘You could find out?’ asked Poirot with curious persistence.

‘Oh, certainly – if you really want to know.’

‘Merci, mon ami. I should be obliged if you would make a point of it.’

Japp stared at him a few minutes longer, but Poirot seemed to have forgotten us both. The detective shook his head sadly at me, and murmuring, ‘Poor old fellow! War’s been too much for him!’ gently withdrew from the room.

As Poirot seemed sunk in a daydream, I took a sheet of paper, and amused myself by scribbling notes upon it. My friend’s voice aroused me. He had come out of his reverie, and was looking brisk and alert.

‘Que faites-vous là, mon ami?’

‘I was jotting down what occurred to me as the main points of interest in this affair.’

‘You become methodical – at last!’ said Poirot approvingly.

I concealed my pleasure. ‘Shall I read them to you?’

‘By all means.’

I cleared my throat.

‘“One: All the evidence points to Lowen having been the man who forced the safe.

‘“Two: He had a grudge against Davenheim.

‘“Three: He lied in his first statement that he had never left the study.

‘“Four: If you accept Billy Kellett’s story as true, Lowen is unmistakably implicated.”’

I paused. ‘Well?’ I asked, for I felt that I had put my finger on all the vital facts.

Poirot looked at me pityingly, shaking his head very gently. ‘Mon pauvre ami! But it is that you have not the gift! The important detail, you appreciate him never! Also, your reasoning is false.’

‘How?’

‘Let me take your four points.’

‘One: Mr Lowen could not possibly know that he would have the chance to open the safe. He came for a business interview. He could not know beforehand that Mr Davenheim would be absent posting a letter, and that he would consequently be alone in the study!’

‘He might have seized the opportunity,’ I suggested.

‘And the tools? City gentlemen do not carry round housebreaker’s tools on the off chance! And one could not cut into that safe with penknife, bien entendu!’

‘Well, what about Number Two?’

‘You say Lowen had a grudge against Mr Davenheim. What you mean is that he had once or twice got the better of him. And presumably those transactions were entered into with the view of benefiting himself. In any case you do not as a rule bear a grudge against a man you have got the better of – it is more likely to be the other way about. Whatever grudge there might have been would have been on Mr Davenheim’s side.’

‘Well, you can’t deny that he lied about never having left the study?’

‘No. But he may have been frightened. Remember, the missing man’s clothes had just been discovered in the lake. Of course, as usual, he would have done better to speak the truth.’

‘And the fourth point?’

‘I grant you that. If Kellett’s story is true, Lowen is undeniably implicated. That is what makes the affair so very interesting.’

‘Then I did appreciate one vital fact?’

‘Perhaps – but you have entirely overlooked the two most important points, the ones which undoubtedly hold the clue to the whole matter.’

‘And pray, what are they?’

‘One, the passion which has grown upon Mr Davenheim in the last few years for buying jewellery. Two, his trip to Buenos Aires last autumn.’

‘Poirot, you are joking?’

‘I am serious. Ah, sacred thunder, but I hope Japp will not forget my little commission.’

But the detective, entering into the spirit of the joke, had remembered it so well that a telegram was handed to Poirot about eleven o’clock the next day. At his request I opened it and read it out: