Hercule Poirot: The Complete Short Stories

I looked up with keen interest. The announcement of Lady Millicent’s engagement to the young Duke of Southshire had appeared a few days previously. She was, I knew, the fifth daughter of an impecunious Irish peer, and the Duke of Southshire was one of the best matches in England.

‘I am Lady Millicent,’ continued the girl. ‘You may have read of my engagement. I should be one of the happiest girls alive; but oh, M. Poirot, I am in terrible trouble! There is a man, a horrible man – his name is Lavington; and he – I hardly know how to tell you. There was a letter I wrote – I was only sixteen at the time; and he – he –’

‘A letter that you wrote to this Mr Lavington?’

‘Oh no – not to him! To a young soldier – I was very fond of him – he was killed in the war.’

‘I understand,’ said Poirot kindly.

‘It was a foolish letter, an indiscreet letter, but indeed, M. Poirot, nothing more. But there are phrases in it which – which might bear a different interpretation.’

‘I see,’ said Poirot. ‘And this letter has come into the possession of Mr Lavington?’

‘Yes, and he threatens, unless I pay him an enormous sum of money, a sum that is quite impossible for me to raise, to send it to the Duke.’

‘The dirty swine!’ I ejaculated. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Millicent.’

‘Would it not be wiser to confess all to your future husband?’

‘I dare not, M. Poirot. The Duke is a rather peculiar character, jealous and suspicious and prone to believe the worst. I might as well break off my engagement at once.’

‘Dear, dear,’ said Poirot with an expressive grimace. ‘And what do you want me to do, milady?’

‘I thought perhaps that I might ask Mr Lavington to call upon you. I would tell him that you were empowered by me to discuss the matter. Perhaps you could reduce his demands.’

‘What sum does he mention?’

‘Twenty thousand pounds – an impossibility. I doubt if I could raise a thousand, even.’

‘You might perhaps borrow the money on the prospect of your approaching marriage – but I doubt if you could get hold of half that sum. Besides – eh bien, it is repugnant to me that you should pay! No, the ingenuity of Hercule Poirot shall defeat your enemies! Send me this Mr Lavington. Is he likely to bring the letter with him?’

The girl shook her head.

‘I do not think so. He is very cautious.’

‘I suppose there is no doubt that he really has it?’

‘He showed it to me when I went to his house.’

‘You went to his house? That was very imprudent, milady.’

‘Was it? I was so desperate. I hoped my entreaties might move him.’

‘Oh, là là! The Lavingtons of this world are not moved by entreaties! He would welcome them as showing how much importance you attached to the document. Where does he live, this fine gentleman?’

‘At Buona Vista, Wimbledon. I went there after dark –’ Poirot groaned. ‘I declared that I would inform the police in the end, but he only laughed in a horrid, sneering manner. “By all means, my dear Lady Millicent, do so if you wish,” he said.’

‘Yes, it is hardly an affair for the police,’ murmured Poirot.

‘“But I think you will be wiser than that,” he continued. “See, here is your letter – in this little Chinese puzzle box!” He held it so that I could see. I tried to snatch at it, but he was too quick for me. With a horrid smile he folded it up and replaced it in the little wooden box. “It will be quite safe here, I assure you,” he said, “and the box itself lives in such a clever place that you would never find it.” My eyes turned to the small wall-safe, and he shook his head and laughed. “I have a better safe than that,” he said. Oh, he was odious! M. Poirot, do you think that you can help me?’

‘Have faith in Papa Poirot. I will find a way.’

These reassurances were all very well, I thought, as Poirot gallantly ushered his fair client down the stairs, but it seemed to me that we had a tough nut to crack. I said as much to Poirot when he returned. He nodded ruefully.

‘Yes – the solution does not leap to the eye. He has the whip hand, this M. Lavington. For the moment I do not see how we are to circumvent him.’

Mr Lavington duly called upon us that afternoon. Lady Millicent had spoken truly when she described him as an odious man. I felt a positive tingling in the end of my boot, so keen was I to kick him down the stairs. He was blustering and overbearing in manner, laughed Poirot’s gentle suggestions to scorn, and generally showed himself as master of the situation. I could not help feeling that Poirot was hardly appearing at his best. He looked discouraged and crestfallen.

‘Well, gentlemen,’ said Lavington, as he took up his hat, ‘we don’t seem to be getting much further. The case stands like this: I’ll let the Lady Millicent off cheap, as she is such a charming young lady.’ He leered odiously. ‘We’ll say eighteen thousand. I’m off to Paris today – a little piece of business to attend to over there. I shall be back on Tuesday. Unless the money is paid by Tuesday evening, the letter goes to the Duke. Don’t tell me Lady Millicent can’t raise the money. Some of her gentlemen friends would be only too willing to oblige such a pretty woman with a loan – if she goes the right way about it.’

My face flushed, and I took a step forward, but Lavington had wheeled out of the room as he finished his sentence.

‘My God!’ I cried. ‘Something has got to be done. You seem to be taking this lying down, Poirot.’

‘You have an excellent heart, my friend – but your grey cells are in a deplorable condition. I have no wish to impress Mr Lavington with my capabilities. The more pusillanimous he thinks me, the better.’

‘Why?’

‘It is curious,’ murmured Poirot reminiscently, ‘that I should have uttered a wish to work against the law just before Lady Millicent arrived!’

‘You are going to burgle his house while he is away?’ I gasped.

‘Sometimes, Hastings, your mental processes are amazingly quick.’

‘Suppose he takes the letter with him?’

Poirot shook his head.

‘That is very unlikely. He has evidently a hiding-place in his house that he fancies to be pretty impregnable.’

‘When do we – er – do the deed?’

‘Tomorrow night. We will start from here about eleven o’clock.’

At the time appointed I was ready to set off. I had donned a dark suit, and a soft dark hat. Poirot beamed kindly on me.

‘You have dressed the part, I see,’ he observed. ‘Come let us take the underground to Wimbledon.’

‘Aren’t we going to take anything with us? Tools to break in with?’

‘My dear Hastings, Hercule Poirot does not adopt such crude methods.’

I retired, snubbed, but my curiosity was alert.

It was just on midnight that we entered the small suburban garden of Buona Vista. The house was dark and silent. Poirot went straight to a window at the back of the house, raised the sash noiselessly and bade me enter.

‘How did you know this window would be open?’ I whispered, for really it seemed uncanny.