Hercule Poirot: The Complete Short Stories

Mrs Opalsen looked helplessly at Poirot. He led her back to her chair.

‘Seat yourself, madame, and recount to us the whole history without agitating yourself.’

Thus abjured, Mrs Opalsen dried her eyes gingerly, and began.

‘I came upstairs after dinner to fetch my pearls for Mr Poirot here to see. The chambermaid and Célestine were both in the room as usual –’

‘Excuse me, madame, but what do you mean by “as usual”?’

Mr Opalsen explained.

‘I make it a rule that no one is to come into this room unless Célestine, the maid, is there also. The chambermaid does the room in the morning while Célestine is present, and comes in after dinner to turn down the beds under the same conditions; otherwise she never enters the room.’

‘Well, as I was saying,’ continued Mrs Opalsen, ‘I came up. I went to the drawer here’ – she indicated the bottom right-hand drawer of the knee-hole dressing-table – ‘took out my jewel-case and unlocked it. It seemed quite as usual – but the pearls were not there!’

The inspector had been busy with his notebook. ‘When had you last seen them?’ he asked.

‘They were there when I went down to dinner.’

‘You are sure?’

‘Quite sure. I was uncertain whether to wear them or not, but in the end I decided on the emeralds, and put them back in the jewel-case.’

‘Who locked up the jewel-case?’

‘I did. I wear the key on a chain round my neck.’ She held it up as she spoke.

The inspector examined it, and shrugged his shoulders.

‘The thief must have had a duplicate key. No difficult matter. The lock is quite a simple one. What did you do after you’d locked the jewel-case?’

‘I put it back in the bottom drawer where I always keep it.’

‘You didn’t lock the drawer?’

‘No, I never do. My maid remains in the room till I come up, so there’s no need.’

The inspector’s face grew greyer.

‘Am I to understand that the jewels were there when you went down to dinner, and that since then the maid has not left the room?’

Suddenly, as though the horror of her own situation for the first time burst upon her, Célestine uttered a piercing shriek, and, flinging herself upon Poirot, poured out a torrent of incoherent French.

The suggestion was infamous! That she should be suspected of robbing Madame! The police were well known to be of a stupidity incredible! But Monsieur, who was a Frenchman –

‘A Belgian,’ interjected Poirot, but Célestine paid no attention to the correction.

Monsieur would not stand by and see her falsely accused, while that infamous chambermaid was allowed to go scot-free. She had never liked her – a bold, red-faced thing – a born thief. She had said from the first that she was not honest. And had kept a sharp watch over her too, when she was doing Madame’s room! Let those idiots of policemen search her, and if they did not find Madame’s pearls on her it would be very surprising!

Although this harangue was uttered in rapid and virulent French, Célestine had interlarded it with a wealth of gesture, and the chambermaid realized at least a part of her meaning. She reddened angrily.

‘If that foreign woman’s saying I took the pearls, it’s a lie!’ she declared heatedly. ‘I never so much as saw them.’

‘Search her!’ screamed the other. ‘You will find it is as I say.’

‘You’re a liar – do you hear?’ said the chambermaid, advancing upon her. ‘Stole ’em yourself, and want to put it on me. Why, I was only in the room about three minutes before the lady came up, and then you were sitting here the whole time, as you always do, like a cat watching a mouse.’

The inspector looked across inquiringly at Célestine. ‘Is that true? Didn’t you leave the room at all?’

‘I did not actually leave her alone,’ admitted Célestine reluctantly, ‘but I went into my own room through the door here twice – once to fetch a reel of cotton, and once for my scissors. She must have done it then.’

‘You wasn’t gone a minute,’ retorted the chambermaid angrily. ‘Just popped out and in again. I’d be glad if the police would search me. I’ve nothing to be afraid of.’

At this moment there was a tap at the door. The inspector went to it. His face brightened when he saw who it was.

‘Ah!’ he said. ‘That’s rather fortunate. I sent for one of our female searchers, and she’s just arrived. Perhaps if you wouldn’t mind going into the room next door.’

He looked at the chambermaid, who stepped across the threshold with a toss of her head, the searcher following her closely.

The French girl had sunk sobbing into a chair. Poirot was looking round the room, the main features of which I have made clear by a sketch.

‘Where does that door lead?’ he inquired, nodding his head towards the one by the window.

‘Into the next apartment, I believe,’ said the inspector. ‘It’s bolted, anyway, on this side.’

Poirot walked across to it, tried it, then drew back the bolt and tried it again.

‘And on the other side as well,’ he remarked. ‘Well, that seems to rule out that.’

He walked over to the windows, examining each of them in turn.

‘And again – nothing. Not even a balcony outside.’

‘Even if there were,’ said the inspector impatiently, ‘I don’t see how that would help us, if the maid never left the room.’

‘Évidemment,’ said Poirot, not disconcerted. ‘As Mademoiselle is positive she did not leave the room –’

He was interrupted by the reappearance of the chambermaid and the police searcher.

‘Nothing,’ said the latter laconically.

‘I should hope not, indeed,’ said the chambermaid virtuously. ‘And that French hussy ought to be ashamed of herself taking away an honest girl’s character.’

‘There, there, my girl; that’s all right,’ said the inspector, opening the door. ‘Nobody suspects you. You go along and get on with your work.’

The chambermaid went unwillingly.

‘Going to search her?’ she demanded, pointing at Célestine.