Poirot Investigates - Agatha Christie - 2

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It was the genial doctor's habit to drop in sometimes of an evening and have a chat with Poirot, of whose genius he was an ardent admirer. The doctor himself, Frank and unsuspicious to the last degree, admired the talents so far removed from his own. On one particular evening in early June, he arrived about half past eight and settled down to a comfortable discussion on the cheery topic of the prevalence of arsenical poisoning in crimes. It must have been about a quarter of an hour later when the door of our sitting room flew open and a distracted female precipitated herself into the room. Oh, Doctor, you're wanted. Such a terrible voice. It gave me a turn. It did indeed. I recognized in our new visitor Dr. Hawker's housekeeper, Miss Ryder. The doctor was a bachelor and lived in a gloomy old house a few streets away. The usually placid Miss Ryder was now in a state bordering on incoherence. Well, what terrible voice. Who is it and what's the trouble? It was a telephone doctor. I answered it and a voice spoke. Help, it said. Doctor, help. They have killed me. And then it sort of trailed away. Who's speaking? I said, who's speaking? Then I got a reply. Just a whisper. It seemed Foscatine or something like that. Regents Court. The doctor uttered an exclamation. Count Foscatini. He has a flat in Regents Court. I must go at once. What can have happened? A patient of yours? Asked Poirot. Well, yes, I attended him for some slight ailment a few weeks ago. An Italian, but he speaks English perfectly. Well, I must wish you good night, Mr. Poirot, unless he hesitated. Ah, I perceive the thought in your mind, said Poirot, smiling. I shall be delighted to accompany you. Hastings run down and get hold of a taxi. Taxis always make themselves sought for when one is particularly pressed for time. But I captured one at last. And we were soon bowling along in the direction of Regents Park. Regents Court was a new block of flats situated just off St. John's Wood Road. They had only recently been built and contained the latest service devices. There was no one in the hall. The doctor pressed the lift bell impatiently. And when the lift arrived, questioned the uniformed attendant sharply. Flat 11, Count Foscatini. There's been an accident there, I understand. The man stared at him. First I've heard of it. Mr. Graves, that's Count Foscatini's man, went out about half an hour ago. He said nothing. Where is the count alone in the flat? No, sir, he's got two gentlemen dining with him. What are they like? I asked eagerly. We were in the lift now, ascending rapidly to the second floor on which Flat 11 was situated. I didn't see them myself, sir, but I understand that they were foreign gentlemen. He pulled back the iron door and we stepped out on the landing. Number 11 was opposite to us. The doctor rang the bell. There was no reply. And we could hear no sound from within. The doctor rang again and again. We could hear the bell trilling within, but no sign of life rewarded us. This is getting serious, muttered the doctor. He turned to the lift attendant. Is there any past key to the store? There is one in the porter's office downstairs. Get it then, and look here. I think you'd better send for the police. Poirot approved with a nod of the head. The man returned shortly. With him came the manager. Will you tell me, gentlemen, what is the meaning of all this? Certainly. I received a telephone message from Count Foskettini, stating that he had been attacked and was dying. You can understand that we must lose no time if we are not already too late. The manager produced the key without more ado, and we all entered the flat. We passed first into a small square lounge hall. The door on the right of it was half open. The manager indicated it with a nod. The dining room. Dr. Hawker led the way. We followed close on his heels. As we entered the room, I gave a gasp. The round table in the center bore the remains of a meal. Three chairs were pushed back as though their occupants had just risen. In the corner to the right of the fireplace was a big writing table, and sitting at it was a man, or what had been a man. His right hand still grasped the base of the telephone, but he had fallen forward, struck down by a terrific blow on the head from behind. The weapon was not far to seek. A marble statuette stood where it had been hurriedly put down, the base of it stained with blood. The doctor's examination did not take a minute. Stone dead. Must have been almost instantaneous. I wonder he even managed to telephone. It will be better not to move him until the police arrive. On the manager's suggestion, we searched the flat, but the result was a foregone conclusion. It was not likely that the murderers would be concealed there when all they had to do was to walk out. We came back to the dining room. Poirot had not accompanied us in our tour. I found him studying the center table with close attention. I joined him. It was a well-polished round mahogany table. A bowl of roses decorated the center, and white lace mats reposed on the gleaming surface. There was a dish of fruit, but the three dessert plates were untouched. There were three coffee cups with remains of coffee in them, two black, one with milk. All three men had taken port, and the decanter half full stood before the center plate. One of the men had smoked a cigar, the other two, cigarettes. A tortoise shell and silver box, holding cigars and cigarettes, stood open upon the table. I enumerated all these facts to myself, but I was forced to admit that they did not shed any brilliant light on the situation. I wondered what Poirot saw in them to make him so intent. I asked him. -"Monemi," he replied, "'You missed a point. I am looking for something that I do not see." -"What is that?" -"A mistake, eh? Even a little mistake on the part of the mother-up." He stepped swiftly to the smaller joining kitchen, looked in and shook his head. -"Monsieur," he said to the manager, "'Explain to me, I pray, your system of serving meals here." The manager stepped to a small hatch in the wall. -"Well, this is the service lift," he explained. It runs to the kitchens at the top of the building. You order through this telephone, and the dishes are sent down in the lift one course at a time. The dirty plates and dishes are sent up in the same manner. No domestic worries, you understand, and at the same time, you avoid the wearying publicity of always dining in a restaurant. -"Puaro nodded." -"Then the plates and dishes that were used tonight are on high in the kitchen. You permit that I mount there?" -"Oh, certainly, if you like. Roberts the liftman will take you up and introduce you, but I'm afraid you won't find anything that's of any use. They're handling hundreds of plates and dishes, and they'll be all lumped together." -"Puaro remained firm, however, and together we visited the kitchens and questioned the man who had taken the order from Flat-Eleven." -"The order was given from the Arlacarte menu for three," he explained. Soup julienne, filet de sole Normande, tornadoes of beef, and a rice souffle. What time? Just about eight o'clock, I should say. No, I'm afraid the plates and dishes have all been washed up by now. Unfortunately, you were thinking of fingerprints, I suppose. Well, not exactly, said Puaro, with an enigmatic smile. I am more interested in cantos for chitinis apetite. Did he putté-cov' every dish? Oh, yes, but of course I can't say how much of each he ate. The plates were soiled and the dishes empty. Well, that's to say, with the exception of the rice souffle. There was a fair amount of that left. Ah, said Puaro, and seemed satisfied with the fact. As we descended to the flat again, he remarked in a low tone, we have decidedly to do with a man of method. What, you mean the murderer or Count Foscutini? Ah, the latter was undoubtedly an orderly gentleman. After imploring help and announcing his approaching demise, he carefully hung up the telephone receiver. I stared at Puaro. His words now and his recent inquiries gave me the glimmering of an idea. You suspect poison, I breathed. The blow on the head was a blind. Puaro merely smiled. We re-entered the flat to find a local inspector of police had arrived with two constables. He was inclined to resent our appearance, but Puaro calmed him with the mention of our Scotland Yard friend, Inspector Jamp, and we were accorded a grudging permission to remain. It was a lucky thing we were, for we had not been back five minutes before an agitated middle-aged man came rushing into the room with every appearance of grief and agitation. This was graves, valet butler to the late Count Foscutini. The story he had to tell was a sensational one. On the previous morning, two gentlemen had called to see his master. They were Italians, and the elder of the two, a man of about 40, gave his name as Signor Ascarno. The younger was a well-dressed lad of about 24. Count Foscutini was evidently prepared for their visit and immediately sent graves out upon some trivial errand. Here the man paused and hesitated in his story. In the end, however, he admitted that, curious as to the perpet of the interview, he had not obeyed immediately, but had lingered about endeavouring to hear something of what was going on. The conversation was carried on in so lower tone that he was not as successful as he had hoped, but he gathered enough to make it clear that some kind of monetary proposition was being discussed and that the basis of it was a threat. The discussion was anything but amicable. In the end, Count Foscutini raised his voice slightly and the listener heard these words clearly. I have no time to argue further now, gentlemen. If you will dine with me tomorrow night at eight o'clock, we will resume the discussion. Afraid of being discovered listening, the graves had then hurried out to do his master's errand. This evening, the two men had arrived punctually at eight. During dinner, they had talked of indifferent matters, politics, the weather, and the theatrical world. When graves had placed the port upon the table and brought in the coffee, his master told him that he might have the evening off. Was that a usual proceeding of his when he had guests, asked the inspector? I'll, no, sir, it wasn't. That's what made me think it must be some business of a very unusual kind that he was going to discuss with these gentlemen. That finished Graves' story. He had gone at about eight thirty and meeting a friend had accompanied him to the Metropolitan Music Hall in Edgeware Road. Nobody had seen the two men leave, but the time of the murder was fixed clearly enough at eight forty-seven. A small clock on the writing table had been swept off by Foscatini's arm and had stopped at that hour, which agreed with Miss Rider's telephone summons. The police surgeon had made his examination of the body and it was now lying on the couch. I saw the face for the first time. The olive complexion, the long nose, the luxuriant black moustache, and the full red lips drawn back from the dazzlingly white teeth. Not altogether a pleasant face. Well, said the Inspector, refastening his notebook, the case seems clear enough the only difficulty would be to lay our hands on this senior Ascarnio. I suppose his address is not in the dead man's pocketbook by any chance? As Poirot had said, the late Foscatini was an orderly man, neatly written in small, precise handwriting, was the inscription, senior Paolo Ascarnio, Krovner Hotel. The Inspector busied himself with the telephone, then turned to us with a grin. Just in time, our fine gentleman was off to catch the boat trained to the continent. Well, gentlemen, that's about all we can do here. It's a bad business, but straightforward enough. One of these Italian vendetta things as likely as not. Thus, airily dismissed, we found our way down, says. Dr. Hawker was full of excitement. Like the beginning of a novel, real exciting stuff. Wouldn't believe it if you read about it. Poirot did not speak. He was very thoughtful. All the evening he had hardly opened his lips. What says the master detective, eh? Asked Hawker, clapping him on the back. Nothing to work your gray cells over this time, eh? You think not? Well, what could there be? Well, for example, there is the window. Well, the window? But it was fastened. Nobody could have got out or in that way. I noticed it, especially. And why were you able to notice it? The doctor looked puzzled, Poirot hastened to explain. It is to the cartons I refer, eh? They were not drawn, a little odd that. And then there was the coffee. It was very black coffee. Well, what of it? Very black, repeated Poirot. In conjunction with that, let us remember that very little of the rice soufflé was eaten. And we get what? Moonshine, laughed the doctor. You're pulling my leg. Never do I pull the leg. Hastings here knows that I am perfectly serious. I don't know what you're getting at, all the same, I confess. You don't suspect the man's servant, do you? I mean, he might have been in with a gang and put some dope in the coffee, but I suppose they'll test his alibi. Oh, without doubt, my friend. But it is the alibi of Sr. Askaneo that interests me. Well, you think he has an alibi? That is just what worries me. I have no doubt that we shall soon be enlightened on that point. Three, two, sun. Easy guess, big orange sale is now on, with up to 400 pounds of package holidays and up to 20% off-slides. Book now at easyjack.com. Get out there. Selected dates and flights, sale and fifth of May. Holidays minimum, spend an aftereffected season C's apply. If you work in university maintenance, Granger considers you an MVP because your playbook ensures your arena is always ready for tip-off. And Granger is your trusted partner, offering the products you need, all in one place, from HVAC and plumbing supplies to lighting and more, and all delivered with plenty of time left on the clock so your team always gets the win. Call 1-800-GRANGER, visit Granger.com or just stop by Granger for the ones who get it done. The Daily News Manga enabled us to become conversant with succeeding events. Sr. Askaneo was arrested and charged with the murder of Count Foskettini. When arrested, he denied knowing the count and declared he had never been near Regent's Court either on the evening of the crime or on the previous morning. The younger man had disappeared entirely. Sr. Askaneo had arrived alone at the Grovener Hotel from the continent two days before the murder. All efforts to trace the second man failed. Askaneo, however, was not sent for trial. No lesser personage than the Italian ambassador himself came forward and testified at the police court proceedings that Askaneo had been with him at the embassy from eight till nine that evening. The prisoner was discharged. Naturally, a lot of people thought that the crime was a political one and was being deliberately hushed up. Poirot had taken a keen interest in all these points. Nevertheless, I was somewhat surprised when he suddenly informed me one morning that he was expecting a visitor at 11 o'clock and that that visitor was none other than Askaneo himself. He wishes to consult you. Due to Hastings, I wish to consult him. But what about? The regents caught mother. You're going to prove that he did it? A man cannot be tried twice for murder, Hastings, endeavor to have the common sense. Ah, that is our friend's ring. A few minutes later, Sr. Askaneo was ushered in, a small, thin man with a secretive and furtive glance in his eyes. He remained standing, darting suspicious glances from one to the other of us. Monsieur Poirot, my little friend tapped himself gently on the chest. Be seated, Sr. You received my note. I am determined to get to the bottom of this mystery. In some small measure, you can aid me. Let us commence. You, in the company with a friend, visited the late Count Fascatini on the morning of Tuesday the ninth. The Italian made an angry gesture. I did nothing of the sort. I have sworn in court. Precisimo, and I have a little idea that you have sworn forcibly. You threaten me? Pah, I have nothing to fear from you. I have been acquitted. Exactly. And as I am not an imbecile, it is not with the gallows I threaten you, but with publicity, publicity. I see that you do not like the word. I had an idea that you would not. My little ideas, you know, they are very valuable to me. Come, Sr., your only chance is to be frank with me. Now I do not ask to know what indiscretions brought you to England. I know this much. You came for the special purpose of seeing Count Fascatini. He was not a count, growled the Italian. No, I have already noted the fact that his name does not appear in the Almanac de Gota. Never mind, the title of count is often useful in the profession of blackmailing. I suppose I might as well be frank. You seem to know a good deal. I have employed my grisels to some advantage. Come, Sr. Ascanio, you visited a dead man on the Tuesday morning. That is so, is it not? Yes. But I never went there on the following evening. There was no need. I will tell you all. Certain information concerning a man of great position in Italy had come into this counter-possession. He demanded a bigger sum of money in return for the papers. I came over to England to arrange the matter. I called upon him by appointment that morning. One of the young secretaries of the embassy was with me. The count was more reasonable than I had hoped. Although even then the sum of money I paid him was a huge one. Oh, pardon, how was it paid? In Italian notes of comparatively smaller denomination, I paid over the money then and there. He handed me the incriminating papers. I never saw him again. Why did you not sell this when you are arrested? In my delicate position, I was forced to deny any association with the man. How do you account for the events of the evening then? I can only think that someone must have deliberately impersonated me. I understand that no money was found in the flat. While I looked at him and shook his head, strange, he murmured, we all have the little grass-cells, huh? And so few of us know how to use them. Good morning, Signor Escanio. I believe your story. It is very much as I had imagined, but I had to make sure. After bowing his guest out, Poirot returned to his armchair and smiled at me. Let us hear Monsieur le Capitaine's things on the case. Well, I suppose Escanio is right. Somebody impersonated him. Never, never will you use the brains the good God has given you. Recall to yourself some words I uttered after leaving the flat that night. I referred to the window curtains not being drawn. We are in the month of June. It is still light at eight o'clock. The light is failing by half past. Savo-dique-que-co-chose. I perceive a struggling impression that you will arrive some day. Now, let us continue. The coffee was, as I said, very black. Count Foscottini's teeth were magnificently white. Coffee stands the teeth. Hmm, there be reason from that that Count Foscottini did not drink any coffee. Yet there was coffee in all three cups. Why should anyone pretend Count Foscottini had drunk coffee when he had not done so? I shook my head utterly bewildered. Come, I will help you. What evidence have we that Escanio and his friend or two men posing as them ever came to the flat that night? Nobody saw them go in, nobody saw them go out. We have the evidence of one man and of a host of inanimate objects. You mean? I mean knives and forks and plates and empty dishes. Ah, but it was a clever idea, huh? Graves is a thief and a scoundrel. But what a man of method. He overhears a portion of the conversation in the morning and after realize that Escanio will be in an awkward position to defend himself. The following evening about eight o'clock he tells his master he is wanted at the telephone. Foscottini sits down, stretches at his hand to the telephone and from behind Graves strikes him down with a marble figure, then quickly to the service telephone dinner for three. It comes, he lays the table, dirties the plates, knives and forks, et cetera. But he has to get rid of the food too, huh? Not only is he a man of brain, he has a resolute and carpacious stomach. But after eating three tornadoes, the rice souffle is too much for him. He even smokes a cigar and two cigarettes to carry out the illusion. But it was magnificently thorough. Then having moved on the hands of the clock to 847, he smashes it and stops it. The one thing he does not do is to draw the curtains. But if there had been a real dinner party, the curtains would have been drawn as soon as the light began to fail. Then he hurries out, mentioning the guests to the lift man in passing. He hurries to a telephone box and as near as possible to 847, rings up the doctor with his master's dying cry. So successful is his idea that no one ever inquires if a call was put through from flat 11 at that time. Except Hurtu Poirot, I suppose, I said sarcastically. Not even Hurtu Poirot, said my friend with a smile. I am about to inquire now. I had to prove my point to you first. But you will see I shall be right. And then Jap, to whom I have already given a hint, will be able to arrest the respectable graves. I wonder how much of the money he has spent. And Poirot was right. He always is confound him. The Adventure of the Western Star. I was standing at the window of Poirot's rooms looking out idly on the street below. That's queer, I ejaculated suddenly beneath my breath. What is my name? Asked Poirot placidly from the depths of his comfortable chair. Did you spowro from the following facts? Here is a young lady richly dressed, fashionable hat, magnificent furs. She is coming along slowly, looking up at the houses as she goes. Unknown to her, she's being shadowed by three men and a middle-aged woman. They have just been joined by an errand boy who points after the girl, gesticulating as he does so. Now what drama is this being played? Is the girl a crook? And are the shadowers detectives, preparing to arrest her? Or are they the scoundrels? And are they plotting to attack an innocent victim? What does the great detective say? The great detective, Monami, chooses as ever the simplest course. He arises to see for himself. And my friend joined me at the window. In a minute, he gave vent to an amused chuckle. As usual, your facts are tinged with your incurable romanticism. That is Miss Mary Marvell, the film star. She is being followed by a bevy of admirers who have recognized her and, en passant, my dear Hastings, she is quite aware of the fact. I laughed. So all is explained. But you get no marks for that, Poirot. It was a mere matter of recognition. En vérité? And how many times have you seen Mary Marvell on the screen, Montchere, huh? I thought, about a dozen times, perhaps. And I once. Yet I recognize her and you do not. No, but she looks so different, I replied rather feebly. Ah, sacrai, cry, Poirot. Is it that you expect her to prominate herself in the streets of London in a cowboy hat, or with bare feet and a bunch of curls, as an Irish Colleen? Always with you, it is the non-essentials. Remember the case of the dancer, Valerie Sinclair, huh? I shrugged my shoulders, slightly annoyed. But console yourself, Monémie, Zepoirot, calming down. All cannot be as hercule, Poirot. I know it well. You really have the best opinion of yourself of anyone I ever knew, I cried, divided between amusement and annoyance. Well, what will you, when one is unique, one knows it? And others share that opinion, even if I mistake it not, Miss Mary Marvell. What? Or without doubt she is coming here. Well, how do you make that out? Very simply. This street, it is not aristocratic, Monémie. In it, there is no fashionable doctor, no fashionable dentist. Still less is there a fashionable millionaire. But there is a fashionable detective. We, my friend, it is true. I am become the mode, hmm, the denier-crie. One says to another, come on, you have lost your gold pencil case. You must go to the little Belgian. Oh, he is too marvelous. Everyone goes, coure, and they arrive, in flocks, Monémie, with problems of the most foolish. Hmm, a bell rang below. What did I tell you? That is Miss Marvell. As usual, Poirot was right. After a short interval, the American film star was ushered in and we rose to our feet. Mary Marvell was undoubtedly one of the most popular actresses on the screen. She had only lately arrived in England in company with her husband, Gregory B. Rolf, also a film actor. Their marriage had taken place about a year ago in the States, and this was their first visit to England. They had been given a great reception. Everyone was prepared to go mad over Mary Marvell. Her wonderful clothes had furs, had jewels. Above all, one jewel, the great diamond, which had been nicknamed to match its owner, the Western Star. Much true and untrue have been written about this famous stone, which was reported to be insured for the enormous sum of 50,000 pounds. All these details passed rapidly through my mind as I joined with Poirot in greeting our fair client. Miss Marvell was small and slender, very fair and girlish looking, with the wide innocent blue eyes of a child. Poirot drew forward a chair for her, and she commenced talking at once. You'll probably think me very foolish, Mr. Poirot, but Lord Cronchore was telling me last night how wonderfully you cleared up the mystery of his nephew's death, and I felt that I just must have your advice. I dare say it's only a silly hoax. Gregory says so, but it's just worrying me to death. She paused for breath. Poirot beamed encouragement. Proceed, madame. You comprehend I am still in the dark. It's these letters. Miss Marvell unclasped her handbag and drew out three envelopes which she handed to Poirot. The letters scrutinized them closely. Cheap paper, huh? The name and address carefully printed. Let us see the inside. He drew out the enclosure. I had joined him and was leaning over his shoulder. The writing consisted of a single sentence, carefully printed like the envelope. It ran as follows. The great diamond, which is the left eye of the God, must return whence it came. The second letter was couched in precisely the same terms, but the third was more explicit. You have been warned. You have not obeyed. Now the diamond will be taken from you. At the full of the moon, the two diamonds, which are the left and right eye of the God, shall return. So it is written. All the first letter I treated as a joke, explained Miss Marvel. And when I got the second, I began to wonder. The third one came yesterday and it seemed to me that after all, the matter might be more serious than I had imagined. I see they did not come by post these letters. No, they were left by hand by a Chinaman. That is what frightens me. Why? Well, because it was from a chink in San Francisco that Gregory bought the stones three years ago. I see, madame, that you believe the diamond referred to be the Western Star, finished Miss Marvel. That's so. At the time, Gregory remembers that there was some story attached to the stone, but the chink wasn't handing out any information. Gregory says he seemed just scared to death and in a mortal hurry to get rid of the thing. He only asked about a tenth of its value. It was Greg's wedding present to me. Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Hmm, the story seems of an almost unbelievable romanticism. And yet, who knows? I pray of you hastings hand me my little old malnaca. I complied. Why on, said Poirot turning the leaves. When is the date of the full moon? Friday next, that is in three days time. Eh bien, madame, you seek my advice, I give it to you. This bel histoire may be a hoax, but it may be not. Therefore, I counsel you to place the diamond in my keeping until after Friday next. Then we can take what steps we please. A slight cloud passed over the actress's face and she replied constrainably. Well, I'm afraid that's impossible. Oh, would you have it with you, eh? Poirot was watching her narrowly. The girl hesitated a moment, then slipped her hand into the bosom of her gun, drawing out a long, thin chain. She leaned forward, unclosing her hand. In the palm, a stone of white fire exquisitely set in platinum lay and winked at us solemnly. Poirot drew in his breath with a long hiss. Eh, bâton, he murmured. You permit, madame? He took the jewel in his own hand and scrutinized it keenly, then restored it to her with a little bow. A magnificent stone without a floor. Ah, sentenaires! You carry it about with you, comsar! Ah, no, no, no, I'm very careful, really, Mr. Poirot. As a rule, it's locked up in my jewel case and left in the hotel safe deposit. We're staying at the magnificent, you know. I just brought it along today for you to see. Mm-hmm, and you will leave it with me, n'est-ce pas? You will be advised by papa Poirot? Well, you see, it's this way, Mr. Poirot. On Friday, we're going down to Yardley Chase to spend a few days with Lord and Lady Yardley. Her words awoke a vague echo of remembrance in my mind. Some... If you work in university maintenance, Granger considers you an MVP because your playbook ensures your arena is always ready for tip-off and Granger is your trusted partner. Offering the products you need, all in one place, from HVAC and plumbing supplies to lighting and more, and all delivered with plenty of time left on the clock so your team always gets the win. Call 1-800-GRANGER, visit Granger.com or just stop by Granger for the ones who get it done. Gossip, what was it now? A few years ago, Lord and Lady Yardley had paid a visit to the States. Rumor had it that his lordship had gone the pace out there with the assistance of some lady friends, but surely there was something more, more gossip which coupled Lady Yardley's name with that of a movie star in California. Why, it came to me in a flash. Of course, it was none other than Gregory B. Rolfe. I'll let you into a little secret, Mr. Poirot. Miss Marvel was continuing. We've got a deal on with Lord Yardley. There's some chance of our arranging to film a play down there in his ancestral pile. At Yardley Chase, I cried interested. Why, it's one of the showplaces of England. Miss Marvel nodded. I guess it's the real old feudal stuff, all right. But he wants a pretty stiff price, and of course I don't know yet whether the deal will go through. But Greg and I always like to combine business with pleasure. But I demand pardon if I am dense, madam. Surely it is possible to visit Yardley Chase without taking the diamond with you. A shrewd hard look came into Miss Marvel's eyes which belied their childlike appearance. She looked suddenly a good deal older. I want to wear it down there. But surely, I said suddenly, there are some very famous jewels in the Yardley Collection, a large diamond amongst them. That's so, said Miss Marvel briefly. I heard Poirot murmur beneath his breath. Ah, c'est con ça. Then he said aloud with his usual uncanny luck in hitting the bullseye. Now he dignifies it by the name of psychology. Then you are without doubt already acquainted with Lady Yardley or perhaps your husband is? Gregory knew her when she was out west three years ago, said Miss Marvel. She hesitated a moment and then added abruptly, do either of you ever see society gossip? We both pleaded guilty rather shame facetly. Well, I ask because in this week's number, there's an article on famous jewels and it's really very curious. She broke off. I rose, went to the table at the other side of the room and returned with the paper in question in my hand. She took it from me, found the article and began to read out loud. Amongst other famous stones, maybe included the Star of the East, a diamond in the possession of the Yardley family. An ancestor of the present Lord Yardley brought it back with him from China and a romantic story is said to attach to it. According to this, the stone was once the right eye of a temple god. Another diamond, exactly similar in form and size, formed the left eye and the story goes that this jewel too would in course of time be stolen. One eye shall go west, the other east, till they shall meet once more. Then in triumph shall they return to the god. It is a curious coincidence that there is at the present time a stone corresponding closely in description with this one and known as the Star of the West or the Western Star. It is the property of the celebrated film star, Miss Mary Marvell. A comparison of the two stones would be interesting. She stopped. Et battant, Mehmed Poirot, without doubt a romance of the first water. He turned to Mary Marvell. And you are not afraid, madam. You have no superstitious deras. You do not fear to introduce these two Siamese twins to each other, lest a Chinaman should appear and a Presto whisk them both back to China? His tone was mocking, but I fancied that an undercurrent of seriousness lay beneath it. Oh, I don't believe that Lady Yardley's diamond is anything like as good as mine, said Miss Marvell. Anyway, I'm going to see. What more Poirot would have said, I do not know. For at that moment the door flew open and a splendid looking man strode into the room. From his crisply curling black head to the tips of his patented leather boots, he was a hero fit for romance. I said I'll call round for you, Mary, said Gregory Rolf, and here I am. Well, what does Mr. Poirot say to our little problem? Just one big hoax, same as I do? Poirot smiled up at the big actor. They made a ridiculous contrast. Hoax or no hoax, Mr. Rolf, he said dryly. I have advised Madame your wife not to take a duel with her to Yardley Chase on Friday. Oh, I'm with you there, sir. I've already said so to Mary, but there, she's a woman through and through, and I guess she can't bear to think of another woman outshining her in the duel line. Oh, what nonsense, Gregory, said Mary Marvell sharply, but she flushed angrily. Poirot shrugged his shoulders. Madame, I have advised I can do no more. C'est fini? He bowed them both to the door. Ah, lala, he observed returning. Istoyer de femme. The good husband, he hit the nail on the head. To the men, he was not tacky, assuredly not. I imparted to him my vague remembrances, and he nodded vigorously. Ah, so I thought, all the same, there is something curious underneath all of this. With your permission, my name, I will take the air. Await, Maritaine, a beg of you, I shall not be long. I was asleep in my chair when the landlady tapped on the door and put her head in. I ate another lady to see Mr. Poirot, sir. I've told her he was out, but she says as how she'll wait, seeing as she's come up from the country. Oh, well, show her in here, Mrs. Merchantson. Perhaps I can do something for her. In another moment, the lady had been ushered in. My heart gave a leap as I recognized her. Lady Yardley's portrait had figured too often in the society papers to allow her to remain unknown. Do sit down, Lady Yardley, I said, drawing forward a chair. My friend Poirot is out, but I know for a fact that he'll be back very shortly. She thanked me and sat down. A very different type this from Miss Mary Marvel. Tall, dark with flashing eyes, and a pale, proud face, yet something wistful in the curves of the mouth. I felt the desire to rise to the occasion. Well, why not? In Poirot's presence I have frequently felt a difficulty. I do not appear at my best, and yet there is no doubt that I too possess the deductive sense in a marked degree. I lent forward on a sudden impulse. Lady Yardley, I said, I know why you've come here. You have received blackmailing letters about the diamond, hmm? Well, there was no doubt as to my bolt having shot home. She stared at me open-mouthed, all color banished from her cheeks. You know, she asked, how? I smiled, hmm, by a perfectly logical process. If Miss Marvel has had warning letters, Miss Marvel? She has been here. She's just left. As I was saying, if she, as the holder of one of the Twin Diamonds, has received a mysterious series of warnings, you, as the holder of the other stone, must necessarily have done the same. You see how simple it is? I am right, then. You have received these strange communications also. For a moment she hesitated, as though in doubt whether to trust me or not. Then she bowed her head in ascent with a little smile. That is so, she acknowledged. Were yours too left by hand by a Chinaman? No, they came by post. But tell me, has Miss Marvel undergone the same experience, then? I recounted to her the events of the morning. She listened attentively. Well, it all fits in. My letters are the duplicate of hers. It is true that they came by post, but there is a curious perfume impregnating them, something in the nature of jostic that had once suggested the east to me. What does it all mean? I shook my head. Well, that is what we must find out. You have the letters with you? We might learn something from the postmarks. No, unfortunately, I destroyed them. You understand, at the time, I regarded it as some foolish joke. Can it be true that some Chinese gang are really trying to recover the diamonds? It seems too incredible. We went over the facts again and again, but could get no further towards the elucidation of the mystery. At last, Lady Yardley rose. I really don't think I need wait for Monsieur Poirot. You can tell him all this, can't you? Thank you so much, Mr.— She hesitated, her hand outstretched. Captain Hastings. Of course, how stupid of me. You're a friend of the Cavendishes, aren't you? It was Mary Cavendish who sent me to Monsieur Poirot. When my friend returned, I enjoyed telling him the tale of what had occurred during his absence. He cross-questioned me rather sharply over the details of our conversation, and I could read between the lines that he was not best pleased to have been absent. I also fancied that the dear old fellow was just the least inclined to be jealous. It had become rather opposed with him to consistently belittle my abilities, and I think he was chagrined at finding no loophole for criticism. I was secretly rather pleased with myself, though I tried to conceal the fact for fear of irritating him. In spite of his idiosyncrasies, I was deeply attached to my quaint little friend. Bien, he said at length with a curious look on his face, the plot develops. Pass me, I pray you, that peerage on the top shelf there. He turned the leaves. Ah-ha! Here we are. Yadley. Tenth vacan served South African war. Toussaint-aposite-en-Mortons. Married 1907, the honorable Maud Stapten, fourth daughter of third Baron Cotter, really. Has two daughters. Born 1908, 1910. Clubs, residences. Voila! That does not tell us much. But tomorrow morning we see this Mélode. What? Ah, yes, I telegraphed to him. Well, I thought you'd washed your hands of the case. I am not acting for Miss Marvell since she refuses to be guided by my advice. What I do now is for my own satisfaction, the satisfaction of Hercule Poirot. Decidedly I must have a finger in this pie. And you calmly, while Lord Yadley, to dash up the town just to suit your convenience. He won't be pleased. Au contraire, if I preserve for him his family diamond, he ought to be very grateful. Well, then you really think there's a chance of it being stolen, I ask eagerly. Almost a certainty, replied Poirot placidly. Everything points that way. But how? Poirot stopped my eager questions with an airy gesture of the hand. Not now, I pray you. Let us not confuse the mind. And observe that peerage, eh? How you have replaced it. See you not at the tallest books, go in the top shelf, the next tallest in the robinese, and so on. Thus we have order, method, which as I have often told you, hastings, exactly, I said hastily, and put the offending volume in its proper place. Lord Yadley turned out to be a cheery, loud voice sportsman with a rather red face, but with a good human bonomy about him that was distinctly attractive and made up for any lack of mentality. Oh, it's extraordinary business this, Mr. Poirot. Can't make head or tail of it. Seems my wife's been getting on kind of letters, and that Miss Marvel's had them too. What does all mean? Poirot handed him the copy of Society Gossip. Fast, Milord, I would ask you if his facts are substantially correct. The peer took it, his face darkened with anger as he read. Damn nonsense, he spluttered. There's never been any romantic story attaching to the diamond. It came from India originally, I believe. I never heard of all this Chinese god stuff. Steer the stone he's known as a star of the East. Well, what if it is? He demanded rothfully. Poirot smiled a little, but made no direct reply. What I would ask you to do, Milord, is to pleasure self in my hands. If you do so unreservedly, I have great hopes of averting the catastrophe. Well, then you think there's actually something in these wild cat-tails? Will you do as I ask you? Well, of course I will, but yeah, then permitted I ask you a few questions. This affair of yard-lit chase, is it, as you say, all fixed up between you and Mr. Rolf? Oh, he told you about it, didn't he? Well, no, there's nothing settled. He hesitated, the brick red color of his face deepening. Well, might as well get things straight. I've made rather an ass of myself in many ways, Mr. Poirot, and I'm head over ears in debt, but I want to pull up. I'm fond of the kids, and I want to straighten things up and be able to live on at the old place. Gregory Rolf is offering me big money, enough to set me on my feet again. I don't want to do it, but I hate the thought of all that crowd-play acting round the chase, but I may have to, unless— He broke off. Poirot eyed him keenly. You have, then, another string to your bow, permitted I make a guess. It is to sell the star of the east? Lord Yardley nodded. That's it. It's been in the family for some generations, but it's not entailed. Still, it's not the easiest thing in the world to find a purchaser. Hofburg, the Hattengarden man, is on the lookout for a likely customer, but he'll have to find one soon, or it's a wash-out. One more question, permette. Lady Yardley, which plan does she approve? Oh, well, she's bitterly opposed to my selling the jewel. You know what women are. She's all for this film stunt. I comprehend, Poirot. He remained a moment or so in thought, then rose briskly to his feet. Your return to Yardley Chase at once? Yeah. It's a word to anyone, to anyone mind, but expect us there this evening. We will arrive shortly after five. All right, but I don't see... S'enna pas d'importance, said Poirot kindly. You wish that I preserve for you your diamond, n'est-ce pas? Yes, but then do as I say. A sadly bewildered nobleman left the room. It was half past five when we arrived at Yardley Chase and followed the dignified butler to the old paneled hall with its fire of blazing logs. If you work in university maintenance, Granger considers you an MVP because your playbook ensures your arena is always ready for tip-off, and Granger is your trusted partner, offering the products you need all in one place, from HVAC and plumbing supplies to lighting and more, and all delivered with plenty of time left on the clock, so your team always gets the win. Call 1-800-GRANGER, visit Granger.com or just stop by, Granger, for the ones who get it done. A pretty picture met our eyes. Lady Yardley and her two children, the mother's proud dark head bent down over the two fair ones. Lord Yardley stood near, piling down on them. Was your borough and captain Hastings? Announced the butler. Lady Yardley looked up at the start, but her husband came forward uncertainly, his eyes seeking in sight a juicy borough. The little man was equal to the occasion. All my ex-juicies, it is that I investigate still this affair of Miss Marbles. She comes to you on Friday, does she not? I make a little tour first to make sure that all is secure. So I wanted to ask Lady Yardley if she recollected at all the post-marks on the letters she received. Lady Yardley shook her head regretfully. I'm afraid I don't. It's stupid of me, but you see I never dreamt of taking them seriously. You'll stay the night, said Lord Yardley. Oh, my lord, I fear to incomod you we have left our bags at the inn. Well, that's all right, Lord Yardley had his cue. We'll send down for them. No, no, no trouble, I assure you. Poirot permitted himself to be persuaded and sitting down by Lady Yardley began to make friends with the children. In a short time they were all romping together and had dragged me into the game. Was it bonn air, said Poirot with a gallant little bow as the children were removed reluctantly by a stern nurse. Lady Yardley smoothed her ruffled hair. I adore them, she said with a little catch in her voice. The dressing-gong sounded and we rose to go up to our rooms. At that moment the butler entered with a telegram on a salver which he handed to Lord Yardley. The latter tore it open with a brief word of apology. As he read it he stiffened visibly. With an ejaculation he handed it to his wife. Then he glanced at my friend. Look at just a minute, Mr. Poirot, I feel you ought to know about this. It's from Hofburg. He thinks he's found a customer for the diamond, an American sailing for the States to-morrow. They're sending down a chap to-night to vet the stone. By Jove, though, if this goes through—words failed him. Lady Yardley had turned away. She still held the telegram in her hand. I wish you wouldn't sell it, George, she said in a low voice. It's been in the family so long. She waited as though for a reply, but when none came her face hardened. She shrugged her shoulders. I must go and dress. I suppose I had better display the goods. She turned to Poirot with a slight grimace. It's one of the most hideous necklaces that was ever designed. George has always promised to have the stones reset for me, but it's never been done. She left the room. Half an hour later we three were assembled in the great drawing-room awaiting the lady. It was already a few minutes past the dinner-hour. There was a low rustle, and Lady Yardley appeared framed in the doorway a radiant figure in a long white shimmering dress. Round the column of her neck was a rivulet of fire. She stood there with one hand just touching the necklace. Behold the sacrifice! She said gaily. Her ill humour seemed to have vanished. Wait while I turn the big light on and you shall feast your eyes on the ugliest necklace in England. The switches were just outside the door. As she stretched out her hand to them the incredible thing happened. Suddenly without any warning every light was extinguished. The door banged and from the other side of it came a long-drawn piercing woman's scream. "'My God!' cried Lord Yardley. That was Maud's voice. What's happened?' We rushed blindly for the door, canoning into each other in the darkness. It was some minutes before we could find it and what a sight met our eyes. Lady Yardley lay senseless on the marble floor, a crimson mark on her white throat where the necklace had been wrenched from her neck. As we bent over her, uncertain for the moment whether she was dead or alive, her eyelids opened. "'The Chinaman!' she whispered painfully. "'The Chinaman! The side door!' Lord Yardley sprang up with an oath. I accompanied him, my heart beating wildly. The Chinaman again!' The side-dooring question was a small one in the angle of the wall, not more than a dozen yards from the scene of the tragedy. As we reached it I gave a cry. There, just short of the threshold lay the glittering necklace. Evidently dropped by the thief in the panic of his flight. I swooped joyously down on it. Then I uttered another cry which Lord Yardley echoed. But in the middle of the necklace was a great gap. The star of the east was missing. "'That settles it!' I breathed. These were no ordinary thieves. This one stone was all they wanted. "'But how did the fellow get in?' Well, through this door. But it's always locked!' I shook my head. Well, it's not locked now. See!' I pulled it open as I spoke. As I did so something fluttered to the ground. I picked it up. It was a piece of silk, and the embroidery was unmistakable. It had been torn from a Chinaman's robe. "'In his haste it caught in the door,' I explained. "'Come, hurry! He cannot have gone far as yet!' But in vain we hunted and searched. In the pitch darkness of the night the thief had found it easy to make his getaway. We returned reluctantly, and Lord Yardley sent off one of the footmen post-haste to fetch the police. Lady Yardley, aptly ministered to by Poirot, who is as good as a woman in these matters, was sufficiently recovered to be able to tell her story. "'I was just going to turn on the other light,' she said, when a man sprang on me from behind. He tore my necklace from my neck with such force that I fell headlong to the floor. As I fell I saw him disappearing through the side door, and then I realized by the pigtail and the embroidered robe that he was a Chinaman.' She stopped with a shudder. The butler reappeared. He spoke in a low voice to Lord Yardley. "'A gentleman from Mr. Hofberg's, my lord,' he says, you expect him.' "'Good heavens!' cried the distracted nobleman. "'I must see him, I suppose. No, not here, Mullings, in the library.' I drew Poirot aside. "'Look here, my dear fellow, hadn't we better get back to London?' "'You think so hastings?' "'Why?' "'Well,' I coughed delicately, things haven't gone very well, have they? I mean, you tell Lord Yardley to place himself in your hands and all will be well, and then the diamond vanishes from under your very nose.' "'Tru',' said Poirot, rather crestfallen, it was not one of my most striking triumphs. "'Well, this way of describing events almost caused me to smile, but I stuck to my guns.' "'So, having—' pardon the expression—' rather made a mess of things, don't you think it would be more graceful to leave immediately?' "'Mind the dinner? Is it without doubt excellent dinner that the chef of Lord Yardley has prepared?' "'Oh, what dinner?' I said impatiently. Poirot held up his hands in horror. "'Mondieu, it is that in this country you treat the affairs gastronomic with a criminal indifference. Ah!' "'But there's another reason why we should get back to London as soon as possible,' I continued. "'What is that, my friend? The other diamond,' I said, lowering my voice, "'Miss Marvles.'" "'A bien, what of it?' "'Well, don't you see? His unusual obtuseness annoyed me. What had happened to his usually keen wits? They have got one. Now they'll go for the other.' "'Tier!' cried Poirot, stepping back a pace and regarding me with admiration. "'But your brain marches to a marvel, my friend. Figure to yourself that for the moment I had not thought of that. Ah! But there is plenty of time. The full of the moon, it is not until Friday.' I shook my head dubiously. The full of the moon, theory, left me entirely cold. I had my way with Poirot, however, and we departed immediately, leaving behind us a note of explanation and apology for Lord Yardley. My idea was to go at once to the magnificent and relate to Miss Marvles what had occurred. But Poirot vetoed the plan and insisted that the morning would be time enough. I gave in rather grudgingly. In the morning, Poirot seemed strangely disinclined to stir out. I began to suspect that, having made a mistake to start with, he was singularly loathed to proceed with the case. In answer to my persuasions, he pointed out with admirable common sense that as the details of the affair at Yardley Chase were already in the morning papers, the rulfs would know quite as much as we could tell them. I gave way unwillingly. Events proved my forebodings to be justified. About two o'clock the telephone rang. Poirot answered it. He listened for some moments, then with a brief, "'Bien, j'y serai.' He rang off and turned to me. "'What do you think, mon ami, huh?' He looked half ashamed, half excited. "'The diamond of Miss Mabel. It has been stolen.' "'What!' I cried, springing up. "'And what about the full of the moon now?' Poirot hung his head. "'When did this happen?' "'This morning, I understand.' I shook my head sadly. "'If only you had listened to me! You see, I was right!' "'It appears so, mon ami,' said Poirot cautiously. "'Appearances are deceptive,' they say, "'but it certainly appears so.' As we hurried in a taxi to the magnificent, I puzzled out the true inwardness of the scheme. That full of the moon idea was clever. The whole point of it was to get us to concentrate on the Friday and so be off our guard beforehand. It's a pity you did not realize that.' "'Ah, ma foie,' said Poirot airily, his nonchalance quite restored after its brief eclipse. You cannot think of everything!' I felt sorry for him. He did so hate failure of any kind. "'Cheer up,' I said consolingly. "'Better luck next time, hm?' At the magnificent, we were ushered at once into the manager's office. Gregory Rulf was there with two men from Scotland Yard. A pale-faced clerk sat opposite them. Rulf nodded to us as we entered. "'Well, we're getting to the bottom of it,' he said. "'But it's almost unbelievable how the guy had the nerve, I can't think.' A very few minutes sufficed to give us the facts. Mr. Rulf had gone out of the hotel at eleven fifteen. At eleven thirty, a gentleman so like him in appearance as to pass muster entered the hotel and demanded the dual case from the safe deposit. He duly signed the receipt, remarking carelessly, as he did so. Looks a bit different from my ordinary one, but I hurt my hand getting out of the taxi. The clerk merely smiled and remarked that he saw very little difference. Rulf laughed and said, "'Well, don't run me in as a crook this time anyway. I've been getting threatening letters from a Chinaman, and the worst of it is I look rather like a chink myself. It's something about the eyes, huh?' "'Well, I looked at him,' said the clerk who was telling us this, and I saw at once what he meant. The eyes slanted up at the corners like an oriental's. I'd never noticed it before.' "'Darling old man,' roared Gregory Rulf, leaning forward, "'do you notice it now?' The man looked up at him and started. "'No, sir,' he said. "'I can't say I do.' And indeed there was nothing even remotely oriental about the frank brown eyes that looked into ours.' The scotton-yard man grunted, "'Hm, bold customer!' Thought the eyes might be noticed and took the bull by the horns to disarm suspicion. "'He must have watched you out the hotel, sir, and nipped in as soon as you were well away.' "'But what about the jewel case?' I asked. "'It was found in the corridor of the hotel. Only one thing had been taken, the western star. We stared at each other. The whole thing was so bizarre, so unreal.' Poirot hopped briskly to his feet. "'I have not been of much use, I fear,' he said regretfully. "'Is it permitted to see Madame?' "'Oh, I guess she's prostrated with a shark,' exclaimed Rolf. "'Uh-huh.' "'Then perhaps I might have a few words alone with you, monsieur?' "'Certainly.' In about five minutes Poirot reappeared. "'Now, my friend,' he said gaily, "'to apostophis, I have to send a telegram.' "'Well, who, too?' "'Lord Yardley.' He discounted further inquiries by slipping his arm through mine. "'Come, come, my namey. "'I know all that you feel about this terrible business. "'I have not distinguished myself. "'You, in my place, might have distinguished yourself. "'Bien, all is admitted. "'Let us forget it and have lunch.' It was about four o'clock when we entered Poirot's rooms. A figure rose from a chair by the window. It was Lord Yardley. He looked haggard and distraught. "'I got your wire and came up at once. "'Look here. "'I've been round to Hofburg, "'and they know nothing about that man of theirs last night, "'or the wire either.' "'Do you think that Poirot held up his hand?' "'My excuses. "'I sent that wire and hired the gentleman in question.' "'You?' "'But why? What?' The nobleman spluttered impotently. "'My little idea was to bring things to a head,' explained Poirot placidly. "'Bring things to a head? "'Oh, my God!' cried Lord Yardley. "'And the ruse succeeded,' said Poirot cheerfully. "'Therefore, my Lord, I have much pleasure "'in returning you this.' "'With a dramatic gesture, he produced a glittering object. "'It was a great diamond.' "'The star of the east,' gasped Lord Yardley. "'But I don't understand.' "'Nan,' said Poirot. "'It makes no matter. "'Believe me, it was necessary for the diamond to be stolen. "'I promised you that it would be preserved to you, "'and I have kept my word. "'You must permit me to keep my little secret. "'Convey, I beg of you, the assurances "'of my deepest respect to Lady Yardley, "'and tell her how pleased I am "'to be able to restore a jewel to her. "'What bouton is it not, eh? "'Good day, my Lord!' "'And smiling and talking, "'the amazing little man conducted "'the bewildered nobleman to the door. "'He returned gently rubbing his hands.' "'Poirot,' I said. "'Am I quite demented?' "'No, mon ami, but you are, as always, in a mental fog. "'But how did you get the diamond from Mr. Rolf?' "'Rolf?' "'Amé-vous? "'The warning letters, the Chinaman, "'the article in society, gossip, "'all sprang from the ingenious brain of Mr. Rolf. "'The two diamonds supposed to be so miraculously alike, "'ah, bah, they do not exist. "'There was only one diamond, my friend, "'originally in the Yardley collection. "'For three years it has been in the possession "'of Mr. Rolf. "'He stole it this morning with the assistance "'of a touch of grease paint at the corner of each eye. "'Ha, ha, I must see him on the film. "'He is indeed an artist, cellula.' "'But why should he steal his own diamond?' I asked, puzzled. "'For many reasons. "'To begin with, Lady Yardley was getting restive.' "'Lady Yardley?' "'You comprehend. "'She was left much alone in California. "'Her husband was amusing himself elsewhere. "'Mr. Rolf was handsome, huh? "'He had an air about him of romance. "'But au fond, he is very business-like, so monsieur. "'He made love to Lady Yardley, and then he blackmailed her. "'I taxed the lady with the truth the other night, "'and she admitted it. "'She swore that she had only been indiscreet, "'and I believed her. "'But undoubtedly Rolf had letters of hers "'that could be twisted to bear a different interpretation. "'Terrified by the threat of a divorce "'and the prospect of being separated from her children, "'she agreed to all he wished. "'She had no money of her own, "'and she was forced to permit him "'to substitute a paced replica for the real stone. "'The coincidence of the date of the appearance "'of the Western star struck me at once.' "'All goes well, huh? "'Lord Yardley prepares to arrange himself to settle down. "'And then comes the menace of the possible sale of the diamond. "'The substitution will be discovered. "'Without doubt, she writes of frantically to Gregory Rolf, "'who has just arrived in England. "'He sooths up by promising to arrange all "'and prepares for a double robbery. "'In this way, he will quiet the lady "'whom I conceivably tell all to her husband "'an affair which would not suit our blackmailer at all. "'He will have 50,000 pounds insurance money. "'Ha-ha, you had forgotten that, ha-ha, "'and he will still have the diamond. "'At this point, I put my finger in the pie. "'The arrival of a diamond expert is announced. "'Lady Yardley, as I felt sure she would, "'immediately arranges a robbery and does it very well too. "'But her cul-poirot, he sees nothing but facts. "'What happens in actuality, huh? "'The lady switches off the light, "'bangs the door, throws the necklace down the passage "'and screams. "'She has already wrenched out the diamond "'with pliers upstairs.' "'Yes, but we saw the...