He looked distressed.
‘Got any help for me, M. Poirot?’
‘I have one or two little ideas that I should like to present to you,’ said Poirot.
‘You and your ideas! In some ways, you know, you’re a caution. Not that I don’t want to hear them. I do. There’s some good stuff in that funny-shaped head of yours.’
Poirot acknowledged the compliment somewhat coldly.
‘Have you any ideas about the double lady problem—that’s what I want to know? Eh, M. Poirot? What about it? Who was she?’
‘That is exactly what I wish to talk to you about.’
He asked Japp if he had ever heard of Carlotta Adams.
‘I’ve heard the name. For the moment I can’t just place it.’
Poirot explained.
‘Her! Does imitations does she? Now what made you fix on her? What have you got to go on?’
Poirot related the steps we had taken and the conclusion we had drawn.
‘By the Lord, it looks as though you were right. Clothes, hat, gloves, etc., and the fair wig. Yes, it must be. I will say—you’re the goods, M. Poirot. Smart work, that! Not that I think there’s anything to show she was put out of the way. That seems a bit far fetched. I don’t quite see eye to eye with you there. Your theory is a bit fantastical for me. I’ve more experience than you have. I don’t believe in this villain-behind-the-scenes motif. Carlotta Adams was the woman all right, but I should put it one of two ways. She went there for purposes of her own—blackmail, maybe, since she hinted she was going to get money. They had a bit of a dispute. He turned nasty, she turned nasty, and she finished him off. And I should say that when she got home she went all to pieces. She hadn’t meant murder. It’s my belief she took an overdose on purpose as the easiest way out.’
‘You think that covers all the facts?’
‘Well, naturally there are a lot of things we don’t know yet. It’s a good working hypothesis to go on with. The other explanation is that the hoax and the murder had nothing to do with each other. It’s just a damned queer coincidence.’
Poirot did not agree, I knew. But he merely said noncommittally:
‘Mais oui, c’est possible.’
‘Or, look here, how’s this? The hoax is innocent enough. Someone gets to hear of it and thinks it will suit their purpose jolly well. That’s not a bad idea?’ He paused and went on: ‘But personally I prefer idea No. 1. What the link was between his lordship and the girl we’ll find out somehow or other.’
Poirot told him of the letter to America posted by the maid, and Japp agreed that that might possibly be of great assistance.
‘I’ll get on to that at once,’ he said, making a note of it in his little book.
‘I’m the more in favour of the lady being the killer because I can’t find anyone else,’ he said, as he put the book away. ‘Captain Marsh, now, his lordship as now is. He’s got a motive sticking out a yard. A bad record too. Hard up and none too scrupulous over money. What’s more he had a row with his uncle yesterday morning. He told me that himself as a matter of fact—which rather takes the taste out of it. Yes, he’d be a likely customer. But he’s got an alibi for yesterday evening. He was at the opera with the Dortheimers. Rich Jews. Grosvenor Square. I’ve looked into that and it’s all right. He dined with them, went to the opera and they went on to supper at Sobranis. So that’s that.’
‘And Mademoiselle?’
‘The daughter, you mean? She was out of the house too. Dined with some people called Carthew West. They took her to the opera and saw her home afterwards. Quarter to twelve she got in. That disposes of her. The secretary woman seems all right—very efficient decent woman. Then there’s the butler. I can’t say I take to him much. It isn’t natural for a man to have good looks like that. There’s something fishy about him—and something odd about the way he came to enter Lord Edgware’s service. Yes, I’m checking up on him all right. I can’t see any motive for murder, though.’