‘No fresh facts have come to light?’
‘Yes, one or two. It’s hard to say whether they mean anything or not. For one thing, Lord Edgware’s key’s missing.’
‘The key to the front door?’
‘Yes.’
‘That is interesting, certainly.’
‘As I say, it may mean a good deal or nothing at all. Depends. What is a bit more significant to my mind is this. Lord Edgware cashed a cheque yesterday—not a particularly large one—a hundred pounds as a matter of fact. He took the money in French notes—that’s why he cashed the cheque, because of his journey to Paris today. Well, that money has disappeared.’
‘Who told you of this?’
‘Miss Carroll. She cashed the cheque and obtained the money. She mentioned it to me, and then I found that it had gone.’
‘Where was it yesterday evening?’
‘Miss Carroll doesn’t know. She gave it to Lord Edgware about half-past three. It was in a bank envelope. He was in the library at the time. He took it and laid it down beside him on a table.’
‘That certainly gives one to think. It is a complication.’
‘Or a simplification. By the way—the wound.’
‘Yes?’
‘The doctor says it wasn’t made by an ordinary penknife. Something of that kind but a different shaped blade. And it was amazingly sharp.’
‘Not a razor?’
‘No, no. Much smaller.’
Poirot frowned thoughtfully.
‘The new Lord Edgware seems to be fond of his joke,’ remarked Japp. ‘He seems to think it amusing to be suspected of murder. He made sure we did suspect him of murder, too. Looks a bit queer, that.’
‘It might be merely intelligence.’
‘More likely guilty conscience. His uncle’s death came very pat for him. He’s moved into the house, by the way.’
‘Where was he living before?’
‘Martin Street, St George’s Road. Not a very swell neighbourhood.’
‘You might make a note of that, Hastings.’
I did so, though I wondered a little. If Ronald had moved to Regent Gate, his former address was hardly likely to be needed.
‘I think the Adams girl did it,’ said Japp, rising. ‘A fine bit of work on your part, M. Poirot, to tumble to that. But there, of course, you go about to theatres and amusing yourself. Things strike you that don’t get the chance of striking me. Pity there’s no apparent motive, but a little spade work will soon bring it to light, I expect.’
‘There is one person with a motive to whom you have given no attention,’ remarked Poirot.
‘Who’s that, sir?’
‘The gentleman who is reputed to have wanted to marry Lord Edgware’s wife. I mean the Duke of Merton.’
‘Yes. I suppose there is a motive.’ Japp laughed. ‘But a gentleman in his position isn’t likely to do murder. And anyway, he’s over in Paris.’
‘You do not regard him as a serious suspect, then?’
‘Well, M. Poirot, do you?’
And laughing at the absurdity of the idea, Japp left us.
Chapter 17
The Butler
The following day was one of inactivity for us, and activity for Japp. He came round to see us about teatime.
He was red and wrathful.
‘I’ve made a bloomer.’
‘Impossible, my friend,’ said Poirot soothingly.
‘Yes, I have. I’ve let that (here he gave way to profanity)—of a butler slip through my fingers.’
‘He has disappeared?’
‘Yes. Hooked it. What makes me kick myself for a double-dyed idiot is that I didn’t particularly suspect him.’
‘Calm yourself—but calm yourself then.’
‘All very well to talk. You wouldn’t be calm if you’d been hauled over the coals at headquarters. Oh! he’s a slippery customer. It isn’t the first time he’s given anyone the slip. He’s an old hand.’
Japp wiped his forehead and looked the picture of misery. Poirot made sympathetic noises—somewhat suggestive of a hen laying an egg. With more insight into the English character, I poured out a stiff whisky and soda and placed it in front of the gloomy inspector. He brightened a little.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind if I do.’
Presently he began to talk more cheerfully.
‘I’m not so sure even now that he’s the murderer! Of course it looks bad his bolting this way, but there might be other reasons for that. I’d begun to get on to him, you see. Seems he’s mixed up with a couple of disreputable night clubs. Not the usual thing. Something a great deal more recherché and nasty. In fact, he’s a real bad hat.’