‘Tout de même, that does not necessarily mean that he is a murderer.’
‘Exactly! He may have been up to some funny business or other, but not necessarily murder. No, I’m more than ever convinced it was the Adams girl. I’ve got nothing to prove it as yet, though. I’ve had men going all through her flat today, but we’ve found nothing that’s helpful. She was a canny one. Kept no letters except a few business ones about financial contracts. They’re all neatly docketed and labelled. Couple of letters from her sister in Washington. Quite straight and above-board. One or two pieces of good old-fashioned jewellery—nothing new or expensive. She didn’t keep a diary. Her pass-book and cheque-book don’t show anything helpful. Dash it all, the girl doesn’t seem to have had any private life at all!’
‘She was of a reserved character,’ said Poirot thoughtfully. ‘From our point of view that is a pity.’
‘I’ve talked to the woman who did for her. Nothing there. I’ve been and seen that girl who keeps a hat shop and who, it seems, was a friend of hers.’
‘Ah! and what do you think of Miss Driver?’
‘She seemed a smart wide-awake bit of goods. She couldn’t help me, though. Not that that surprises me. The amount of missing girls I’ve had to trace and their family and their friends always say the same things. “She was of a bright and affectionate disposition and had no men friends.” That’s never true. It’s unnatural. Girls ought to have men friends. If not there’s something wrong with them. It’s the muddle-headed loyalty of friends and relations that makes a detective’s life so difficult.’
He paused for want of breath, and I replenished his glass.
‘Thank you, Captain Hastings, I don’t mind if I do. Well, there you are. You’ve got to hunt and hunt about. There’s about a dozen young men she went out to supper and danced with, but nothing to show that one of them meant more than another. There’s the present Lord Edgware, there’s Mr Bryan Martin, the film star, there’s half a dozen others—but nothing special and particular. Your man behind idea is all wrong. I think you’ll find that she played a lone hand, M. Poirot. I’m looking now for the connection between her and the murdered man. That must exist. I think I’ll have to go over to Paris. There was Paris written in that little gold box, and the late Lord Edgware ran over to Paris several times last Autumn, so Miss Carroll tells me, attending sales and buying curios. Yes, I think I must go over to Paris. Inquest’s tomorrow. It’ll be adjourned, of course. After that I’ll take the afternoon boat.’
‘You have a furious energy, Japp. It amazes me.’
‘Yes, you’re getting lazy. You just sit here and think! What you call employing the little grey cells. No good, you’ve got to go out to things. They won’t come to you.’
The little maidservant opened the door.
‘Mr Bryan Martin, sir. Are you busy or will you see him?’
‘I’m off, M. Poirot.’ Japp hoisted himself up. ‘All the stars of the theatrical world seem to consult you.’
Poirot shrugged a modest shoulder, and Japp laughed.
‘You must be a millionaire by now, M. Poirot. What do you do with the money? Save it?’
‘Assuredly I practise the thrift. And talking of the disposal of money, how did Lord Edgware dispose of his?’
‘Such property as wasn’t entailed he left to his daughter. Five hundred to Miss Carroll. No other bequests. Very simple will.’
‘And it was made—when?’
‘After his wife left him—just over two years ago. He expressly excludes her from participation, by the way.’
‘A vindictive man,’ murmured Poirot to himself.
With a cheerful ‘So long,’ Japp departed.
Bryan Martin entered. He was faultlessly attired and looked extremely handsome. Yet I thought that he looked haggard and not too happy.
‘I am afraid I have been a long time coming, M. Poirot,’ he said apologetically. ‘And, after all, I have been guilty of taking up your time for nothing.’
‘En verité?’
‘Yes. I have seen the lady in question. I’ve argued with her, pleaded with her, but all to no purpose. She won’t hear of my interesting you in the matter. So I’m afraid we’ll have to let the thing drop. I’m very sorry—very sorry to have bothered you—’