Chapter 18
The Other Man
I do not propose to describe either the inquest on Lord Edgware or that on Carlotta Adams. In Carlotta’s case the verdict was Death by Misadventure. In the case of Lord Edgware the inquest was adjourned, after evidence of identification and the medical evidence had been given. As a result of the analysis of the stomach, the time of death was fixed as having occurred not less than an hour after the completion of dinner, with possible extension to an hour after that. This put it as between ten and eleven o’clock, with the probability in favour of the earlier time.
None of the facts concerning Carlotta’s impersonation of Jane Wilkinson were allowed to leak out. A description of the wanted butler was published in the press, and the general impression seemed to be that the butler was the man wanted. His story of Jane Wilkinson’s visit was looked upon as an impudent fabrication. Nothing was said of the secretary’s corroborating testimony. There were columns concerning the murder in all the papers, but little real information.
Meanwhile Japp was actively at work, I knew. It vexed me a little that Poirot adopted such an inert attitude. The suspicion that approaching old age had something to do with it flashed across me—not for the first time. He made excuses to me which did not ring very convincingly.
‘At my time of life one saves oneself the trouble,’ he explained.
‘But, Poirot, my dear fellow, you mustn’t think of yourself as old,’ I protested.
I felt that he needed bracing. Treatment by suggestion—that, I know, is the modern idea.
‘You are as full of vigour as ever you were,’ I said earnestly. ‘You’re in the prime of life, Poirot. At the height of your powers. You could go out and solve this case magnificently if you only would.’
Poirot replied that he preferred to solve it sitting at home.
‘But you can’t do that, Poirot.’
‘Not entirely, it is true.’
‘What I mean is, we are doing nothing! Japp is doing everything.’
‘Which suits me admirably.’
‘It doesn’t suit me at all. I want you to be doing things.’
‘So I am.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Waiting.’
‘Waiting for what?’
‘Pour que mon chien de chasse me rapporte le gibier,’ replied Poirot with a twinkle.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean the good Japp. Why keep a dog and bark yourself? Japp brings us here the result of the physical energy you admire so much. He has various means at his disposal which I have not. He will have news for us very soon, I do not doubt.’
By dint of persistent inquiry, it was true that Japp was slowly getting together material. He had drawn a blank in Paris, but a couple of days later he came in looking pleased with himself.
‘It’s slow work,’ he said. ‘But we’re getting somewhere at last.’
‘I congratulate you, my friend. What has happened?’
‘I’ve discovered that a fair-haired lady deposited an attaché-case in the cloak-room at Euston at nine o’clock that night. They’ve been shown Miss Adams’ case and identify it positively. It’s of American make and so just a little different.’
‘Ah! Euston. Yes, the nearest of the big stations to Regent Gate. She went there doubtless, made herself up in the lavatory, and then left the case. When was it taken out again?’
‘At half-past ten. The clerk says by the same lady.’
Poirot nodded.
‘And I’ve come on something else too. I’ve reason to believe that Carlotta Adams was in Lyons Corner House in the Strand at eleven o’clock.’
‘Ah! c’est três bien ça! How did you come across that?’
‘Well, really more or less by chance. You see, there’s been a mention in the papers of the little gold box with the ruby initials. Some reporter wrote it up—he was doing an article on the prevalence of dope-taking among young actresses. Sunday paper romantic stuff. The fatal little gold box with its deadly contents—pathetic figure of a young girl with all the world before her! And just a wonder expressed as to where she passed her last evening and how she felt and so on and so on.