‘Apparently satisfied, we thanked him and took our leave. His story was soon proved to be a somewhat inaccurate one. To begin with, Wu Ling had had no servant with him, either on the boat or at the hotel. In the second place, the taxi-driver who had driven the two men on that morning came forward. Far from Lester’s having left the taxi en route, he and the Chinese gentleman had driven to a certain unsavoury dwelling-place in Limehouse, right in the heart of Chinatown. The place in question was more or less well known as an opium-den of the lowest description. The two gentlemen had gone in – about an hour later the English gentleman, whom he identified from the photograph, came out alone. He looked very pale and ill, and directed the taxi-man to take him to the nearest underground station.
‘Inquiries were made about Charles Lester’s standing, and it was found that, though bearing an excellent character, he wa heavily in debt, and had a secret passion for gambling. Dyer, of course, was not lost sight of. It seemed just faintly possible that he might have impersonated the other man, but that idea was proved utterly groundless. His alibi for the whole of the day in question was absolutely unimpeachable. Of course, the proprietor of the opium-den denied everything with Oriental stolidity. He had never seen Wu Ling; he had never seen Charles Lester. No two gentlemen had been to the place that morning. In any case, the police were wrong: no opium was ever smoked there.
‘His denials, however well meant, did little to help Charle Lester. He was arrested for the murder of Wu Ling. A search of his effects was made, but no papers relating to the mine were discovered. The proprietor of the opium-den was also taken into custody, but a cursory raid of his premises yielded nothing. Not even a stick of opium rewarded the zeal of the police.
‘In the meantime my friend Mr Pearson was in a great state of agitation. He strode up and down my room, uttering great lamentations.
‘ “But you must have some ideas, M. Poirotl” he kept urging.
“Surely you must have some ideas?” ‘ “Certainly I have ideas,” I replied cautiously. “That is the trouble – one has too many; therefore they all lead in different directions.” ‘ “For instance?” he suggested.
‘ “For instance – the taxi-driver. We have only his word for it that he drove the two men to that house. That is one idea. Then was it really that house they went to? Supposing that they left the taxi there, passed through the house and out by another entrance and went elsewhere?” ‘Mr Pearson seemed struck by that.
‘ “But you do nothing but sit and think? Can’t we do something?” ‘He was of an impatient temperament, you comprehend.
‘ “Monsieur,” I said with dignity, “it is not for Hercule Poirot to run up and down the evil-smelling streets of Limehouse like a little dog of no breeding. Be calm. My agents are at work.” ‘On the following day I had news for him. The two men had indeed passed through the house in question, but their real objective waz a small eating-house close to the river. They were seen to pass in there, and Lester came out alone.
‘And then, figure to yourself, Hastings, an idea of the most unreasonable seized this Mr Pearsonl Nothing would suit him but that we should go ourselves to this eating-house and make investigations. I argued and prayed, but he would not listen. He talked of disguising himself – he even suggested that I – I should – I hesitate to say it – should shave off my moustachel Yes, rien que fal I pointed out to him that that was an idea ridiculous and absurd. One destroys not a thing of beauty wantonly. Besides, shall not a Belgian gentleman with a moustache desire to see life and smoke the opium just as readily as one without a moustache?
‘Eh b/eh, he gave in on that, but he still insisted on his project.
He turned up that evening – Mort Dieu, what a figure! He wore what he called the “pea-jacket”, his chin, it was dirty and unshaved; he had a scarf of the vilest that offended the nose. And figure to yourself, he was enjoying himselfl Truly, the English are madl He made some changes in my own appearance. I permitted it. Can one argue with a maniac? We started out – after all, could I let him go alone, a child dressed up to act the charades?’ ‘Of course you couldn’t,’ I replied.