‘There was no evidence at all of a mysterious Man-in-the-Background,’ said Japp, pursuing his advantage doggedly. ‘I haven’t got evidence yet of a connection between her and his lordship, but I shall do—it’s only a question of time. I must say I’m disappointed about Paris, but nine months ago is a long time. I’ve still got someone making inquiries over there. Something may come to light yet. I know you don’t think so. You’re a pig-headed old boy, you know.’
‘You insult first my nose and then my head!’
‘Figure of speech, that’s all,’ said Japp soothingly. ‘No offence meant.’
‘The answer to that,’ I said, ‘is “nor taken.”’
Poirot looked from one to the other of us completely puzzled.
‘Any orders?’ inquired Japp facetiously from the door. Poirot smiled forgivingly at him.
‘An order, no. A suggestion—yes.’
‘Well, what is it? Out with it.’
‘A suggestion that you circularize the taxi-cabs. Find one that took a fare—or more probably two fares—yes, two fares—from the neighbourhood of Covent Garden to Regent Gate on the night of the murder. As to time it would probably be about twenty minutes to eleven.’
Japp cocked an eye alertly. He had the look of a smart terrier dog.
‘So, that’s the idea, is it?’ he said. ‘Well, I’ll do it. Can’t do any harm—and you sometimes know what you’re talking about.’
No sooner had he left than Poirot arose and with great energy began to brush his hat.
‘Ask me no questions, my friend. Instead bring me the benzine. A morsel of omelette this morning descended on my waistcoat.’
I brought it to him.
‘For once,’ I said. ‘I do not think I need to ask questions. It seems fairly obvious. But do you think it really is so?’
‘Mon ami, at the moment I concern myself solely with the toilet. If you will pardon me saying so, your tie does not please me.’
‘It’s a jolly good tie,’ I said.
‘Possibly—once. It feels the old age as you have been kind enough to say I do. Change it, I beseech you, and also brush the right sleeve.’
‘Are we proposing to call on King George?’ I inquired sarcastically.
‘No. But I saw in the newspaper this morning that the Duke of Merton had returned to Merton House. I understand he is a premier member of the English aristocracy. I wish to do him all honour.’
There is nothing of the Socialist about Poirot.
‘Why are we going to call on the Duke of Merton?’
‘I wish to see him.’
That was all I could get out of him. When my attire was at last handsome enough to please Poirot’s critical eye, we started out.
At Merton House, Poirot was asked by a footman if he had an appointment. Poirot replied in the negative. The footman bore away the card and returned shortly to say that His Grace was very sorry but he was extremely busy this morning. Poirot immediately sat down in a chair.
‘Trés bien,’ he said. ‘I wait. I will wait several hours if need be.’
This, however, was not necessary. Probably as the shortest way of getting rid of the importunate caller, Poirot was bidden to the presence of the gentleman he desired to see.
The Duke was about twenty-seven years of age. He was hardly prepossessing in appearance, being thin and weakly. He had nondescript thin hair going bald at the temples, a small bitter mouth and vague dreamy eyes. There were several crucifixes in the room and various religious works of art. A wide shelf of books seemed to contain nothing but theological works. He looked far more like a weedy young haberdasher than like a duke. He had, I knew, been educated at home, having been a terribly delicate child. This was the man who had fallen an immediate prey to Jane Wilkinson! It was really ludicrous in the extreme. His manner was priggish and his reception of us just short of courteous.
‘You may, perhaps, know my name,’ began Poirot.
‘I have no acquaintance with it.’
‘I study the psychology of crime.’
The Duke was silent. He was sitting at a writing-table, an unfinished letter before him. He tapped impatiently on the desk with his pen.