Gesticulating and apologizing, he marshalled them out. He returned with the French maid, a pretty, impudent-looking girl. Alloway and Weardale had gone out with the ladies.
‘Now, mademoiselle,’ said Poirot in a brisk tone, ‘let us have the truth. Recount to me no histories. Why did you scream on the stairs?’
‘Ah, monsieur, I saw a tall figure—all in white—’
Poirot arrested her with an energetic shake of his forefinger.
‘Did I not say, recount to me no histories? I will make a guess. He kissed you, did he not? M. Leonard Weardale, I mean?’
‘Eh bien, monsieur, and after all, what is a kiss?’
‘Under the circumstances, it is most natural,’ replied Poirot gallantly. ‘I myself, or Hastings here—but tell me just what occurred.’
‘He came up behind me, and caught me. I was startled, and I screamed. If I had known, I would not have screamed—but he came upon me like a cat. Then came M. le secrêtaire. M. Leonard flew up the stairs. And what could I say? Especially to a jeune homme comme ça—tellement comme il faut? Ma foi, I invent a ghost.’
‘And all is explained,’ cried Poirot genially. ‘You then mounted to the chamber of Madame your mistress. Which is her room, by the way?’
‘It is at the end, monsieur. That way.’
‘Directly over the study, then. Bien, mademoiselle, I will detain you no longer. And la prochaine fois, do not scream.’
Handing her out, he came back to me with a smile.
‘An interesting case, is it not, Hastings? I begin to have a few little ideas. Et vous?’
‘What was Leonard Weardale doing on the stairs? I don’t like that young man, Poirot. He’s a thorough young rake, I should say.’
‘I agree with you, mon ami.’
‘Fitzroy seems an honest fellow.’
‘Lord Alloway is certainly insistent on that point.’
‘And yet there is something in his manner—’
‘That is almost too good to be true? I felt it myself. On the other hand, our friend Mrs Conrad is certainly no good at all.’
‘And her room is over the study,’ I said musingly, and keeping a sharp eye on Poirot.
He shook his head with a slight smile.
‘No, mon ami, I cannot bring myself seriously to believe that that immaculate lady swarmed down the chimney, or let herself down from the balcony.’
As he spoke, the door opened, and to my great surprise, Lady Juliet Weardale flitted in.
‘M. Poirot,’ she said somewhat breathlessly, ‘Can I speak to you alone?’
‘Milady, Captain Hastings is as my other self. You can speak before him as though he were a thing of no account, not there at all. Be seated, I pray you.’
She sat down, still keeping her eyes fixed on Poirot.
‘What I have to say is—rather difficult. You are in charge of this case. If the—papers were to be returned, would that end the matter? I mean, could it be done without questions being asked?’
Poirot stared hard at her.
‘Let me understand you, madame. They are to be placed in my hand—is that right? And I am to return them to Lord Alloway on the condition that he asks no questions as to where I got them?’
She bowed her head. ‘That is what I mean. But I must be sure there will be no—publicity.’
‘I do not think Lord Alloway is particularly anxious for publicity,’ said Poirot grimly.
‘You accept then?’ she cried eagerly in response.
‘A little moment, milady. It depends on how soon you can place those papers in my hands.’
‘Almost immediately.’
Poirot glanced up at the clock.
‘How soon, exactly?’
‘Say—ten minutes,’ she whispered.
‘I accept, milady.’
She hurried from the room. I pursed my mouth up for a whistle.
‘Can you sum up the situation for me, Hastings?’
‘Bridge,’ I replied succinctly.
‘Ah, you remember the careless words of Monsieur the Admiral! What a memory! I felicitate you, Hastings.’
We said no more, for Lord Alloway came in, and looked inquiringly at Poirot.
‘Have you any further ideas, M. Poirot? I am afraid the answers to your questions have been rather disappointing.’
‘Not at all, milor’. They have been quite sufficiently illuminating. It will be unnecessary for me to stay here any longer, and so, with your permission, I will return at once to London.’