I made you lay stress on your tubercular trouble. I was terrified that even now he might choose some other germ, but I respected your courage and I had to let you take the risk.'
'Oh, that's all right,' said Miss Carnaby brightly. 'I don't mind taking risks. I'm only frightened of bulls in fields and things like that. But have you enough evidence to convict this dreadful person?'
Japp grinned. 'Plenty of evidence,' he said. 'We've got his laboratory and his cultures and the whole layout!'
Poirot said: 'It is possible, I think, that he has committed a long line of murders. I may say that it was not because his mother was a Jewess that he was dismissed from that German University. That merely made a convenient tale to account for his arrival here and to gain sympathy for him. Actually, I fancy, he is of pure Aryan blood.'
Miss Carnaby sighed.
'Qu'est ce qu'il y a?' asked Poirot.
'I was thinking,' said Miss Carnaby, 'of a marvellous dream I had at the First Festival – hashish, I suppose. I arranged the whole world so beautifully! No wars, no poverty, no ill health, no ugliness… no crime…'
'It must have been a fine dream,' said Japp enviously.
Miss Carnaby jumped up. She said: 'I must get home. Emily has been so anxious. And dear Augustus has been missing me terribly, I hear.'
Hercule Poirot said with a smile: 'He was afraid, perhaps, that like him, you were going to 'die for Hercule Poirot'!'
Chapter 11
THE APPLES OF THE HESPERIDES
I
Hercule Poirot looked thoughtfully into the face of the man behind the big mahogany desk. He noted the generous brow, the mean mouth, the rapacious line of the jaw and the piercing, visionary eyes. He understood from looking at the man why Emery Power had become the great financial force that he was.
And his eyes falling to the long delicate hands, exquisitely shaped, that lay on the desk, he understood, too, why Emery Power had attained renown as a great collector. He was known on both sides of the Atlantic as a connoisseur of works of art. His passion for the artistic went hand in hand with an equal passion for the historic. It was not enough for him that a thing should be beautiful – he demanded also that it should have a tradition behind it.
Emery Power was speaking. His voice was quiet – a small, distinct voice that was more effective than any mere volume of sound could have been.
'You do not, I know, take many cases nowadays. But I think you will take this one.'
'Is it, then, an affair of great moment?'
Emery Power said: 'It is of moment to me.'
Poirot remained in an enquiring attitude, his head slightly on one side. He looked like a meditative robin.
The other went on: 'It concerns the recovery of a work of art. To be exact, a gold chased goblet, dating from the Renaissance. It is said to be the goblet used by Pope Alexander VI – Roderigo Borgia. He sometimes presented it to a favoured guest to drink from. That guest, M. Poirot, usually died.'
'A pretty history,' Poirot murmured.
'Its career has always been associated with violence. It has been stolen more than once. Murder has been done to gain possession of it. A trail of bloodshed has followed it through the ages.'
'On account of its intrinsic value or for other reasons?'
'Its intrinsic value is certainly considerable. The workmanship is exquisite (it is said to have been made by Benvenuto Cellini). The design represents a tree round which a jewelled serpent is coiled and the apples on the tree are formed of very beautiful emeralds.'
Poirot murmured with an apparent quickening of interest: 'Apples?'
'The emeralds are particularly fine, so are the rubies in the serpent, but of course the real value of the cup is its historical associations. It was put up for sale by the Marchese di San Veratrino in 1929. Collectors bid against each other and I secured it finally for a sum equalling (at the then rate of exchange) thirty thousand pounds.'
Poirot raised his eyebrows.
He murmured: 'Indeed a princely sum! The Marchese di San Veratrino was fortunate.'
Emery Power said: 'When I really want a thing, I am willing to pay for it, M. Poirot.'
Hercule Poirot said softly: 'You have no doubt heard the Spanish proverb: 'Take what you want – and pay for it, says God.''
For a moment the financier frowned – a swift light of anger showed in his eyes.
He said coldly: 'You are by way of being a philosopher, M. Poirot.'
'I have arrived at the age of reflection, Monsieur.'
'Doubtless. But it is not reflection that will restore my goblet to me.'
'You think not?'
'I fancy action will be necessary.'
Hercule Poirot nodded placidly. 'A lot of people make the same mistake. But I demand your pardon, Mr Power, we have digressed from the matter in hand. You were saying that you had bought the cup from the Marchese di San Veratrino?'
'Exactly. What I have now to tell you is that it was stolen before it actually came into my possession.'
'How did that happen?'
'The Marchese's Palace was broken into on the night of the sale and eight or ten pieces of considerable value were stolen, including the goblet.'
'What was done in the matter?'
Power shrugged his shoulders. 'The police, of course, took the matter in hand. The robbery was recognised to be the work of a well-known international gang of thieves. Two of their number, a Frenchman called Dublay and an Italian called Riccovetti, were caught and tried – some of the stolen goods were found in their possession.'
'But not the Borgia goblet?'
'But not the Borgia goblet. There were, as far as the police could ascertain, three men actually engaged in the robbery – the two I have just mentioned and a third, an Irishman named Patrick Casey. This last was an expert cat burglar. It was he who is said to have actually stolen the things. Dublay was the brains of the group and planned their coups, Riccovetti drove the car and waited below for the goods to be lowered down to him.'
'And the stolen goods? Were they split up into three parts?'
'Possibly. On the other hand, the articles that were recovered were those of least value. It seems possible that the more noteworthy and spectacular pieces had been hastily smuggled out of the country.'
'What about the third man, Casey? Was he never brought to justice?'
'Not in the sense you mean. He was not a very young man. His muscles were stiffer than formerly. Two weeks later he fell from the fifth floor of a building and was killed instantly.'
'Where was this?'
'In Paris. He was attempting to rob the house of the millionaire banker, Duvauglier.'
'And the goblet has never been seen since?'
'Exactly.'
'It has never been offered for sale?'
'I am quite sure it has not. I may say that not only the police, but also private enquiry agents, have been on the look out for it.'
