'I wouldn't have risked it for a moment. Men are so extraordinary when it's a question of money. Jacob would have insisted on going to the police. I couldn't risk that. My poor darling Nanki Poo. Anything might have happened to him! Of course, I had to tell my husband afterwards, because I had to explain why I was overdrawn at the Bank.'
Poirot murmured: 'Quite so – quite so.'
'And I have really never seen him so angry. Men,' said Mrs Samuelson, rearranging her handsome diamond bracelet and turning her rings on her fingers, 'think of nothing but money.'
VI
Hercule Poirot went up in the lift to Sir Joseph Hoggin's office. He sent in his card and was told that Sir Joseph was engaged at the moment but would see him presently. A haughty blonde sailed out of Sir Joseph's room at last with her hands full of papers. She gave the quaint little man a disdainful glance in passing.
Sir Joseph was seated behind his immense mahogany desk. There was a trace of lipstick on his chin.
'Well, Mr Poirot? Sit down. Got any news for me?'
Hercule Poirot said: 'The whole affair is of a pleasing simplicity. In each case the money was sent to one of those boarding houses or private hotels where there is no porter or hall attendant and where a large number of guests are always coming and going, including a fairly large preponderance of ex-Service men. Nothing would be easier than for any one to walk in, abstract a letter from the rack, either take it away or else remove the money and replace it with blank paper. Therefore, in every case, the trail ends abruptly in a blank wall.'
'You mean you've no idea who the fellow is?'
'I have certain ideas, yes. It will take a few days to follow them up.'
Sir Joseph looked at him curiously.
'Good work. Then, when you have got anything to report -'
'I will report to you at your house.'
Sir Joseph said: 'If you get to the bottom of this business, it will be a pretty good piece of work.'
Hercule Poirot said: 'There is no question of failure. Hercule Poirot does not fail.'
Sir Joseph Hoggin looked at the little man and grinned.
'Sure of yourself, aren't you?' he demanded.
'Entirely with reason.'
'Oh well.' Sir Joseph Hoggin leaned back in his chair. 'Pride goes before a fall, you know.'
VII
Hercule Poirot, sitting in front of his electric radiator (and feeling a quiet satisfaction in its neat geometrical pattern) was giving instructions to his valet and general factotum.
'You understand, Georges?'
'Perfectly, sir.'
'More probably a flat or maisonette. And it will definitely be within certain limits. South of the Park, east of Kensington Church, west of Knightsbridge Barracks and north of Fulham Road.'
'I understand perfectly, sir.'
Poirot murmured: 'A curious little case. There is evidence here of a very definite talent for organisation. And there is, of course, the surprising invisibility of the star performer – the Nemean Lion himself, if I may so style him. Yes, an interesting little case. I could wish that I felt more attracted to my client – but he bears an unfortunate resemblance to a soap manufacturer of Liege who poisoned his wife in order to marry a blonde secretary. One of my early successes.'
George shook his head. He said gravely: 'These blondes, sir, they're responsible for a lot of trouble.'
VIII
It was three days later when the invaluable George said: 'This is the address, sir.'
Hercule Poirot took the piece of paper handed to him.
'Excellent, my good Georges. And what day of the week?'
'Thursdays, sir.'
'Thursdays. And today, most fortunately, is a Thursday. So there need be no delay.'
Twenty minutes later Hercule Poirot was climbing the stairs of an obscure block of flats tucked away in a little street leading off a more fashionable one. No.10 Rosholm Mansions was on the third and top floor and there was no lift. Poirot toiled upwards round and round the narrow corkscrew staircase.
He paused to regain his breath on the top landing and from behind the door of No.10 a new sound broke the silence – the sharp bark of a dog.
Hercule Poirot nodded his head with a slight smile. He pressed the bell of No.10.
The barking redoubled – footsteps came to the door, it was opened…
Miss Amy Carnaby fell back, her hand went to her ample breast.
'You permit that I enter?' said Hercule Poirot, and entered without waiting for the reply.
There was a sitting-room door open on the right and he walked in. Behind him Miss Carnaby followed as though in a dream.
The room was very small and much overcrowded. Amongst the furniture a human being could be discovered, an elderly woman lying on a sofa drawn up to the gas fire. As Poirot came in, a Pekinese dog jumped off the sofa and came forward uttering a few sharp suspicious barks.
'Aha,' said Poirot. 'The chief actor! I salute you, my little friend.'
He bent forward, extending his hand. The dog sniffed at it, his intelligent eyes fixed on the man's face.
Miss Carnaby murmured faintly: 'So you know?'
Hercule Poirot nodded. 'Yes, I know.' He looked at the woman on the sofa. 'Your sister, I think?'
Miss Carnaby said mechanically: 'Yes, Emily, this – this is Mr Poirot.'
Emily Carnaby gave a gasp. She said: 'Oh!'
Amy Carnaby said: 'Augustus…'
The Pekinese looked towards her – his tail moved – then he resumed his scrutiny of Poirot's hand. Again his tail moved faintly.
Gently, Poirot picked the little dog up and sat down with Augustus on his knee. He said: 'So I have captured the Nemean Lion. My task is completed.'
Amy Carnaby said in a hard dry voice: 'Do you really know everything?'
Poirot nodded. 'I think so. You organised this business – with Augustus to help you. You took your employees dog out for his usual walk, brought him here and went on to the Park with Augustus. The Park Keeper saw you with a Pekinese as usual. The nurse girl, if we ever found her, would also have agreed that you had a Pekinese with you when you spoke to her. Then, while you were talking, you cut the lead and Augustus, trained by you, slipped off at once and made a bee-line back home. A few minutes later you gave the alarm that the dog had been stolen.'
There was a pause. Then Miss Carnaby drew herself up with a certain pathetic dignity. She said: 'Yes. It is all quite true. I – I have nothing to say.'
The invalid woman on the sofa began to cry softly.
Poirot said: 'Nothing at allб Mademoiselle?'
Miss Carnaby said: 'Nothing. I have been a thief – and now I am found out.'
Poirot murmured: 'You have nothing to say – in your own defence?'
