I looked at him with sympathy. Exactly what the ideas were that passed through his head I did not know. ‘Close as an oyster’ Japp had called him, and the Scotland Yard inspector’s words were truly descriptive. I only know that now, at this moment, he was at war with himself.
‘At any rate,’ I said, ‘this murder cannot be put down to Ronald Marsh.’
‘It is a point in his favour,’ my friend said absent-mindedly. ‘But that does not concern us for the moment.’
Abruptly, as before, he sat down.
‘I cannot be entirely wrong. Hastings, do you remember that I once posed to myself five questions?’
‘I seem to remember dimly something of the sort.’
‘They were: Why did Lord Edgware change his mind on the subject of divorce? What is the explanation of the letter he said he wrote to his wife and which she said she never got? Why was there that expression of rage on his face when we left his house that day? What were a pair of pince-nez doing in Carlotta Adams’ handbag? Why did someone telephone to Lady Edgware at Chiswick and immediately ring off?’
‘Yes, these were the questions,’ I said. ‘I remember now.’
‘Hastings, I have had in mind all along a certain little idea. An idea as to who the man was-the man behind. Three of those questions I have answered-and the answers accord with my little idea. But two of the questions, Hastings, I cannot answer.
‘You see what that means. Either I am wrong as to the person, and it cannot be that person. Or else the answer to the two questions that I cannot answer is there all the time. Which is it, Hastings? Which is it?’
Rising, he went to his desk, unlocked it and took out the letter Lucie Adams had sent him from America. He had asked Japp to let him keep it a day or two and Japp had agreed. Poirot laid it on the table in front of him and pored over it.
The minutes went by. I yawned and picked up a book. I did not think that Poirot would get much result from his study. We had already gone over and over the letter. Granted that it was not Ronald Marsh who was referred to, there was nothing whatever to show who else it might be.
I turned the pages of my book…
Possibly dozed off…
Suddenly Poirot uttered a low cry. I sat up abruptly.
He was looking at me with an indescribable expression, his eyes green and shining.
‘Hastings, Hastings.’
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘Do you remember I said to you that if the murderer had been a man of order and method he would have cut this page, not torn it?’
‘Yes?’
‘I was wrong. There is order and method throughout this crime.The page had to be torn, not cut. Look for yourself.’
I looked.
‘Eh bien, you see?’
I shook my head.
‘You mean he was in a hurry?’
‘Hurry or no hurry it would be the same thing. Do you not see, my friend? The page had to be torn…’
I shook my head.
In a low voice Poirot said:
‘I have been foolish. I have been blind. But now-now -we shall get on!’
Chapter 27. Concerning Pince-Nez
A minute later his mood had changed. He sprang to his feet.
I also sprang to mine-completely uncomprehending but willing.
‘We will take a taxi. It is only nine o’clock. Not too late to make a visit.’
I hurried after him down the stairs.
‘Whom are we going to visit?’
‘We are going to Regent Gate.’
I judged it wisest to hold my peace. Poirot, I saw, was not in the mood for being questioned. That he was greatly excited I could see. As we sat side by side in the taxi his fingers drummed on his knees with a nervous impatience most unlike his usual calm.
I went over in my mind every word of Carlotta Adams’ letter to her sister. By this time I almost knew it by heart. I repeated again and again to myself Poirot’s words about the torn page.
But it was no good. As far as I was concerned, Poirot’s words simply did not make sense. Why had a page got to be torn. No, I could not see it.
A new butler opened the door to us at Regent Gate. Poirot asked for Miss Carroll, and as we followed the butler up the stairs I wondered for the fiftieth time where the former ‘Greek god’ could be. So far the police had failed utterly to run him to earth. A sudden shiver passed over me as I reflected that perhaps he, too, was dead…
The sight of Miss Carroll, brisk and neat and eminently sane, recalled me from these fantastic speculations. She was clearly very much surprised to see Poirot.
‘I am glad to find you still here, Mademoiselle,’ said Poirot as he bowed over her hand. ‘I was afraid you might be no longer in the house.’
‘Geraldine would not hear of my leaving,’ said Miss Carroll. ‘She begged me to stay on. And really, at a time like this, the poor child needs someone. If she needs nothing else, she needs a buffer. And I can assure you, when need be, I make a very efficient buffer, M. Poirot.’
Her mouth took on a grim line. I felt that she would have a short way with reporters or news hunters.
‘Mademoiselle, you have always seemed to me the pattern of efficiency. The efficiency, I admire it very much. It is rare. Mademoiselle Marsh no, she has not got the practical mind.’
‘She’s a dreamer,’ said Miss Carroll. ‘Completely impractical. Always has been. Lucky she hasn’t got her living to get.’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘But I don’t suppose you came here to talk about people being practical or impractical. What can I do for you, M. Poirot?’
I do not think Poirot quite liked to be recalled to the point in this fashion. He was somewhat addicted to the oblique approach. With Miss Carroll, however, such a thing was not practicable. She blinked at him suspiciously through her strong glasses.
‘There are a few points on which I should like definite information. I know I can trust your memory, Miss Carroll.’
‘I wouldn’t be much use as a secretary if you couldn’t,’ said Miss Carroll grimly.
‘Was Lord Edgware in Paris last November?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell me the date of his visit?’
‘I shall have to look it up.’
She rose, unlocked a drawer, took out a small bound book, turned the pages and finally announced:
‘Lord Edgware went to Paris on November 3rd and returned on the 7th. He also went over on November 20th and returned on December 4th. Anything more?’
‘Yes. For what purpose did he go?’
‘On the first occasion he went to see some statuettes which he thought of purchasing and which were to be auctioned later. On the second occasion he had no definite purpose in view so far as I know.’
