II
The following day Japp rang up. His voice held a curious note.
He said:
'Poirot, do you want to hear a piece of news? It's Na Poo, my lad. Na Poo!'
'Pardon? – the line is perhaps not very clear. I did not quite catch -'
'It's off, my boy. O.F.F. Call it a day! Sit down and twiddle our thumbs!'
There was no mistaking the bitterness now. Poirot was startled.
'What is off?'
'The whole ruddy blinking thing! The hue and cry! The publicity! The whole bag of tricks!'
'But I still do not understand.'
'Well, listen. Listen carefully, because I can't mention names very well. You know our inquiry? You know we're combing the country for a performing fish?'
'Yes, yes, perfectly. I comprehend now.'
'Well, that's been called off. Hushed up – kept mum. Now do you understand?'
'Yes, yes. But why?'
'Orders from the ruddy Foreign Office.'
'Is not that very extraordinary?'
'Well, it does happen now and again.'
'Why should they be so forbearing to Miss – to the performing fish?'
'They're not. They don't care tuppence about her. It's the publicity – if she's brought to trial too much might come out about Mrs. A.C. The corpse. That's the hush-hush side! I can only suppose that the ruddy husband – Mr. A.C. – Get me?'
'Yes, yes.'
'That he's somewhere abroad in a ticklish spot and they don't want to queer his pitch.'
'Tchah!'
'What did you say?'
'I made, mon ami, an exclamation of annoyance!'
'Oh! That was it. I thought you'd caught cold. Annoyance is right! I could use a stronger word. Letting that dame get away with it makes me see red.'
Poirot said very softly:
'She will not get away with it.'
'Our hands are tied, I tell you!'
'Yours may be – mine are not!'
'Good old Poirot! Then you are going on with it?'
'Mais oui – to the death.'
'Well, don't let it be your death, old boy! If this business goes on as it has begun someone will probably send you a poisoned tarantula by post!'
As he replaced the receiver, Poirot said to himself,
'Now why did I use that melodramatic phrase – 'to the death'? Vraiment, it is absurd!'
III
The letter came by the evening post. It was typewritten except for the signature:
Dear M. Poirot (it ran):
I should be greatly obliged if you would call upon me some time tomorrow. I may have a commission for you. I suggest twelve-thirty, at my house in Chelsea. If this is inconvenient to you, perhaps you would telephone and arrange some other time with my secretary? I apologize for giving you such short notice.
Yours sincerely,
Alistair Blunt.
Poirot smoothed out the letter and read it a second time. At that moment the telephone rang.
Hercule Poirot occasionally indulged in the fancy that he knew by the ring of his telephone bell what kind of message was impending.
On this occasion he was at once quite sure that the call was significant. It was not a wrong number – not one of his friends.
He got up and took down the receiver. He said in his polite, foreign voice:
'Hallo?'
An impersonal voice said:
'What number are you, please?'
'This is Whitehall 7272.'
There was a pause, a click, and then a voice spoke.
It was a woman's voice. 'M. Poirot?'
'Yes.'
'M. Hercule Poirot?'
'Yes.'
'M. Poirot, you have either already received – or will shortly receive – a letter.'
'Who is speaking?'
'It is not necessary that you should know.'
'Very well. I have received, Madame, eight letters and three bills by the evening post.'
'Then you know which letter I mean. You will be wise, M. Poirot, to refuse the commission you have been offered.'
'That, Madame, is a matter I shall decide myself.'
The voice said coldly:
'I am warning you, M. Poirot. Your interference will no longer be tolerated. Keep out of this business.'
'And if I do not keep out of it?'
'Then we shall take steps to see that your interference is no longer to be feared.'
'That is a threat, Madame?
'We are only asking you to be sensible. It is for your own good.'
'You are very magnanimous!'
'You cannot alter the course of events and what has been arranged. So keep out of what doesn't concern you! Do you understand?'
'Oh, yes, I understand. But I consider that Mr. Morley's death is my concern.'
The woman's voice said sharply:
'Morley's death was only an incident. He interfered with our plans.'
'He was a human being, Madame, and he died before his time.'
'He was of no importance.'
Poirot's voice was dangerous as he said very quietly:
'There you are wrong…'
'It was his own fault. He refused to be sensible.'
'I, too, refuse to be sensible.'
'Then you are a fool.'
There was a click at the other end as the receiver was replaced.
Poirot said, 'Ah?' then put down his receiver in turn. He did not trouble to ask the Exchange to trace the number. He was fairly sure that the call had been put through from a public telephone box.
What intrigued and puzzled him was the fact that he thought he had heard the voice somewhere before.
