The Incredible Theft: A Hercule Poirot Short Story. Agatha Christie

you wondering what she’s doing here?’

      His eyes were amused.

      Carrington looked a little confused.

      ‘Not at all – not at all.’

      ‘Oh, yes, you were! Don’t be an old humbug, George. You were wondering, in a slightly dismayed fashion, whether I was the latest victim!’

      Carrington said slowly:

      ‘I’ll admit that it did seem a trifle odd to me that she should be here – well, this particular weekend.’

      Lord Mayfield nodded.

      ‘Where the carcass is, there are the vultures gathered together. We’ve got a very definite carcass, and Mrs Vanderlyn might be described as Vulture No. 1.’

      The Air Marshal said abruptly:

      ‘Know anything about this Vanderlyn woman?’

      Lord Mayfield clipped off the end of a cigar, lit it with precision and, throwing his head back, dropped out his words with careful deliberation.

      ‘What do I know about Mrs Vanderlyn? I know that she’s an American subject. I know that she’s had three husbands, one Italian, one German and one Russian, and that in consequence she has made useful what I think are called “contacts” in three countries. I know that she manages to buy very expensive clothes and live in a very luxurious manner, and that there is some slight uncertainty as to where the income comes from which permits her to do so.’

      With a grin, Sir George Carrington murmured:

      ‘Your spies have not been inactive, Charles, I see.’

      ‘I know,’ Lord Mayfield continued, ‘that in addition to having a seductive type of beauty, Mrs Vanderlyn is also a very good listener, and that she can display a fascinating interest in what we call “shop”. That is to say, a man can tell her all about his job and feel that he is being intensely interesting to the lady! Sundry young officers have gone a little too far in their zeal to be interesting, and their careers have suffered in consequence. They have told Mrs Vanderlyn a little more than they should have done. Nearly all the lady’s friends are in the Services – but last winter she was hunting in a certain county near one of our largest armament firms, and she formed various friendships not at all sporting in character. To put it briefly, Mrs Vanderlyn is a very useful person to …’ He described a circle in the air with his cigar. ‘Perhaps we had better not say to whom! We will just say to a European power – and perhaps to more than one European power.’

      Carrington drew a deep breath.

      ‘You take a great load off my mind, Charles.’

      ‘You thought I had fallen for the siren? My dear George! Mrs Vanderlyn is just a little too obvious in her methods for a wary old bird like me. Besides, she is, as they say, not quite so young as she once was. Your young squadron leaders wouldn’t notice that. But I am fifty-six, my boy. In another four years I shall probably be a nasty old man continually haunting the society of unwilling debutantes.’

      ‘I was a fool,’ said Carrington apologetically, ‘but it seemed a bit odd –’

      ‘It seemed to you odd that she should be here, in a somewhat intimate family party just at the moment when you and I were to hold an unofficial conference over a discovery that will probably revolutionize the whole problem of air defence?’

      Sir George Carrington nodded.

      Lord Mayfield said, smiling:

      ‘That’s exactly it. That’s the bait.’

      ‘The bait?’

      ‘You see, George, to use the language of the movies, we’ve nothing actually “on” the woman. And we want something! She’s got away with rather more than she should in the past. But she’s been careful – damnably careful. We know what she’s been up to, but we’ve got no definite proof of it. We’ve got to tempt her with something big.’

      ‘Something big being the specification of the new bomber?’

      ‘Exactly. It’s got to be something big enough to induce her to take a risk – to come out into the open. And then – we’ve got her!’

      Sir George grunted.

      ‘Oh, well,’ he said. ‘I dare say it’s all right. But suppose she won’t take the risk?’

      ‘That would be a pity,’ said Lord Mayfield. Then he added: ‘But I think she will …’

      He rose.

      ‘Shall we join the ladies in the drawing-room? We mustn’t deprive your wife of her bridge.’

      Sir George grunted:

      ‘Julia’s a damned sight too fond of her bridge. Drops a packet over it. She can’t afford to play as high as she does, and I’ve told her so. The trouble is, Julia’s a born gambler.’

      Coming round the table to join his host, he said:

      ‘Well, I hope your plan comes off, Charles.’

      In the drawing-room conversation had flagged more than once. Mrs Vanderlyn was usually at a disadvantage when left alone with members of her own sex. That charming sympathetic manner of hers, so much appreciated by members of the male sex, did not for some reason or other commend itself to women. Lady Julia was a woman whose manners were either very good or very bad. On this occasion she disliked Mrs Vanderlyn, and was bored by Mrs Macatta, and made no secret of her feelings. Conversation languished, and might have ceased altogether but for the latter.

      Mrs Macatta was a woman of great earnestness of purpose. Mrs Vanderlyn she dismissed immediately as a useless and parasitic type. Lady Julia she tried to interest in a forthcoming charity entertainment which she was organizing. Lady Julia answered vaguely, stifled a yawn or two and retired into her own inner preoccupation. Why didn’t Charles and George come? How tiresome men were. Her comments became even more perfunctory as she became absorbed in her own thoughts and worries.

      The three women were sitting in silence when the men finally entered the room.

      Lord Mayfield thought to himself:

      ‘Julia looks ill tonight. What a mass of nerves the woman is.’

      Aloud he said:

      ‘What about a rubber – eh?’

      Lady Julia brightened at once. Bridge was as the breath of life to her.

      Reggie Carrington entered the room at that minute, and a four was arranged. Lady Julia, Mrs Vanderlyn, Sir George and young Reggie sat down to the card-table. Lord Mayfield devoted himself to the task of entertaining Mrs Macatta.

      When two rubbers had been played, Sir George looked ostentatiously at the clock on the mantelpiece.

      ‘Hardly worth while beginning another,’ he remarked.

      His wife looked annoyed.

      ‘It’s only a quarter to eleven. A short one.’

      ‘They never are, my dear,’ said Sir George good-temperedly. ‘Anyway, Charles and I have some work to do.’

      Mrs Vanderlyn murmured:

      ‘How important that sounds! I suppose you clever men who are at the top of things never get a real rest.’

      ‘No forty-eight hour week for us,’ said Sir George.

      Mrs Vanderlyn murmured:

      ‘You know, I feel rather ashamed of myself as a raw American, but I do get so thrilled at meeting people who control the destinies of a country. I expect that seems a very crude point of view to you, Sir George.’

      ‘My dear Mrs Vanderlyn, I should never think of you as “crude” or “raw”.’

      He smiled into her eyes. There was, perhaps,