Hercule Poirot: The Complete Short Stories. Агата Кристи

that I am of such a moral disposition. To work against the law, it would be pleasing, for a change.’

      ‘Cheer up, Poirot; you know you are unique in your own line.’

      ‘But what is there on hand in my own line?’

      I picked up the paper.

      ‘Here’s an Englishman mysteriously done to death in Holland,’ I said.

      ‘They always say that – and later they find that he ate the tinned fish and that his death is perfectly natural.’

      ‘Well, if you’re determined to grouse!’

      ‘Tiens!’ said Poirot, who had strolled across to the window. ‘Here in the street is what they call in novels a “heavily veiled lady”. She mounts the steps; she rings the bell – she comes to consult us. Here is a possibility of something interesting. When one is as young and pretty as that one, one does not veil the face except for a big affair.’

      A minute later our visitor was ushered in. As Poirot had said, she was indeed heavily veiled. It was impossible to distinguish her features until she raised her veil of black Spanish lace. Then I saw that Poirot’s intuition had been right; the lady was extremely pretty, with fair hair and blue eyes. From the costly simplicity of her attire, I deduced at once that she belonged to the upper strata of society.

      ‘Monsieur Poirot,’ said the lady in a soft, musical voice, ‘I am in great trouble. I can hardly believe that you can help me, but I have heard such wonderful things of you that I come literally as the last hope to beg you to do the impossible.’

      ‘The impossible, it pleases me always,’ said Poirot. ‘Continue, I beg of you, mademoiselle.’

      Our fair guest hesitated.

      ‘But you must be frank,’ added Poirot. ‘You must not leave me in the dark on any point.’

      ‘I will trust you,’ said the girl suddenly. ‘You have heard of Lady Millicent Castle Vaughan?’

      I looked up with keen interest. The announcement of Lady Millicent’s engagement to the young Duke of Southshire had appeared a few days previously. She was, I knew, the fifth daughter of an impecunious Irish peer, and the Duke of Southshire was one of the best matches in England.

      ‘I am Lady Millicent,’ continued the girl. ‘You may have read of my engagement. I should be one of the happiest girls alive; but oh, M. Poirot, I am in terrible trouble! There is a man, a horrible man – his name is Lavington; and he – I hardly know how to tell you. There was a letter I wrote – I was only sixteen at the time; and he – he –’

      ‘A letter that you wrote to this Mr Lavington?’

      ‘Oh no – not to him! To a young soldier – I was very fond of him – he was killed in the war.’

      ‘I understand,’ said Poirot kindly.

      ‘It was a foolish letter, an indiscreet letter, but indeed, M. Poirot, nothing more. But there are phrases in it which – which might bear a different interpretation.’

      ‘I see,’ said Poirot. ‘And this letter has come into the possession of Mr Lavington?’

      ‘Yes, and he threatens, unless I pay him an enormous sum of money, a sum that is quite impossible for me to raise, to send it to the Duke.’

      ‘The dirty swine!’ I ejaculated. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Millicent.’

      ‘Would it not be wiser to confess all to your future husband?’

      ‘I dare not, M. Poirot. The Duke is a rather peculiar character, jealous and suspicious and prone to believe the worst. I might as well break off my engagement at once.’

      ‘Dear, dear,’ said Poirot with an expressive grimace. ‘And what do you want me to do, milady?’

      ‘I thought perhaps that I might ask Mr Lavington to call upon you. I would tell him that you were empowered by me to discuss the matter. Perhaps you could reduce his demands.’

      ‘What sum does he mention?’

      ‘Twenty thousand pounds – an impossibility. I doubt if I could raise a thousand, even.’

      ‘You might perhaps borrow the money on the prospect of your approaching marriage – but I doubt if you could get hold of half that sum. Besides – eh bien, it is repugnant to me that you should pay! No, the ingenuity of Hercule Poirot shall defeat your enemies! Send me this Mr Lavington. Is he likely to bring the letter with him?’

      The girl shook her head.

      ‘I do not think so. He is very cautious.’

      ‘I suppose there is no doubt that he really has it?’

      ‘He showed it to me when I went to his house.’

      ‘You went to his house? That was very imprudent, milady.’

      ‘Was it? I was so desperate. I hoped my entreaties might move him.’

      ‘Oh, là là! The Lavingtons of this world are not moved by entreaties! He would welcome them as showing how much importance you attached to the document. Where does he live, this fine gentleman?’

      ‘At Buona Vista, Wimbledon. I went there after dark –’ Poirot groaned. ‘I declared that I would inform the police in the end, but he only laughed in a horrid, sneering manner. “By all means, my dear Lady Millicent, do so if you wish,” he said.’

      ‘Yes, it is hardly an affair for the police,’ murmured Poirot.

      ‘“But I think you will be wiser than that,” he continued. “See, here is your letter – in this little Chinese puzzle box!” He held it so that I could see. I tried to snatch at it, but he was too quick for me. With a horrid smile he folded it up and replaced it in the little wooden box. “It will be quite safe here, I assure you,” he said, “and the box itself lives in such a clever place that you would never find it.” My eyes turned to the small wall-safe, and he shook his head and laughed. “I have a better safe than that,” he said. Oh, he was odious! M. Poirot, do you think that you can help me?’

      ‘Have faith in Papa Poirot. I will find a way.’

      These reassurances were all very well, I thought, as Poirot gallantly ushered his fair client down the stairs, but it seemed to me that we had a tough nut to crack. I said as much to Poirot when he returned. He nodded ruefully.

      ‘Yes – the solution does not leap to the eye. He has the whip hand, this M. Lavington. For the moment I do not see how we are to circumvent him.’

      Mr Lavington duly called upon us that afternoon. Lady Millicent had spoken truly when she described him as an odious man. I felt a positive tingling in the end of my boot, so keen was I to kick him down the stairs. He was blustering and overbearing in manner, laughed Poirot’s gentle suggestions to scorn, and generally showed himself as master of the situation. I could not help feeling that Poirot was hardly appearing at his best. He looked discouraged and crestfallen.

      ‘Well, gentlemen,’ said Lavington, as he took up his hat, ‘we don’t seem to be getting much further. The case stands like this: I’ll let the Lady Millicent off cheap, as she is such a charming young lady.’ He leered odiously. ‘We’ll say eighteen thousand. I’m off to Paris today – a little piece of business to attend to over there. I shall be back on Tuesday. Unless the money is paid by Tuesday evening, the letter goes to the Duke. Don’t tell me Lady Millicent can’t raise the money. Some of her gentlemen friends would be only too willing to oblige such a pretty woman with a loan – if she goes the right way about it.’

      My face flushed, and I took a step forward, but Lavington had wheeled out of the room as he finished his sentence.

      ‘My God!’ I cried. ‘Something has got to be done. You seem to be taking this lying down, Poirot.’

      ‘You have an excellent heart, my friend – but your