The Best Murder Mysteries in One Edition. Эдгар Аллан По

Decidedly you have the heart of a Turk, Hastings! You should establish a harem!”

      “It’s all very well to rag me. Mademoiselle Daubreuil is a very beautiful girl, and I do admire her immensely—I don’t mind admitting it. The other’s nothing—don’t suppose I shall ever see her again. She was quite amusing to talk to just for a railway journey, but she’s not the kind of girl I should ever get keen on.”

      “Why?”

      “Well—it sounds snobbish perhaps—but she’s not a lady, not in any sense of the word.”

      Poirot nodded thoughtfully. There was less raillery in his voice as he asked:

      “You believe, then, in birth and breeding?”

      “I may be old-fashioned, but I certainly don’t believe in marrying out of one’s class. It never answers.”

      “I agree with you, mon ami. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it is as you say. But there is always the hundredth time! Still, that does not arise, as you do not propose to see the lady again.”

      His last words were almost a question, and I was aware of the sharpness with which he darted a glance at me. And before my eyes, writ large in letters of fire, I saw the words “Hôtel du Phare,” and I heard again her voice saying “Come and look me up” and my own answering with empressement: “I will.”

      Well, what of it? I had meant to go at the time. But since then, I had had time to reflect. I did not like the girl. Thinking it over in cold blood, I came definitely to the conclusion that I disliked her intensely. I had got hauled over the coals for foolishly gratifying her morbid curiosity, and I had not the least wish to see her again.

      I answered Poirot lightly enough.

      “She asked me to look her up, but of course I shan’t.”

      “Why ‘of course’?”

      “Well—I don’t want to.”

      “I see.” He studied me attentively for some minutes. “Yes. I see very well. And you are wise. Stick to what you have said.”

      “That seems to be your invariable advice,” I remarked, rather piqued.

      “Ah, my friend, have faith in Papa Poirot. Some day, if you permit, I will arrange you a marriage of great suitability.”

      “Thank you,” I said laughing, “but the prospect leaves me cold.”

      Poirot sighed and shook his head.

      “Les Anglais!” he murmured. “No method—absolutely none whatever. They leave all to chance!” He frowned, and altered the position of the salt cellar.

      “Mademoiselle Cinderella is staying at the Hôtel d’Angleterre you told me, did you not?”

      “No. Hôtel du Phare.”

      “True, I forgot.”

      A moment’s misgiving shot across my mind. Surely I had never mentioned any hotel to Poirot. I looked across at him, and felt reassured. He was cutting his bread into neat little squares, completely absorbed in his task. He must have fancied I had told him where the girl was staying.

      We had coffee outside facing the sea. Poirot smoked one of his tiny cigarettes, and then drew his watch from his pocket.

      “The train to Paris leaves at 2:25,” he observed. “I should be starting.”

      “Paris?” I cried.

      “That is what I said, mon ami.”

      “You are going to Paris? But why?”

      He replied very seriously.

      “To look for the murderer of M. Renauld.”

      “You think he is in Paris?”

      “I am quite certain that he is not. Nevertheless, it is there that I must look for him. You do not understand, but I will explain it all to you in good time. Believe me, this journey to Paris is necessary. I shall not be away long. In all probability I shall return tomorrow. I do not propose that you should accompany me. Remain here and keep an eye on Giraud. Also cultivate the society of M. Renauld fils. And thirdly, if you wish, endeavour to cut him out with Mademoiselle Marthe. But I fear you will not have great success.”

      I did not quite relish the last remark.

      “That reminds me,” I said. “I meant to ask you how you knew about those two?”

      “Mon ami—I know human nature. Throw together a boy young Renauld and a beautiful girl like Mademoiselle Marthe, and the result is almost inevitable. Then, the quarrel! It was money or a woman and, remembering Léonie’s description of the lad’s anger, I decided on the latter. So I made my guess—and I was right.”

      “And that was why you warned me against setting my heart on the lady? You already suspected that she loved young Renauld?”

      Poirot smiled.

      “At any rate—I saw that she had anxious eyes. That is how always think of Mademoiselle Daubreuil as the girl with the anxious eyes. …”

      His voice was so grave that it impressed me uncomfortably.

      “What do you mean by that, Poirot?”

      “I fancy, my friend, that we shall see before very long. But I must start.”

      “You’ve oceans of time.”

      “Perhaps—perhaps. But I like plenty of leisure at the station. I do not wish to rush, to hurry, to excite myself.”

      “At all events,” I said, rising, “I will come and see you off.”

      “You will do nothing of the sort. I forbid it.”

      He was so peremptory that I stared at him in surprise. He nodded emphatically.

      “I mean it, mon ami. Au revoir! You permit that I embrace you? Ah, no, I forget that it is not the English custom. Une poignee de main, alors.”

      I felt rather at a loose end after Poirot had left me. I strolled down the beach, and watched the bathers, without feeling energetic enough to join them. I rather fancied that Cinderella might be disporting herself amongst them in some wonderful costume, but I saw no signs of her. I strolled aimlessly along the sands towards the further end of the town. It occurred to me that, after all, it would only be decent feeling on my part to inquire after the girl. And it would save trouble in the end. The matter would then be finished with. There would be no need for me to trouble about her any further. But, if I did not go at all, she might quite possibly come and look me up at the Villa. And that would be annoying in every way. Decidedly it would be better to pay a short call, in the course of which I could make it quite clear that I could do nothing further for her in my capacity of showman.

      Accordingly I left the beach, and walked inland. I soon found the Hôtel du Phare, a very unpretentious building. It was annoying in the extreme not to know the lady’s name and, to save my dignity, I decided to stroll inside and look around. Probably I should find her in the lounge. Merlinville was a small place, you left your hotel to go to the beach, and you left the beach to return to the hotel. There were no other attractions. There was a Casino being built, but it was not yet completed.

      I had walked the length of the beach without seeing her, therefore she must be in the hotel. I went in. Several people were sitting in the tiny lounge, but my quarry was not amongst them. I looked into some other rooms, but there was no sign of her. I waited for some time, till my impatience got the better of me. I took the concierge aside, and slipped five francs into his hand.

      “I wish to see a lady who is staying here. A young English lady, small and dark. I am not sure of her name.”

      The man shook his head, and seemed to be suppressing a grin.

      “There is no such lady as you describe staying here.”