Van Aldin read the letter through in silence. His face turned a dull
angry crimson. The men watching him saw the veins start out on his
forehead, and his big hands clench themselves unconsciously. He handed
back the letter without a word. M. Carrège was looking with close
attention at his desk, M. Caux's eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, and
M. Hercule Poirot was tenderly brushing a speck of dust from his coat
sleeve. With the greatest tact they none of them looked at Van Aldin.
It was M. Carrège, mindful of his status and his duties, who tackled
the unpleasant subject.
"Perhaps, Monsieur," he murmured, "you are aware by whom--er--this
letter was written?"
"Yes, I know," said Van Aldin heavily.
"Ah?" said the Magistrate inquiringly.
"A scoundrel who calls himself the Comte de la Roche."
There was a pause; then M. Poirot leaned forward, straightened a ruler
on the judge's desk, and addressed the millionaire directly.
"M. Van Aldin, we are all sensible, deeply sensible, of the pain it
must give you to speak of these matters, but believe me, Monsieur, it
is not the time for concealments. If justice is to be done, we must
know everything. If you will reflect a little minute you will realize
the truth of that clearly for yourself."
Van Aldin was silent for a moment or two, then almost reluctantly he
nodded his head in agreement.
"You are quite right, M. Poirot," he said. "Painful as it is, I have no
right to keep anything back."
The Commissary gave a sigh of relief, and the Examining Magistrate
leaned back in his chair and adjusted a pince-nez on his long thin nose.
"Perhaps you will tell us in your own words, M. Van Aldin," he said,
"all that you know of this gentleman."
"It began eleven or twelve years ago--in Paris. My daughter was a young
girl then, full of foolish, romantic notions, like all young girls are.
Unknown to me, she made the acquaintance of this Comte de la Roche. You
have heard of him, perhaps?"
The Commissary and Poirot nodded in assent.
"He calls himself the Comte de la Roche," continued Van Aldin, "but I
doubt if he has any right to the title."
"You would not have found his name in the _Almanach de Gotha_," agreed
the Commissary.
"I discovered as much," said Van Aldin. "The man was a good-looking,
plausible scoundrel, with a fatal fascination for women. Ruth was
infatuated with him, but I soon put a stop to the whole affair. The man
was no better than a common swindler."
"You are quite right," said the Commissary. "The Comte de la Roche is
well known to us. If it were possible, we should have laid him by the
heels before now, but _ma foi!_ it is not easy; the fellow is cunning,
his affairs are always conducted with ladies of high social position.
If he obtains money from them under false pretences or as the fruit
of blackmail, _eh bien!_ naturally they will not prosecute. To look
foolish in the eyes of the world, oh no, that would never do, and he
has an extraordinary power over women."
"That is so," said the millionaire heavily. "Well, as I told you, I
broke the affair up pretty sharply. I told Ruth exactly what he was,
and she had, perforce, to believe me. About a year afterwards, she met
her present husband and married him. As far as I knew, that was the end
of the matter; but only a week ago, I discovered, to my amazement, that
my daughter had resumed her acquaintance with the Comte de la Roche.
She had been meeting him frequently in London and Paris. I remonstrated
with her on her imprudence, for I may tell you gentlemen, that, on my
insistence, she was preparing to bring a suit for divorce against her
husband."
"That is interesting," murmured Poirot softly, his eyes on the ceiling.
Van Aldin looked at him sharply, and then went on.
"I pointed out to her the folly of continuing to see the Comte under
the circumstances. I thought she agreed with me."
The Examining Magistrate coughed delicately.
"But according to this letter--" he began, and then stopped.
Van Aldin's jaw set itself squarely.
"I know. It's no good mincing matters. However unpleasant, we have got
to face facts. It seems clear that Ruth had arranged to go to Paris and
meet de la Roche there. After my warnings to her, however, she must
have written to the Count suggesting a change of rendezvous."
"The Isles d'Or," said the Commissary thoughtfully, "are situated just
opposite Hyères, a remote and idyllic spot."
Van Aldin nodded.
"My God! How could Ruth be such a fool?" he exclaimed bitterly. "All
this talk about writing a book on jewels! Why, he must have been after
the rubies from the first."
"There are some very famous rubies," said Poirot, "originally part of
the Crown jewels of Russia; they are unique in character, and their
value is almost fabulous. There has been a rumour that they have lately
passed into the possession of an American. Are we right in concluding,
Monsieur, that you were the purchaser?"
"Yes," said Van Aldin. "They came into my possession in Paris about ten
days ago."
"Pardon me, Monsieur, but you have been negotiating for their purchase
for some time?"
"A little over two months. Why?"
"These things become known," said Poirot. "There is always a pretty
formidable crowd on the track of jewels such as these."
A spasm distorted the other's face.
"I remember," he said brokenly, "a joke I made to Ruth when I gave them
to her. I told her not to take them to the Riviera with her, as I could
not afford to have her robbed and murdered for the sake of the jewels.
My God! the things one says--never dreaming or knowing they will come
true."
There was a sympathetic silence, and then Poirot spoke in a detached
manner.
"Let us arrange our facts with order and precision. According to our
present theory, this is how they run. The Comte de la Roche knows of
your purchase of these jewels. By an easy stratagem he induces Madame
Kettering to bring the stones with her. He, then, is the man Mason saw
in the train at Paris."
The other three nodded in agreement.
"Madame is surprised to see him, but she deals with the situation
promptly. Mason is got out of the way; a dinner basket is ordered.
We know from the conductor that he made up the berth for the first
compartment, but he did not go into the second compartment, and that
a man could quite well have been concealed from him. So far the Comte
could have been hidden to a marvel. No one knows of his presence on the
train except Madame; he has been careful that the maid did not see his
face. All that she could say is that he was tall and dark. It is all
most conveniently vague. They are alone--and the train rushes through
the night. There would be no outcry, no struggle, for the man is, so
she thinks, her lover."
He turned gently to Van Aldin.
"Death, Monsieur, must have been almost instantaneous. We will pass
over that quickly. The Comte takes the jewel-case which lies ready to
his hand. Shortly afterwards the train draws into Lyons."