"If anything goes wrong," he observed cautiously, "it will be most
awkward. M. Kettering is of the aristocracy. It will get into the
newspapers. If we have made a mistake--" He shrugged his shoulders
forebodingly.
"The jewels now," said the Commissary, "what do you think he has done
with them?"
"He took them for a plant, of course," said M. Carrège; "they must have
been a great inconvenience to him and very awkward to dispose of."
Poirot smiled.
"I have an idea of my own about the jewels. Tell me, Messieurs, what do
you know of a man called the Marquis?"
The Commissary leant forward excitedly.
"The Marquis," he said, "the Marquis? Do you think he is mixed up in
this affair, M. Poirot?"
"I ask you what you know of him."
The Commissary made an expressive grimace.
"Not as much as we should like to," he observed ruefully. "He works
behind the scenes, you understand. He has underlings who do his dirty
work for him. But he is some one high up. That we are sure of. He does
not come from the criminal classes."
"A Frenchman?"
"Y--es. At least we believe so. But we are not sure. He has worked in
France, in England, in America. There was a series of robberies in
Switzerland last autumn which were laid at his door. By all accounts
he is a _grand seigneur_, speaking French and English with equal
perfection and his origin is a mystery."
Poirot nodded and rose to take his departure.
"Can you tell us nothing more, M. Poirot," urged the Commissary.
"At present, no," said Poirot, "but I may have news awaiting me at my
hotel."
M. Carrège looked uncomfortable. "If the Marquis is concerned in
this--" he began, and then stopped.
"It upsets our ideas," complained M. Caux.
"It does not upset mine," said Poirot. "On the contrary, I think it
agrees with them very well. Au revoir, Messieurs; if news of any
importance comes to me I will communicate it to you immediately."
He walked back to his hotel with a grave face. In his absence a
telegram had come to him. Taking a paper-cutter from his pocket, he
slit it open. It was a long telegram, and he read it over twice before
slowly putting it in his pocket. Upstairs, George was awaiting his
master.
"I am fatigued, Georges, much fatigued. Will you order for me a small
pot of chocolate?"
The chocolate was duly ordered and brought, and George set it at the
little table at his master's elbow. As he was preparing to retire,
Poirot spoke:
"I believe, Georges, that you have a good knowledge of the English
aristocracy?" murmured Poirot.
George smiled apologetically.
"I think that I might say that I have, sir," he replied.
"I suppose that it is your opinion, Georges, that criminals are
invariably drawn from the lower orders."
"Not always, sir. There was great trouble with one of the Duke of
Devize's younger sons. He left Eton under a cloud, and after that he
caused great anxiety on several occasions. The police would not accept
the view that it was kleptomania. A very clever young gentleman, sir,
but vicious through and through, if you take my meaning. His Grace
shipped him to Australia, and I hear he was convicted out there under
another name. Very odd, sir, but there it is. The young gentleman, I
need hardly say, was not in want financially."
Poirot nodded his head slowly.
"Love of excitement," he murmured, "and a little kink in the brain
somewhere. I wonder now--"
He drew out the telegram from his pocket and read it again.
"Then there was Lady Mary Fox's daughter," continued the valet in a
mood of reminiscence. "Swindled tradespeople something shocking, she
did. Very worrying to the best families, if I may say so, and there are
many other queer cases I could mention."
"You have a wide experience, Georges," murmured Poirot. "I often
wonder having lived so exclusively with titled families that you
demean yourself by coming as a valet to me. I put it down to love of
excitement on your part."
"Not exactly, sir," said George. "I happened to see in _Society
Snippets_ that you had been received at Buckingham Palace. That was
just when I was looking for a new situation. His Majesty, so it said,
had been most gracious and friendly and thought very highly of your
abilities."
"Ah," said Poirot, "one always likes to know the reason for things."
He remained in thought for a few moments and then said:
"You rang up Mademoiselle Papopolous?"
"Yes, sir; she and her father will be pleased to dine with you
to-night."
"Ah," said Poirot thoughtfully. He drank off his chocolate, set the
cup and saucer neatly in the middle of the tray, and spoke gently, more
to himself than to the valet.
"The squirrel, my good Georges, collects nuts. He stores them up in
the autumn so that they may be of advantage to him later. To make a
success of humanity, Georges, we must profit by the lessons of those
below us in the animal kingdom. I have always done so. I have been the
cat, watching at the mouse hole. I have been the good dog following up
the scent, and not taking my nose from the trail. And also, my good
Georges, I have been the squirrel. I have stored away the little fact
here, the little fact there. I go now to my store and I take out one
particular nut, a nut that I stored away--let me see, seventeen years
ago. You follow me, Georges?"
"I should hardly have thought, sir," said George, "that nuts would have
kept so long as that, though I know one can do wonders with preserving
bottles."
Poirot looked at him and smiled.