“That is what we must find out. You have the letters with you? We
might learn something from the postmarks.”
“Unfortunately I destroyed them. You understand, at the time I
regarded it as some foolish joke. Can it be true that some Chinese
gang are really trying to recover the diamonds? It seems too
incredible.”
We went over the facts again and again, but could get no further
towards the elucidation of the mystery. At last Lady Yardly rose.
“I really don’t think I need wait for Monsieur Poirot. You can tell
him all this, can’t you? Thank you so much, Mr.——”
She hesitated, her hand outstretched.
“Captain Hastings.”
“Of course! How stupid of me. You’re a friend of the Cavendishes,
aren’t you? It was Mary Cavendish who sent me to Monsieur Poirot.”
When my friend returned, I enjoyed telling him the tale of what
had occurred during his absence. He cross-questioned me rather
sharply over the details of our conversation and I could read
between the lines that he was not best pleased to have been absent.
I also fancied that the dear old fellow was just the least inclined
to be jealous. It had become rather a pose with him to consistently
belittle my abilities, and I think he was chagrined at finding no
loophole for criticism. I was secretly rather pleased with myself,
though I tried to conceal the fact for fear of irritating him. In
spite of his idiosyncrasies, I was deeply attached to my quaint
little friend.
“_Bien!_” he said at length, with a curious look on his face. “The
plot develops. Pass me, I pray you, that ‘Peerage’ on the top shelf
there.” He turned the leaves. “Ah, here we are! ‘Yardly . . . 10th
viscount, served South African War’ . . . _tout ça n’a pas
d’importance_ . . . ‘mar. 1907 Hon. Maude Stopperton, fourth
daughter of 3rd Baron Cotteril’ . . . um, um, um, . . . ‘has iss.
two daughters, born 1908, 1910. . . . Clubs . . . residences.’ . . .
_Voilà_, that does not tell us much. But to-morrow morning we see
this _milord_!”
“What?”
“Yes. I telegraphed to him.”
“I thought you had washed your hands of the case?”
“I am not acting for Miss Marvell since she refuses to be guided
by my advice. What I do now is for my own satisfaction—the
satisfaction of Hercule Poirot! Decidedly, I must have a finger in
this pie.”
“And you calmly wire Lord Yardly to dash up to town just to suit
your convenience. He won’t be pleased.”
“_Au contraire_, if I preserve for him his family diamond, he ought
to be very grateful.”
“Then you really think there is a chance of it being stolen?” I
asked eagerly.
“Almost a certainty,” replied Poirot placidly. “Everything points
that way.”
“But how——”
Poirot stopped my eager questions with an airy gesture of the hand.
“Not now, I pray you. Let us not confuse the mind. And observe that
‘Peerage’—how you have replaced him! See you not that the tallest
books go in the top shelf, the next tallest in the row beneath,
and so on. Thus we have order, _method_, which, as I have often
told you, Hastings——”
“Exactly,” I said hastily, and put the offending volume in its
proper place.
• • • • • • •
Lord Yardly turned out to be a cheery, loud-voiced sportsman with
a rather red face, but with a good-humoured bonhomie about him that
was distinctly attractive and made up for any lack of mentality.
“Extraordinary business this, Monsieur Poirot. Can’t make head or
tail of it. Seems my wife’s been getting odd kind of letters, and
that this Miss Marvell’s had ’em too. What does it all mean?”
Poirot handed him the copy of _Society Gossip_.
“First, _milord_, I would ask you if these facts are substantially
correct?”
The peer took it. His face darkened with anger as he read.
“Damned nonsense!” he spluttered. “There’s never been any romantic
story attaching to the diamond. It came from India originally, I
believe. I never heard of all this Chinese god stuff.”
“Still, the stone _is_ known as ‘The Star of the East.’”
“Well, what if it is?” he demanded wrathfully.
Poirot smiled a little, but made no direct reply. “What I would
ask you to do, _milord_, is to place yourself in my hands. If you
do so unreservedly, I have great hopes of averting the catastrophe.”
“Then you think there’s actually something in these wild-cat
tales?”
“Will you do as I ask you?”
“Of course I will, but——”
“_Bien!_ Then permit that I ask you a few questions. This affair
of Yardly Chase, is it, as you say, all fixed up between you and
Mr. Rolf?”
“Oh, he told you about it, did he? No, there’s nothing settled.”
He hesitated, the brick-red colour of his face deepening. “Might
as well get the thing straight. I’ve made rather an ass of myself
in many ways, Monsieur Poirot—and I’m head over ears in debt—but
I want to pull up. I’m fond of the kids, and I want to straighten
things up, and be able to live on at the old place. Gregory Rolf
is offering me big money—enough to set me on my feet again. I don’t
want to do it—I hate the thought of all that crowd play-acting
round the Chase—but I may have to, unless——” He broke off.
Poirot eyed him keenly. “You have, then, another string to your
bow? Permit that I make a guess? It is to sell the Star of the
East?”
Lord Yardly nodded. “That’s it. It’s been in the family for some
generations, but it’s not entailed. Still, it’s not the easiest
thing in the world to find a purchaser. Hoffberg, the Hatton Garden
man, is on the look-out for a likely customer, but he’ll have to
find one soon, or it’s a washout.”
“One more question, _permettez_—Lady Yardly, which plan does she
approve?”
“Oh, she’s bitterly opposed to my selling the jewel. You know what
women are. She’s all for this film stunt.”
“I comprehend,” said Poirot. He remained a moment or so in thought,
then rose briskly to his feet. “You return to Yardly Chase at once?
_Bien!_ Say no word to anyone—to _anyone_ mind—but expect us there
this evening. We will arrive shortly after five.”
“All right, but I don’t see——”
“_Ça n’a pas d’importance_,” said Poirot kindly. “You will that I
preserve for you your diamond, _n’est-ce pas_?”
“Yes, but——”
“Then do as I say.”
A sadly bewildered nobleman left the room.
• • • • • • •
It was half-past five when we arrived at Yardly Chase, and followed
the dignified butler to the old panelled hall with its fire of
blazing logs. A pretty picture met our eyes: Lady Yardly and her
two children, the mother’s proud dark head bent down over the two
fair ones. Lord Yardly stood near, smiling down on them.
“Monsieur Poirot and Captain Hastings,” announced the butler.
Lady Yardly looked up with a start, her husband came forward
uncertainly, his eyes seeking instruction from Poirot. The little
man was equal to the occasion.
“All my excuses! It is that I investigate still this affair of Miss
Marvell’s. She comes to you on Friday, does she not? I make a
little tour first to make sure that all is secure. Also I wanted
to ask of Lady Yardly if she recollected at all the postmarks on
the letters she received?”
Lady Yardly shook her head regretfully. “I’m afraid I don’t. It is
stupid of me. But, you see, I never dreamt of taking them
seriously.”
“You’ll stay the night?” said Lord Yardly.
“Oh, _milord_, I fear to incommode you. We have left our bags at
the inn.”
“That’s all right.” Lord Yardly had his cue. “We’ll send down for
them. No, no—no trouble, I assure you.”
Poirot permitted himself to be persuaded, and sitting down by Lady
Yardly, began to make friends with the children. In a short time
they were all romping together, and had dragged me into the game.
“_Vous êtes bonne mère_,” said Poirot, with a gallant little bow,
as the children were removed reluctantly by a stern nurse.
Lady Yardly smoothed her ruffled hair.
“I adore them,” she said with a little catch in her voice.
“And they you—with reason!” Poirot bowed again.
A dressing-gong sounded, and we rose to go up to our rooms. At that
moment the butler entered with a telegram on a salver which he
handed to Lord Yardly. The latter tore it open with a brief word
of apology. As he read it he stiffened visibly.
With an ejaculation, he handed it to his wife. Then he glanced at
my friend.
“Just a minute, Monsieur Poirot. I feel you ought to know about
this. It’s from Hoffberg. He thinks he’s found a customer for the
diamond—an American, sailing for the States to-morrow. They’re
sending down a chap to-night to vet the stone. By Jove, though, if
this goes through——” Words failed him.
Lady Yardly had turned away. She still held the telegram in her
hand.
“I wish you wouldn’t sell it, George,” she said, in a low voice.
“It’s been in the family so long.” She waited, as though for a
reply, but when none came her face hardened. She shrugged her
shoulders. “I must go and dress. I suppose I had better display
‘the goods.’” She turned to Poirot with a slight grimace. “It’s
one of the most hideous necklaces that was ever designed! George
has always promised to have the stones reset for me, but it’s never
been done.” She left the room.
Half an hour later, we three were assembled in the great drawing-room
awaiting the lady. It was already a few minutes past the dinner
hour.
Suddenly there was a low rustle, and Lady Yardly appeared framed
in the doorway, a radiant figure in a long white shimmering dress.
Round the column of her neck was a rivulet of fire. She stood there
with one hand just touching the necklace.
“Behold the sacrifice,” she said gaily. Her ill-humour seemed to
have vanished. “Wait while I turn the big light on and you shall
feast your eyes on the ugliest necklace in England.”
The switches were just outside the door. As she stretched out her
hand to them, the incredible thing happened. Suddenly without any
warning, every light was extinguished, the door banged, and from
the other side of it came a long-drawn piercing woman’s scream.
“My God!” cried Lord Yardly. “That was Maude’s voice! What has
happened?”
We rushed blindly for the door, cannoning into each other in the
darkness. It was some minutes before we could find it. What a sight
met our eyes! Lady Yardly lay senseless on the marble floor, a
crimson mark on her white throat where the necklace had been
wrenched from her neck.
As we bent over her, uncertain for the moment whether she were dead
or alive, her eyelids opened.
“The Chinaman,” she whispered painfully. “The Chinaman—the side
door.”
Lord Yardly sprang up with an oath. I accompanied him, my heart
beating wildly. The Chinaman again! The side door in question was
a small one in the angle of the wall, not more than a dozen yards
from the scene of the tragedy. As we reached it, I gave a cry.
There, just short of the threshold, lay the glittering necklace,
evidently dropped by the thief in the panic of his flight. I
swooped joyously down on it. Then I uttered another cry which Lord
Yardly echoed. For in the middle of the necklace was a great gap.
The Star of the East was missing!
“That settles it,” I breathed. “These were no ordinary thieves.
This one stone was all they wanted.”
“But how did the fellow get in?”
“Through this door.”
“But it’s always locked.”
I shook my head. “It’s not locked now. See.” I pulled it open as
I spoke.
As I did so something fluttered to the ground. I picked it up. It
was a piece of silk, and the embroidery was unmistakable. It had
been torn from a Chinaman’s robe.
“In his haste it caught in the door,” I explained. “Come, hurry.
He cannot have gone far as yet.”
But in vain we hunted and searched. In the pitch darkness of the
night, the thief had found it easy to make his getaway. We returned
reluctantly, and Lord Yardly sent off one of the footmen post-haste
to fetch the police.
Lady Yardly, aptly ministered to by Poirot, who is as good as a
woman in these matters, was sufficiently recovered to be able to
tell her story.
“I was just going to turn on the other light,” she said, “when a
man sprang on me from behind. He tore my necklace from my neck with
such force that I fell headlong to the floor. As I fell I saw him
disappearing through the side door. Then I realized by the pig-tail
and the embroidered robe that he was a Chinaman.” She stopped with
a shudder.
The butler reappeared. He spoke in a low voice to Lord Yardly.
“A gentleman from Mr. Hoffberg’s, m’lord. He says you expect him.”
“Good heavens!” cried the distracted nobleman. “I must see him, I
suppose. No, not here, Mullings, in the library.”