“‘One: All the evidence points to Lowen having been the man who
forced the safe.
“‘Two: He had a grudge against Davenheim.
“‘Three: He lied in his first statement that he had never left the
study.
“‘Four: If you accept Billy Kellett’s story as true, Lowen is
unmistakably implicated.’”
I paused. “Well?” I asked, for I felt that I had put my finger on
all the vital facts.
Poirot looked at me pityingly, shaking his head very gently. “_Mon
pauvre ami!_ But it is that you have not the gift! The important
detail, you appreciate him never! Also, your reasoning is false.”
“How?”
“Let me take your four points.
“One: Mr. Lowen could not possibly know that he would have the
chance to open the safe. He came for a business interview. He could
not know beforehand that Mr. Davenheim would be absent posting a
letter, and that he would consequently be alone in the study!”
“He might have seized his opportunity,” I suggested.
“And the tools? City gentlemen do not carry round housebreaker’s
tools on the off chance! And one could not cut into that safe with
a penknife, _bien entendu_!”
“Well, what about Number Two?”
“You say Lowen had a grudge against Mr. Davenheim. What you mean
is that he had once or twice got the better of him. And presumably
those transactions were entered into with the view of benefiting
himself. In any case you do not as a rule bear a grudge against a
man you have got the better of—it is more likely to be the other
way about. Whatever grudge there might have been would have been
on Mr. Davenheim’s side.”
“Well, you can’t deny that he lied about never having left the
study?”
“No. But he may have been frightened. Remember, the missing man’s
clothes had just been discovered in the lake. Of course, as usual,
he would have done better to speak the truth.”
“And the fourth point?”
“I grant you that. If Kellett’s story is true, Lowen is undeniably
implicated. That is what makes the affair so very interesting.”
“Then I did appreciate _one_ vital fact?”
“Perhaps—but you have entirely overlooked the two most important
points, the ones which undoubtedly hold the clue to the whole
matter.”
“And pray, what are they?”
“One, the passion which has grown upon Mr. Davenheim in the last
few years for buying jewellery. Two, his trip to Buenos Ayres last
autumn.”
“Poirot, you are joking!”
“I am most serious. Ah, sacred thunder, but I hope Japp will not
forget my little commission.”
But the detective, entering into the spirit of the joke, had
remembered it so well that a telegram was handed to Poirot about
eleven o’clock the next day. At his request I opened it and read
it out:
“‘Husband and wife have occupied separate rooms since last winter.’”
“Aha!” cried Poirot. “And now we are in mid June! All is solved!”