“You have no moneys in the bank of Davenheim and Salmon, _mon
ami_?”
“No,” I said, wondering. “Why?”
“Because I should advise you to withdraw it—before it is too
late.”
“Why, what do you expect?”
“I expect a big smash in a few days—perhaps sooner. Which reminds
me, we will return the compliment of a _dépêche_ to Japp. A pencil,
I pray you, and a form. _Voilà!_ ‘Advise you to withdraw any money
deposited with firm in question.’ That will intrigue him, the good
Japp! His eyes will open wide—wide! He will not comprehend in the
slightest—until to-morrow, or the next day!”
I remained sceptical, but the morrow forced me to render tribute
to my friend’s remarkable powers. In every paper was a huge headline
telling of the sensational failure of the Davenheim bank. The
disappearance of the famous financier took on a totally different
aspect in the light of the revelation of the financial affairs of
the bank.
Before we were half-way through breakfast, the door flew open and
Japp rushed in. In his left hand was a paper; in his right was
Poirot’s telegram, which he banged down on the table in front of
my friend.
“How did you know, Monsieur Poirot? How the blazes could you know?”
Poirot smiled placidly at him. “Ah, _mon ami_, after your wire, it
was a certainty! From the commencement, see you, it struck me that
the safe burglary was somewhat remarkable. Jewels, ready money,
bearer bonds—all so conveniently arranged for—whom? Well, the good
Monsieur Davenheim was of those who ‘look after Number One’ as your
saying goes! It seemed almost certain that it was arranged
for—himself! Then his passion of late years for buying jewellery!
How simple! The funds he embezzled, he converted into jewels, very
likely replacing them in turn with paste duplicates, and so he put
away in a safe place, under another name, a considerable fortune
to be enjoyed all in good time when every one has been thrown off
the track. His arrangements completed, he makes an appointment with
Mr. Lowen (who has been imprudent enough in the past to cross the
great man once or twice), drills a hole in the safe, leaves orders
that the guest is to be shown into the study, and walks out of the
house—where?” Poirot stopped, and stretched out his hand for
another boiled egg. He frowned. “It is really insupportable,” he
murmured, “that every hen lays an egg of a different size! What
symmetry can there be on the breakfast table? At least they should
sort them in dozens at the shop!”
“Never mind the eggs,” said Japp impatiently. “Let ’em lay ’em
square if they like. Tell us where our customer went to when he
left The Cedars—that is, if you know!”
“_Eh bien_, he went to his hiding-place. Ah, this Monsieur
Davenheim, there may be some malformation in his grey cells, but
they are of the first quality!”
“Do you know where he is hiding?”
“Certainly! It is most ingenious.”
“For the Lord’s sake, tell us, then!”
Poirot gently collected every fragment of shell from his plate,
placed them in the egg-cup, and reversed the empty egg-shell on
top of them. This little operation concluded, he smiled on the neat
effect, and then beamed affectionately on us both.
“Come, my friends, you are men of intelligence. Ask yourselves the
question which I asked myself. ‘If I were this man, where should
_I_ hide?’ Hastings, what do you say?”
“Well,” I said, “I’m rather inclined to think I’d not do a bolt at
all. I’d stay in London—in the heart of things, travel by tubes
and buses; ten to one I’d never be recognized. There’s safety in
a crowd.”
Poirot turned inquiringly to Japp.
“I don’t agree. Get clear away at once—that’s the only chance. I
would have had plenty of time to prepare things beforehand. I’d
have a yacht waiting, with steam up, and I’d be off to one of the
most out-of-the-way corners of the world before the hue and cry
began!”
We both looked at Poirot. “What do _you_ say, monsieur?”
For a moment he remained silent. Then a very curious smile flitted
across his face.
“My friends, if _I_ were hiding from the police, do you know
_where_ I should hide? _In a prison!_”
“_What?_”
“You are seeking Monsieur Davenheim in order to put him in prison,
so you never dream of looking to see if he may not be already
there!”
“What do you mean?”
“You tell me Madame Davenheim is not a very intelligent woman.
Nevertheless I think that if you took her to Bow Street and
confronted her with the man Billy Kellett, she would recognize him!
In spite of the fact that he has shaved his beard and moustache
and those bushy eyebrows, and has cropped his hair close. A woman
nearly always knows her husband, though the rest of the world may
be deceived!”
“Billy Kellett? But he’s known to the police!”
“Did I not tell you Davenheim was a clever man? He prepared his
alibi long beforehand. He was not in Buenos Ayres last autumn—he
was creating the character of Billy Kellett, ‘doing three months,’
so that the police should have no suspicions when the time came.
He was playing, remember, for a large fortune, as well as liberty.
It was worth while doing the thing thoroughly. Only——”
“Yes?”
“_Eh bien_, afterwards he had to wear a false beard and wig, had
to _make up as himself_ again, and to sleep with a false beard is
not easy—it invites detection! He cannot risk continuing to share
the chamber of madame his wife. You found out for me that for the
last six months, or ever since his supposed return from Buenos
Ayres, he and Mrs. Davenheim occupied separate rooms. Then I was
sure! Everything fitted in. The gardener who fancied he saw his
master going round to the side of the house was quite right. He
went to the boathouse, donned his ‘tramp’ clothes, which you may
be sure had been safely hidden from the eyes of his valet, dropped
the others in the lake, and proceeded to carry out his plan by
pawning the ring in an obvious manner, and then assaulting a
policeman, getting himself safely into the haven of Bow Street,
where nobody would ever dream of looking for him!”
“It’s impossible,” murmured Japp.
“Ask Madame,” said my friend, smiling.
The next day a registered letter lay beside Poirot’s plate. He
opened it, and a five-pound note fluttered out. My friend’s brow
puckered.
“_Ah, sacré!_ But what shall I do with it? I have much remorse!
_Ce pauvre Japp_! Ah, an idea! We will have a little dinner, we
three! That consoles me. It was really too easy. I am ashamed. I,
who would not rob a child—_mille tonnerres! Mon ami_, what have
you, that you laugh so heartily?”
X