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“You know what to do, Hastings?” Hercule Poirot asked.
Captain Hastings nodded. It was risky, but he thought he could fulfil his role, and Poirot had confidence in him. The only problem came from the timing, which was out of his control, but, with any luck, everything would come together within the margin that had been allowed.
He reached the hotel just as the clock struck seven and strode inside. There were a number of people in the lounge when he arrived, and he walked towards a group who were standing together, glasses in hand, chatting. At the last moment, he veered away, raised a hand in acknowledgement to a couple of people, and then slipped through a side door into a dimly lit corridor.
He made his way along the corridor, which led him to a back staircase. He walked slowly up the stairs to the third floor, he had plenty of time and didn’t want to risk having to hang around once he reached it. He emerged from the staircase, walked casually towards the lift and then looked around, as if he was looking for his room.
A young woman, in a flowing dark blue dress and with a diaphanous wrap around her shoulders, came out of one of the bedrooms and walked towards the lift. She looked coquettishly as Hastings, who permitted himself a glance of appreciation, before she entered the lift.
As soon as she had gone, Hastings took a key out of his pocket, unlocked her door, and slipped inside. The woman’s jewel case was flung onto the bed. Quickly, Hastings pried it open, removed a diamond necklace, which he placed in an inside pocket of his jacket, and snapped the case shut. A minute later he left the room, having dropped the key under the dressing table.
After that, all he had to do was leave the hotel with several other guests, and return to Poirot’s flat.
Miss Lemon joined him about fifteen minutes later.
“Did you have any problems?” he asked her.
“None whatsoever,” she replied. “I dropped my little gold pen, which rolled under the table where she was sitting. So I reached down, opened her bag, removed her key, picked up my pen and apologised. None of them really noticed me at all.”
“Excellent. How long do you think Poirot will be?”
“It’s hard to say. He’ll be careful not to rush things.”
“That’s true. Shall we have some supper while we wait for him?”
“That will probably be as well. It may be a while before we eat again.”
Hastings had dozed off by the time Poirot returned. He woke with a start and glanced at the clock. It was quarter past eleven.
Almost immediately the telephone rang. Hastings blinked and struggled to sit up, ready to answer the phone, but Poirot shook his head and lifted the receiver.
“Hercule Poirot,” he said. There was a pause, before he replied, “Mais oui, Inspector, Hastings and I are still awake, you must come round at once. This is most formidable!” Once he had replaced the receiver, Poirot smiled. “And so, the pantomime begins.”
Miss Lemon stood up and departed for the small spare room, and shortly afterwards Inspector Japp arrived.
Poirot welcomed him in. “But are you sure the diamond necklace has been stolen? Could the young lady merely have misplaced it?”
“It’s been stolen all right,” Japp said with a frown. “She’d shown it to two of her friends earlier in the day, both of whom confirm the fact.”
“But how did the thief manage to enter her bedroom?”
“It turns out she’d failed to lock it. She swears she had done so, but she found it unlocked when she returned to the room, and when she went into the room with her two friends, one of them spotted the key on the floor and picked it up. She then looked in her bag and the key wasn’t there.” Japp shook his head. “So it was an open invitation to anyone who knew about the necklace.”
“And what it is that you wish me to do?” Poirot asked. “Look round the lady’s room and spot something which is out of place?”
Japp pulled a face. “The three women turned the bedroom upside down looking for the necklace. I think it would be quicker to spot anything that was in the right place. No, my feeling is that the intention is to claim it was an outsider, but my suspicions are either that the lady herself is involved, or one of the two friends. Would you be able to talk to them, see if they reveal something to you?”
“But certainly. It is, however, a little late for such conversations tonight.”
“Tomorrow morning will be soon enough.”
“Then Hastings and I will attend tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
The telephone rang and Hastings answered it. “Japp,” he said, “it’s for you.”
Japp took the receiver. “Yes… What? I’ll be right over.” He put the receiver back in its cradle. “The financier Sir Desmond Moreton is staying at that same hotel. He failed to turn up for a late night meeting, and now his secretary can’t get hold of him. They’ve tried his door with the hotel passkey, but the lock is jammed, so they’re about to break in. They’ve asked me to go back in case there’s been further foul play.”
“Then you must go at once,” Poirot said. “And I will see you tomorrow.”
Japp nodded, before departing rapidly.
Hastings smiled at Poirot, and removed the necklace from his jacket pocket.
“Parfait!” Poirot said, accepting the necklace. He looked up as Miss Lemon rejoined them. “You heard everything?” he asked. When she nodded, he added, “Alors, it is time we departed. It will not be long before the good Japp discovers that the pauvre Sir Desmond is dead and they will begin to look for his murderer. They will wonder whether the thief of the diamonds is also a murderer, for they cannot know what we know.”
It didn’t take long for the three of them to collect their suitcases, which had been packed ready and were waiting in the spare room. Hastings drove them to Victoria Station and there they joined the throng who were catching the early boat train. To avoid suspicion, Poirot got into one carriage while Hastings and Miss Lemon took a second, blending in with other holidaying couples.
They met up again once they were on the cross channel ferry. Just as the ferry was about to depart, there was a commotion dockside, and all three hurried to see what was happening. One of the crew told them that they’d been hailed by a policeman from Scotland Yard, who needed to come aboard. They watched as a figure hastily ran up the gangway.
Miss Lemon gasped. “Is that Inspector Japp?”
“Surely not,” Hastings replied.
They turned to look at Poirot, but he had disappeared, so they hurried down to the cabin he had booked for the crossing. As they approached they saw Japp just entering the cabin. They followed him, and Hastings shut the door.
“Monsieur Poirot,” Japp said amiably. “And what brings you here?”
“Me, I am on the hunt for the thief of the diamond necklace,” Poirot replied. “But what brings you here, my dear inspector?”
“I’m after the murderer of Sir Desmond Moreton, who I believe is travelling on this ferry.”
Poirot inclined his head. “You may well be right.”
“Sir Desmond’s papers are also missing.”
“And they contain confidential, and oh so incriminating information?”
“Quite probably.”
“I believe they are perfectly safe.”
“In a briefcase similar to the one Miss Lemon is holding at the moment?”
“Précisement!”
Poirot and Japp nodded to each other in understanding.
On arriving in France, all four descended the gangplank together. Japp had booked a car, and they quickly got in. It was a particularly uninteresting French car, and Hastings looked enviously at some of the more enticing vehicles lined up, awaiting their own drivers. He sighed, Poirot had been insistent, going as far as to stipulate which model of vehicle they should use, but it still wouldn’t have been his own choice.
Japp drove confidently and they were soon heading south. Their route had been planned in meticulous detail, to ensure they couldn’t be followed. Japp wasn’t sure how long ago Poirot had had the first germ of the idea, and he wasn’t going to ask. He was simply happy he had been invited to start a new life with the others.