CHAPTER 7

      It was the following day when Japp walked into Poirot’s flat, flung his hat on the table in deep disgust and dropped into a chair.

      ‘Well,’ he growled. ‘She’s out of it!’

      ‘Who is out of it?’

      ‘Plenderleith. Was playing bridge up to midnight. Host, hostess, naval-commander guest and two servants can all swear to that. No doubt about it, we’ve got to give up any idea of her being concerned in the business. All the same, I’d like to know why she went all hot and bothered about that little attaché-case under the stairs. That’s something in your line, Poirot. You like solving the kind of triviality that leads nowhere. The Mystery of the Small Attaché-Case. Sounds quite promising!’

      ‘I will give you yet another suggestion for a title. The Mystery of the Smell of Cigarette Smoke.’

      ‘A bit clumsy for a title. Smell—eh? Was that why you were sniffing so when we first examined the body? I saw you—and heard you! Sniff—sniff—sniff. Thought you had a cold in your head.’

      ‘You were entirely in error.’

      Japp sighed.

      ‘I always thought it was the little grey cells of the brain. Don’t tell me the cells of your nose are equally superior to anyone else’s.’

      ‘No, no, calm yourself.’

      ‘I didn’t smell any cigarette smoke,’ went on Japp suspiciously.

      ‘No more did I, my friend.’

      Japp looked at him doubtfully. Then he extracted a cigarette from his pocket.

      ‘That’s the kind Mrs Allen smoked—gaspers. Six of those stubs were hers. The other three were Turkish.’

      ‘Exactly.’

      ‘Your wonderful nose knew that without looking at them, I suppose!’

      ‘I assure you my nose does not enter into the matter. My nose registered nothing.’

      ‘But the brain cells registered a lot?’

      ‘Well—there were certain indications—do you not think so?’

      Japp looked at him sideways.

      ‘Such as?’

      ‘Eh bien, there was very definitely something missing from the room. Also something added, I think … And then, on the writing-bureau …’

      ‘I knew it! We’re coming to that damned quill pen!’

      ‘Du tout. The quill pen plays a purely negative role.’

      Japp retreated to safer ground.

      ‘I’ve got Charles Laverton-West coming to see me at Scotland Yard in half an hour. I thought you might like to be there.’

      ‘I should very much.’

      ‘And you’ll be glad to hear we’ve tracked down Major Eustace. Got a service flat in the Cromwell Road.’

      ‘Excellent.’

      ‘And we’ve got a little to go on there. Not at all a nice person, Major Eustace. After I’ve seen Laverton-West, we’ll go and see him. That suit you?’

      ‘Perfectly.’

      ‘Well, come along then.’

      At half-past eleven, Charles Laverton-West was ushered into Chief Inspector Japp’s room. Japp rose and shook hands.

      The M.P. was a man of medium height with a very definite personality. He was clean-shaven, with the mobile mouth of an actor, and the slightly prominent eyes that so often go with the gift of oratory. He was good-looking in a quiet, well-bred way.

      Though looking pale and somewhat distressed, his manner was perfectly formal and composed.

      He took a seat, laid his gloves and hat on the table and looked towards Japp.

      ‘I’d like to say, first of all, Mr Laverton-West, that I fully appreciate how distressing this must be to you.’

      Laverton-West waved this aside.

      ‘Do not let us discuss my feelings. Tell me, Chief Inspector, have you any idea what caused my—Mrs Allen to take her own life?’

      ‘You yourself cannot help us in any way?’

      ‘No, indeed.’

      ‘There was no quarrel? No estrangement of any kind between you?’

      ‘Nothing of the kind. It has been the greatest shock to me.’

      ‘Perhaps it will be more understandable, sir, if I tell you that it was not suicide—but murder!’

      ‘Murder?’ Charles Laverton-West’s eyes popped nearly out of his head. ‘You say murder?’

      ‘Quite correct. Now, Mr Laverton-West, have you any idea who might be likely to make away with Mrs Allen?’

      Laverton-West fairly spluttered out his answer.

      ‘No—no, indeed—nothing of the sort! The mere idea is—is unimaginable!’

      ‘She never mentioned any enemies? Anyone who might have a grudge against her?’

      ‘Never.’

      ‘Did you know that she had a pistol?’

      ‘I was not aware of the fact.’

      He looked a little startled.

      ‘Miss Plenderleith says that Mrs Allen brought this pistol back from abroad with her some years ago.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Of course, we have only Miss Plenderleith’s word for that. It is quite possible that Mrs Allen felt herself to be in danger from some source and kept the pistol handy for reasons of her own.’

      Charles Laverton-West shook his head doubtfully. He seemed quite bewildered and dazed.

      ‘What is your opinion of Miss Plenderleith, Mr Laverton-West? I mean, does she strike you as a reliable, truthful person?’

      The other pondered a minute.

      ‘I think so—yes, I should say so.’

      ‘You don’t like her?’ suggested Japp, who had been watching him closely.

      ‘I wouldn’t say that. She is not the type of young woman I admire. That sarcastic, independent type is not attractive to me, but I should say she was quite truthful.’

      ‘H’m,’ said Japp. ‘Do you know a Major Eustace?’

      ‘Eustace? Eustace?