CHAPTER 9

      ‘Pretty the way he went all to pieces,’ said Japp with professional appreciation, later that day.

      He and Poirot were driving in a car along the Brompton Road.

      ‘He knew the game was up,’ said Poirot absently.

      ‘We’ve got plenty on him,’ said Japp. ‘Two or three different aliases, a tricky business over a cheque, and a very nice affair when he stayed at the Ritz and called himself Colonel de Bathe. Swindled half a dozen Piccadilly tradesmen. We’re holding him on that charge for the moment—until we get this affair finally squared up. What’s the idea of this rush to the country, old man?’

      ‘My friend, an affair must be rounded off properly. Everything must be explained. I am on the quest of the mystery you suggested. The Mystery of the Missing Attaché-Case.’

      ‘The Mystery of the Small Attaché-Case—that’s what I called it—It isn’t missing that I know of.’

      ‘Wait, mon ami.’

      The car turned into the mews. At the door of No. 14, Jane Plenderleith was just alighting from a small Austin Seven. She was in golfing clothes.

      She looked from one to the other of the two men, then produced a key and opened the door.

      ‘Come in, won’t you?’

      She led the way. Japp followed her into the sitting-room. Poirot remained for a minute or two in the hall, muttering something about:

      ‘C’est embêtant—how difficult to get out of these sleeves.’

      In a moment or two he also entered the sitting-room minus his overcoat but Japp’s lips twitched under his moustache. He had heard the very faint squeak of an opening cupboard door.

      Japp threw Poirot an inquiring glance and the other gave a hardly perceptible nod.

      ‘We won’t detain you, Miss Plenderleith,’ said Japp briskly.

      ‘Only came to ask if you could tell us the name of Mrs Allen’s solicitor.’

      ‘Her solicitor?’ The girl shook her head. ‘I don’t even know that she had one.’

      ‘Well, when she rented this house with you, someone must have drawn up the agreement?’

      ‘No, I don’t think so. You see, I took the house, the lease is in my name. Barbara paid me half the rent. It was quite informal.’

      ‘I see. Oh! well, I suppose there’s nothing doing then.’

      ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you,’ said Jane politely.

      ‘It doesn’t really matter very much.’ Japp turned towards the door. ‘Been playing golf?’

      ‘Yes.’ She flushed. ‘I suppose it seems rather heartless to you. But as a matter of fact it got me down rather, being here in this house. I felt I must go out and do something—tire myself—or I’d choke!’

      She spoke with intensity.

      Poirot said quickly:

      ‘I comprehend, mademoiselle. It is most understandable—most natural. To sit in this house and think—no, it would not be pleasant.’

      ‘So long as you understand,’ said Jane shortly.

      ‘You belong to a club?’

      ‘Yes, I play at Wentworth.’

      ‘It has been a pleasant day,’ said Poirot.

      ‘Alas, there are few leaves left on the trees now! A week ago the woods were magnificent.’

      ‘It was quite lovely today.’

      ‘Good afternoon, Miss Plenderleith,’ said Japp formally. ‘I’ll let you know when there’s anything definite. As a matter of fact we have got a man detained on suspicion.’

      ‘What man?’

      She looked at them eagerly.

      ‘Major Eustace.’

      She nodded and turned away, stooping down to put a match to the fire.

      ‘Well?’ said Japp as the car turned the corner of the mews.

      Poirot grinned.

      ‘It was quite simple. The key was in the door this time.’

      ‘And—?’

      Poirot smiled.

      ‘Eh, bien, the golf clubs had gone—’

      ‘Naturally. The girl isn’t a fool, whatever else she is. Anything else gone?’

      Poirot nodded his head.

      ‘Yes, my friend—the little attaché-case!’

      The accelerator leaped under Japp’s foot.

      ‘Damnation!’ he said. ‘I knew there was something. But what the devil is it? I searched that case pretty thoroughly.’

      ‘My poor Japp—but it is—how do you say, “obvious, my dear Watson”?’

      Japp threw him an exasperated look.

      ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

      Poirot consulted his watch.

      ‘It is not yet four o’clock. We could get to Wentworth, I think, before it is dark.’

      ‘Do you think she really went there?’

      ‘I think so—yes. She would know that we might make inquiries. Oh, yes, I think we will find that she has been there.’

      Japp grunted.

      ‘Oh well, come on.’ He threaded his way dexterously through the traffic. ‘Though what this attaché-case business has to do with the crime I can’t imagine. I can’t see that it’s got anything at all to do with it.’