Chapter 18. The Other Man

I do not propose to describe either the inquest on Lord Edgware or that on Carlotta Adams. In Carlotta’s case the verdict was Death by Misadventure. In the case of Lord Edgware the inquest was adjourned, after evidence of identification and the medical evidence had been given. As a result of the analysis of the stomach, the time of death was fixed as having occurred not less than an hour after the completion of dinner, with possible extension to an hour after that. This put it as between ten and eleven o’clock, with the probability in favour of the earlier time.

None of the facts concerning Carlotta’s impersonation of Jane Wilkinson were allowed to leak out. A description of the wanted butler was published in the press, and the general impression seemed to be that the butler was the man wanted. His story of Jane Wilkinson’s visit was looked upon as an impudent fabrication. Nothing was said of the secretary’s corroborating testimony. There were columns concerning the murder in all the papers, but little real information.

Meanwhile Japp was actively at work, I knew. It vexed me a little that Poirot adopted such an inert attitude. The suspicion that approaching old age had something to do with it flashed across me – not for the first time. He made excuses to me which did not ring very convincingly.

‘At my time of life one saves oneself the trouble,’ he explained.

‘But, Poirot, my dear fellow, you mustn’t think of yourself as old,’ I protested.

I felt that he needed bracing. Treatment by suggestion – that, I know, is the modern idea.

‘You are as full of vigour as ever you were,’ I said earnestly. ‘You’re in the prime of life, Poirot. At the height of your powers. You could go out and solve this case magnificently if you only would.’

Poirot replied that he preferred to solve it sitting at home.

‘But you can’t do that, Poirot.’

‘Not entirely, it is true.’

‘What I mean is, we are doing nothing! Japp is doing everything.’

‘Which suits me admirably.’ 

‘It doesn’t suit me at all. I want you to be doing things.’

‘So I am.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Waiting.’

‘Waiting for what?’

‘Pour que mon chien de chasse me rapporte le gibier,’ replied Poirot with a twinkle.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean the good Japp. Why keep a dog and bark yourself? Japp brings us here the result of the physical energy you admire so much. He has various means at his disposal which I have not. He will have news for us very soon, I do not doubt.’

By dint of persistent inquiry, it was true that Japp was slowly getting together material. He had drawn a blank in Paris, but a couple of days later he came in looking pleased with himself.

‘It’s slow work,’ he said. ‘But we’re getting somewhere at last.’

‘I congratulate you, my friend. What has happened?’

‘I’ve discovered that a fair-haired lady deposited an attache-case in the cloak-room at Euston at nine o’clock that night. They’ve been shown Miss Adams’ case and identify it positively. It’s of American make and so just a little different.’

‘Ah! Euston. Yes, the nearest of the big stations to Regent Gate. She went there doubtless, made herself up in the lavatory, and then left the case. When was it taken out again?’

‘At half-past ten. The clerk says by the same lady.’

Poirot nodded.

‘And I’ve come on something else too. I’ve reason to believe that Carlotta Adams was in Lyons Corner House in the Strand at eleven o’clock.’

‘Ah! c’est tres bien ca! How did you come across that?’

‘Well, really more or less by chance. You see, there’s been a mention in the papers of the little gold box with the ruby initials. Some reporter wrote it up – he was doing an article on the prevalence of dope-taking among young actresses. Sunday paper romantic stuff. The fatal little gold box with its deadly contents – pathetic figure of a young girl with all the world before her! And just a wonder expressed as to where she passed her last evening and how she felt and so on and so on.

‘Well, it seems a waitress at the Corner House read this and she remembered that a lady she had served that evening had had such a box in her hand. She remembered the C.A. on it. And she got excited and began talking to all her friends – perhaps a paper would give her something?

‘A young newspaper man soon got on to it and there’s going to be a good sobstuff article in tonight’s Evening Shriek. The last hours of the talented actress. Waiting – for the man who never came – and a good bit about the actress’s sympathetic intuition that something was not well with her sister woman. You know the kind of bilge, M. Poirot?’

‘And how has it come to your ears so quickly?’

‘Oh! well, we’re on very good terms with the Evening Shriek. It got passed on to me while their particular bright young man tried to get some news out of me about something else. So I rushed along to the Corner House straight away–’

Yes, that was the way things ought to be done. I felt a pang of pity for Poirot. Here was Japp getting all this news at first hand – quite possibly missing valuable details, and here was Poirot placidly content with stale news.

‘I saw the girl – and I don’t think there’s much doubt about it. She couldn’t pick out Carlotta Adams’ photograph, but then she said she didn’t notice the lady’s face particularly. She was young and dark and slim, and very well dressed, the girl said. Had got on one of the new hats. I wish women looked at faces a bit more and hats a bit less.’

‘The face of Miss Adams is not an easy one to observe,’ said Poirot. ‘It had the mobility, the sensitiveness – the fluid quality.’

‘I daresay you’re right. I don’t go in for analysing these things. Dressed in black the lady was, so the girl said, and she had an attache-case with her. The girl noticed that particularly, because it struck her as odd that a lady so well dressed should be carrying a case about. She ordered some scrambled eggs and some coffee, but the girl thinks she was putting in time and waiting for someone. She’d got a wrist-watch on and she kept looking at it. It was when the girl came to give her the bill that she noticed the box. The lady took it out of her handbag and had it on the table looking at it. She opened the lid and shut it down again. She was smiling in a pleased dreamy sort of way. The girl noticed the box particularly because it was such a lovely thing. “I’d like to have a gold box with my initials in rubies on it!” she said.

‘Apparently Miss Adams sat there some time after paying her bill. Then, finally, she looked at her watch once more, seemed to give it up and went out.’

Poirot was frowning.

‘It was a rendez-vous,’ he murmured. ‘A rendez-vous with someone who did not turn up. Did Carlotta Adams meet that person afterwards? Or did she fail to meet him and go home and try to ring him up? I wish I knew – oh! how I wish I knew.’

‘That’s your theory, M. Poirot. Mysterious Man-in-the-Background. That Man-in-the-Background’s a myth. I don’t say she mayn’t have been waiting for someone – that’s possible. She may have made an appointment to meet someone there after her business with his lordship was settled satisfactorily. Well, we know what happened. She lost her head and stabbed him. But she’s not one to lose her head for long. She changes her appearance at the station, gets out the case, goes to the rendezvous, and then what they call the “reaction” gets her. Horror of what she’d done. And when her friend doesn’t turn up, that finished her. He may be someone who knew she was going to Regent Gate that evening. She feels the game’s up. So she takes out her little box of dope. An overdose of that and it’ll be all over. At any rate she won’t be hanged. Why, it’s as plain as the nose on your face.’

Poirot’s hand strayed doubtfully to his nose, then his fingers dropped to his moustaches. He caressed them tenderly with a proud expression.