The Incredible Theft: A Hercule Poirot Short Story

The Incredible Theft: A Hercule Poirot Short Story
Agatha Christie

A classic Agatha Christie short story, available individually for the first time as an ebook.Plans for a secret bomber plane have been stolen from a minister’s house. Poirot is called to discreetly investigate the guests and to locate the plans before they fall into the enemy’s hands…

The Incredible Theft

A Short Story

by Agatha Christie

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Copyright © 1999 Agatha Christie Ltd.

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Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2013 ISBN 9780007526406

Version: 2017-04-15

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Contents

Cover (#uea76028b-eb0e-5b30-9cc1-14893cf38209)

Title Page (#u57867164-71bf-51e1-bec8-2c076d7868ac)

Copyright

The Incredible Theft (#u73c67920-4062-5806-b38f-8ee74a4b893f)

Releated Products (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

The Incredible Theft (#ulink_3ce66d7f-c0da-53c3-b1d2-3001181aca69)

‘The Incredible Theft’ is an expanded version of the story ‘The Submarine Plans’ which was first published in The Sketch, 7 November 1923.

As the butler handed round the soufflé, Lord Mayfield leaned confidentially towards his neighbour on the right, Lady Julia Carrington. Known as a perfect host, Lord Mayfield took trouble to live up to his reputation. Although unmarried, he was always charming to women.

Lady Julia Carrington was a woman of forty, tall, dark and vivacious. She was very thin, but still beautiful. Her hands and feet in particular were exquisite. Her manner was abrupt and restless, that of a woman who lived on her nerves.

About opposite to her at the round table sat her husband, Air Marshal Sir George Carrington. His career had begun in the Navy, and he still retained the bluff breeziness of the ex-Naval man. He was laughing and chaffing the beautiful Mrs Vanderlyn, who was sitting on the other side of her host.

Mrs Vanderlyn was an extremely good-looking blonde. Her voice held a soupçon of American accent, just enough to be pleasant without undue exaggeration.

On the other side of Sir George Carrington sat Mrs Macatta, M.P. Mrs Macatta was a great authority on Housing and Infant Welfare. She barked out short sentences rather than spoke them, and was generally of somewhat alarming aspect. It was perhaps natural that the Air Marshal would find his right-hand neighbour the pleasanter to talk to.

Mrs Macatta, who always talked shop wherever she was, barked out short spates of information on her special subjects to her left-hand neighbour, young Reggie Carrington.

Reggie Carrington was twenty-one, and completely uninterested in Housing, Infant Welfare, and indeed any political subject. He said at intervals, ‘How frightful!’ and ‘I absolutely agree with you,’ and his mind was clearly elsewhere. Mr Carlile, Lord Mayfield’s private secretary, sat between young Reggie and his mother. A pale young man with pince-nez and an air of intelligent reserve, he talked little, but was always ready to fling himself into any conversational breach. Noticing that Reggie Carrington was struggling with a yawn, he leaned forward and adroitly asked Mrs Macatta a question about her ‘Fitness for Children’ scheme.

Round the table, moving silently in the subdued amber light, a butler and two footmen offered dishes and filled up wine-glasses. Lord Mayfield paid a very high salary to his chef, and was noted as a connoisseur of wines.

The table was a round one, but there was no mistaking who was the host. Where Lord Mayfield sat was so very decidedly the head of the table. A big man, square-shouldered, with thick silvery hair, a big straight nose and a slightly prominent chin. It was a face that lent itself easily to caricature. As Sir Charles McLaughlin, Lord Mayfield had combined a political career with being the head of a big engineering firm. He was himself a first-class engineer. His peerage had come a year ago, and at the same time he had been created first Minister of Armaments, a new ministry which had only just come into being.

The dessert had been placed on the table. The port had circulated once. Catching Mrs Vanderlyn’s eye, Lady Julia rose. The three women left the room.

The port passed once more, and Lord Mayfield referred lightly to pheasants. The conversation for five minutes or so was sporting. Then Sir George said:

‘Expect you’d like to join the others in the drawing-room, Reggie, my boy. Lord Mayfield won’t mind.’

The boy took the hint easily enough.

‘Thanks, Lord Mayfield, I think I will.’

Mr Carlile mumured:

‘If you’ll excuse me, Lord Mayfield – certain memoranda and other work to get through …’

Lord Mayfield nodded. The two young men left the room. The servants had retired some time before. The Minister for Armaments and the head of the Air Force were alone.

After a minute or two, Carrington said:

‘Well – O.K.?’

‘Absolutely! There’s nothing to touch this new bomber in any country in Europe.’

‘Make rings round ’em, eh? That’s what I thought.’

‘Supremacy of the air,’ said Lord Mayfield decisively.

Sir George Carrington gave a deep sigh.

‘About time! You know, Charles, we’ve been through a ticklish spell. Lots of gunpowder everywhere all over Europe. And we weren’t ready, damn it! We’ve had a narrow squeak. And we’re not out of the wood yet, however much we hurry on construction.’

Lord Mayfield murmured:

‘Nevertheless, George, there are some advantages in starting late. A lot of the European stuff is out of date already – and they’re perilously near bankruptcy.’

‘I don’t believe that means anything,’ said Sir George gloomily. ‘One’s always hearing this nation and that is bankrupt! But they carry on just the same. You know, finance is an absolute mystery to me.’

Lord Mayfield’s eyes twinkled a little. Sir George Carrington was always so very much the old fashioned ‘bluff, honest old sea dog’. There were people who said that it was a pose he deliberately adopted.