Hercule Poirot: The Complete Short Stories

‘Well, as everyone knows, Mr Davenheim did not return. Early on Sunday morning the police were communicated with, but could make neither head nor tail of the matter. Mr Davenheim seemed literally to have vanished into thin air. He had not been to the post office; nor had he been seen passing through the village. At the station they were positive he had not departed by any train. His own motor had not left the garage. If he had hired a car to meet him in some lonely spot, it seems almost certain that by this time, in view of the large reward offered for information, the driver of it would have come forward to tell what he knew. True, there was a small race-meeting at Entfield, five miles away, and if he had walked to that station he might have passed unnoticed in the crowd. But since then his photograph and a full description of him have been circulated in every newspaper, and nobody has been able to give any news of him. We have, of course, received many letters from all over England, but each clue, so far, has ended in disappointment.

‘On Monday morning a further sensational discovery came to light. Behind a portière in Mr Davenheim’s study stands a safe, and that safe had been broken into and rifled. The windows were fastened securely on the inside, which seems to put an ordinary burglary out of court, unless, of course, an accomplice within the house fastened them again afterwards. On the other hand, Sunday having intervened, and the household being in a state of chaos, it is likely that the burglary was committed on the Saturday, and remained undetected until Monday.’

‘Précisément,’ said Poirot dryly. ‘Well, is he arrested, ce pauvre M Lowen?’

Japp grinned. ‘Not yet. But he’s under pretty close supervision.’

Poirot nodded. ‘What was taken from the safe? Have you any idea?’

‘We’ve been going into that with the junior partner of the firm and Mrs Davenheim. Apparently there was a considerable amount in bearer bonds, and a very large sum in notes, owing to some large transaction having been just carried through. There was also a small fortune in jewellery. All Mrs Davenheim’s jewels were kept in the safe. The purchasing of them had become a passion with her husband of late years, and hardly a month passed that he did not make her a present of some rare and costly gem.’

‘Altogether a good haul,’ said Poirot thoughtfully. ‘Now, what about Lowen? Is it known what his business was with Davenheim that evening?’

‘Well, the two men were apparently not on very good terms. Lowen is a speculator in quite a small way. Nevertheless, he has been able once or twice to score a coup off Davenheim in the market, though it seems they seldom or never actually met. It was a matter concerning some South American shares which led the banker to make his appointment.’

‘Had Davenheim interests in South America, then?’

‘I believe so. Mrs Davenheim happened to mention that he spent all last autumn in Buenos Aires.’

‘Any trouble in his home life? Were the husband and wife on good terms?’

‘I should say his domestic life was quite peaceful and uneventful. Mrs Davenheim is a pleasant, rather unintelligent woman. Quite a nonentity, I think.’

‘Then we must not look for the solution of the mystery there. Had he any enemies?’

‘He had plenty of financial rivals, and no doubt there are many people whom he has got the better of who bear him no particular goodwill. But there was no one likely to make away with him – and, if they had, where is the body?’

‘Exactly. As Hastings says, bodies have a habit of coming to light with fatal persistency.’

‘By the way, one of the gardeners says he saw a figure going round to the side of the house towards the rose-garden. The long french window of the study opens on to the rose-garden, and Mr Davenheim frequently entered and left the house that way. But the man was a good way off, at work on some cucumber frames, and cannot even say whether it was the figure of his master or not. Also, he cannot fix the time with any accuracy. It must have been before six, as the gardeners cease work at that time.’

‘And Mr Davenheim left the house?’

‘About half-past five or thereabouts.’

‘What lies beyond the rose-garden?’

‘A lake.’

‘With a boathouse?’

‘Yes, a couple of punts are kept there. I suppose you’re thinking of suicide, Monsieur Poirot? Well, I don’t mind telling you that Miller’s going down tomorrow expressly to see that piece of water dragged. That’s the kind of man he is!’

Poirot smiled faintly, and turned to me. ‘Hastings, I pray you, hand me that copy of Daily Megaphone. If I remember rightly, there is an unusually clear photograph there of the missing man.’

I rose, and found the sheet required. Poirot studied the features attentively.

‘H’m!’ he murmured. ‘Wears his hair rather long and wavy, full moustache and pointed beard, bushy eyebrows. Eyes dark?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hair and beard turning grey?’

The detective nodded. ‘Well, Monsieur Poirot, what have you got to say to it all? Clear as daylight, eh?’

‘On the contrary, most obscure.’

The Scotland Yard man looked pleased.

‘Which gives me great hopes of solving it,’ finished Poirot placidly.

‘Eh?’

‘I find it a good sign when a case is obscure. If a thing is clear as daylight – eh bien, mistrust it! Someone has made it so.’

Japp shook his head almost pityingly. ‘Well, each to their fancy. But it’s not a bad thing to see your way clear ahead.’

‘I do not see,’ murmured Poirot. ‘I shut my eyes – and think.’

Japp sighed. ‘Well, you’ve got a clear week to think in.’

‘And you will bring me any fresh developments that arise – the result of the labours of the hard-working and lynx-eyed Inspector Miller, for instance?’

‘Certainly. That’s in the bargain.’

‘Seems a shame, doesn’t it?’ said Japp to me as I accompanied him to the door. ‘Like robbing a child!’

I could not help agreeing with a smile. I was still smiling as I re-entered the room.

‘Eh bien!’ said Poirot immediately. ‘You make fun of Papa Poirot, is it not so?’ He shook his finger at me. ‘You do not trust his grey cells? Ah, do not be confused! Let us discuss this little problem – incomplete as yet, I admit, but already showing one or two points of interest.’

‘The lake!’ I said significantly.

‘And even more than the lake, the boathouse!’

I looked sidewise at Poirot. He was smiling in his most inscrutable fashion. I felt that, for the moment, it would be quite useless to question him further.

We heard nothing of Japp until the following evening, when he walked in about nine o’clock. I saw at once by his expression that he was bursting with news of some kind.

‘Eh bien, my friend,’ remarked Poirot. ‘All goes well? But do not tell me that you have discovered the body of Mr Davenheim in your lake, because I shall not believe you.’

‘We haven’t found the body, but we did find his clothes – the identical clothes he was wearing that day. What do you say to that?’

‘Any other clothes missing from the house?’

‘No, his valet was quite positive on that point. The rest of his wardrobe is intact. There’s more. We’ve arrested Lowen. One of the maids, whose business it is to fasten the bedroom windows, declares that she saw Lowen coming towards the study through the rose-garden about a quarter past six. That would be about ten minutes before he left the house.’

‘What does he himself say to that?’