Yellow Iris: A Hercule Poirot Short Story

‘Come, sit with me. Let us discourse of crime! Let us go further and drink to crime.’ He poured champagne into an empty glass. ‘But what are you doing in this haunt of song and dance and merriment, my dear Poirot? We have no bodies here, positively not a single body to offer you.’

Poirot sipped the champagne.

‘You seem very gay, mon cher?’

‘Gay? I am steeped in misery – wallowing in gloom. Tell me, you hear this tune they are playing. You recognize it?’

Poirot hazarded cautiously:

‘Something perhaps to do with your baby having left you?’

‘Not a bad guess,’ said the young man. ‘But wrong for once. “There’s nothing like love for making you miserable!” That’s what it’s called.’

‘Aha?’

‘My favourite tune,’ said Tony Chapell mournfully. ‘And my favourite restaurant and my favourite band – and my favourite girl’s here and she’s dancing it with somebody else.’

‘Hence the melancholy?’ said Poirot.

‘Exactly. Pauline and I, you see, have had what the vulgar call words. That is to say, she’s had ninety-five words to five of mine out of every hundred. My five are: “But, darling – I can explain.” – Then she starts in on her ninety-five again and we get no further. I think,’ added Tony sadly, ‘that I shall poison myself.’

‘Pauline?’ murmured Poirot.

‘Pauline Weatherby. Barton Russell’s young sister-in-law. Young, lovely, disgustingly rich. Tonight Barton Russell gives a party. You know him? Big Business, clean-shaven American – full of pep and personality. His wife was Pauline’s sister.’

‘And who else is there at this party?’

‘You’ll meet ’em in a minute when the music stops. There’s Lola Valdez – you know, the South American dancer in the new show at the Metropole, and there’s Stephen Carter. D’you know Carter – he’s in the diplomatic service. Very hush-hush. Known as silent Stephen. Sort of man who says, “I am not at liberty to state, etc, etc.” Hullo, here they come.’

Poirot rose. He was introduced to Barton Russell, to Stephen Carter, to Señora Lola Valdez, a dark and luscious creature, and to Pauline Weatherby, very young, very fair, with eyes like cornflowers.

Barton Russell said: