Death in the Clouds (Hercule Poirot 12)

‘And yet, at that time, I was convinced that Mr Gale was the murderer—there was the empty match-box—the contents of his attaché case. Apparently he lost, not gained, by the death of Giselle. But those appearances might be false appearances.

‘I determined to cultivate his acquaintance. It is my experience that no one, in the course of conversation, can fail to give themselves away sooner or later…Everyone has an irresistible urge to talk about themselves.

‘I tried to gain Mr Gale’s confidence. I pretended to confide in him, and I even enlisted his help. I persuaded him to aid me in the fake blackmailing of Lady Horbury. And it was then that he made his first mistake.

‘I had suggested a slight disguise. He arrived to play his part with a ridiculous and impossible outfit! The whole thing was a farce. No one, I felt sure, could play a part as badly as he was proposing to play one. What then was the reason for this? Because his knowledge of his own guilt made him chary of showing himself to be a good actor. When, however, I had adjusted his ridiculous makeup, his artistic skill showed itself. He played his part perfectly and Lady Horbury did not recognize him. I was convinced then that he could have disguised himself as an American in Paris and could also have played the necessary part in the Prometheus.

‘By this time I was getting seriously worried about Mademoiselle Jane. Either she was in this business with him, or else she was entirely innocent—and in the latter case she was a victim. She might wake up one day to find herself married to a murderer.

With the object of preventing a precipitate marriage, I took Mademoiselle Jane to Paris as my secretary.

‘It was whilst we were there that the missing heiress appeared to claim her fortune. I was haunted by a resemblance that I could not place. I did place it in the end—but too late…

‘At first the discovery that she had actually been in the plane and had lied about it seemed to overthrow all my theories. Here, overwhelmingly, was the guilty person.

‘But if she were guilty she had an accomplice—the man who bought the blowpipe and bribed Jules Perrot.

‘Who was that man? Was it conceivably her husband?

‘And—then—suddenly I saw the true solution. True, that is, if one point could be verified.

‘For my solution to be correct Anne Morisot ought not to have been on the plane.

‘I rang up Lady Horbury and got my answer. The maid, Madeleine, travelled in the plane by a last-minute whim of her mistress.’

He stopped.

Mr Clancy said:

‘Ahem—but—I’m afraid I’m not quite clear.’

‘When did you stop pitching on me as the murderer?’ asked Norman.

Poirot wheeled round on him.

‘I never stopped. You are the murderer…Wait—I will tell you everything. For the last week Japp and I have been busy—It is true that you became a dentist to please your uncle—John Gale. You took his name when you came into partnership with him—but you were his sister’s son—not his brother’s. Your real name is Richards. It was as Richards that you met the girl Anne Morisot at Nice last winter, when she was there with her mistress. The story she told us was true as to the facts of her childhood, but the latter part was edited carefully by you. She did know her mother’s maiden name. Giselle was at Monte Carlo—she was pointed out and her real name was mentioned. You realized that there might be a large fortune to be got. It appealed to your gambler’s nature. It was from Anne Morisot that you learnt of Lady Horbury’s connexion with Giselle. The plan of the crime formed itself in your head. Giselle was to be murdered in such a way that suspicion would fall on Lady Horbury. Your plans matured and finally fructified. You bribed the clerk in Universal Airlines so that Giselle should travel on the same plane as Lady Horbury. Anne Morisot had told you that she herself was going to England by train—you never expected her to be on the plane—and it seriously jeopardized your plans. If it was once known that Giselle’s daughter and heiress had been on the plane suspicion would naturally have fallen upon her. Your original idea was that she should claim the inheritance with a perfect alibi, since she would have been on a train or boat at the time of the crime; and then you would have married her.

‘The girl was by this time infatuated with you. But it was money you were after—not the girl herself.

‘There was another complication to your plans. At Le Pinet you saw Mademoiselle Jane Grey and fell madly in love with her. Your passion for her drove you on to play a much more dangerous game.

‘You intended to have both the money and the girl you loved. You were committing a murder for the sake of money, and you were in no mind to relinquish the fruits of the crime. You frightened Anne Morisot by telling her that if she came forward at once to proclaim her identity she would certainly be suspected of the murder. Instead you induced her to ask for a few days’ leave, and you went together to Rotterdam, where you were married.

‘In due course you primed her how to claim the money. She was to say nothing of her employment as lady’s maid, and it was very clearly to be made plain that she and her husband had been abroad at the time of the murder.

‘Unfortunately, the date planned for Anne Morisot to go to Paris and claim her inheritance coincided with my arrival in Paris, where Miss Grey had accompanied me. That did not suit

your book at all. Either Mademoiselle Jane or myself might recognize in Anne Morisot the Madeleine who had been Lady Horbury’s maid.

‘You tried to get in touch with her in time, but failed. You finally arrived in Paris yourself and found she had already gone to the lawyer. When she returned she told you of her meeting with me. Things were becoming dangerous, and you made up your mind to act quickly.

‘It had been your intention that your new-made wife should not survive her accession to wealth very long. Immediately after the marriage ceremony you had both made wills leaving all you had one to the other! A very touching business.

‘You intended, I fancy, to follow a fairly leisurely course. You would have gone to Canada—ostensibly because of the failure of your practice. There you would have resumed the name of Richards and your wife would have rejoined you. All the same I do not fancy it would have been very long before Mrs Richards regrettably died, leaving a fortune to a seemingly inconsolable widower. You would then have returned to England as Norman Gale, having had the good fortune to make a lucky speculation in Canada! But now you decided that no time must be lost.’

Poirot paused and Norman Gale threw back his head and laughed.

‘You are very clever at knowing what people intend to do! You ought to adopt Mr Clancy’s profession!’ His tone deepened to one of anger. ‘I never heard such a farrago of nonsense. What you imagined, M. Poirot, is hardly evidence!’