Murder in the Mews (Hercule Poirot 18)

“Naturally. The girl isn’t a fool, whatever else she is. Anything else gone?”

Poirot nodded his head.

“Yes, my friend—the little attaché case!”

The accelerator leaped under Japp’s foot.

“Damnation!” he said. “I knew there was something. But what the devil is it? I searched that case pretty thoroughly.”

“My poor Japp—but it is—how do you say, ‘obvious, my dear Watson?’ ”

Japp threw him an exasperated look.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Poirot consulted his watch.

“It is not yet four o’clock. We could get to Wentworth, I think, before it is dark.”

“Do you think she re

ally went there?”

“I think so—yes. She would know that we might make inquiries. Oh, yes, I think we will find that she has been there.”

Japp grunted.

“Oh well, come on.” He threaded his way dexterously through the traffic. “Though what this attaché case business has to do with the crime I can’t imagine. I can’t see that it’s got anything at all to do with it.”

“Precisely, my friend, I agree with you—it has nothing to do with it.”

“Then why—No, don’t tell me! Order and method and everything nicely rounded off! Oh, well, it’s a fine day.”

The car was a fast one. They arrived at Wentworth Golf Club a little after half past four. There was no great congestion there on a week day.

Poirot went straight to the caddie-master and asked for Miss Plenderleith’s clubs. She would be playing on a different course tomorrow, he explained.

The caddie master raised his voice and a boy sorted through some golf clubs standing in a corner. He finally produced a bag bearing the initials, J.P.

“Thank you,” said Poirot. He moved away, then turned carelessly and asked, “She did not leave with you a small attaché case also, did she?”

“Not today, sir. May have left it in the clubhouse.”

“She was down here today?”

“Oh, yes, I saw her.”

“Which caddie did she have, do you know? She’s mislaid an attaché case and can’t remember where she had it last.”

“She didn’t take a caddie. She came in here and bought a couple of balls. Just took out a couple of irons. I rather fancy she had a little case in her hand then.”

Poirot turned away with a word of thanks. The two men walked round the clubhouse. Poirot stood a moment admiring the view.

“It is beautiful, is it not, the dark pine trees—and then the lake. Yes, the lake—”

Japp gave him a quick glance.

“That’s the idea, is it?”