Lord Edgware Dies (Hercule Poirot 9)

“So we go to Regent Gate at eleven tomorrow?” I said.

“We?” Poirot raised his eyebrows quizzically.

“Poirot!” I cried. “You are not going to leave me behind. I always go with you.”

“If it were a crime, a mysterious poisoning case, an assassination—ah! these are the things your soul delights in. But a mere matter of social adjustment?”

“Not another word,” I said determinedly. “I’m coming.”

Poirot laughed gently, and at that moment we were told that a gentleman had called.

To our great surprise our visitor proved to be Bryan Martin.

The actor looked older by daylight. He was still handsome, but it was a kind of ravaged handsomeness. It flashed across my mind that he might conceivably take drugs. There was a kind of nervous tension about him that suggested the possibility.

“Good morning, M. Poirot,” he said in a cheerful manner. “You and Captain Hastings breakfast at a reasonable hour, I am glad to see. By the way, I suppose you are very busy just now?”

Poirot smiled at him amiably.

“No,” he said. “At the moment I have practically no business of importance on hand.”

“Come now,” laughed Bryan. “Not called in by Scotland Yard? No delicate matters to investigate for Royalty? I can hardly believe it.”

“You confound fiction with reality, my friend,” said Poirot, smiling. “I am, I assure you, at the moment completely out of work, though not yet on the dole. Dieu merci.”

“Well, that’s luck for me,” said Bryan with another laugh. “Perhaps you’ll take on something for me.”

Poirot considered the young man thoughtfully.

“You have a problem for me—yes?” he said in a minute or two.

“Well—it’s like this. I have and I haven’t.”

This time his laugh was rather nervous. Still considering him thoughtfully, Poirot indicated a chair. The young man took it. He sat facing us, for I had taken a seat by Poirot’s side.

“And now,” said Poirot, “let us hear all about it.”

Bryan Martin still seemed to have a little difficulty in getting under way.

“The trouble is that I can’t tell you quite as much as I’d like to.” He hesitated. “It’s difficult. You see, the whole business started in America.”

“In America? Yes?”

“A mere incident first drew my attention to it. As a matter of fact, I was travelling by train and I noticed a certain fellow. Ugly little chap, clean-shaven, glasses, and a gold tooth.”

“Ah! a gold tooth.”

“Exactly. That’s really the crux of the matter.”

Poirot nodded his head several times.

“I begin to comprehend. Go on.”

“Well, as I say. I just noticed the fellow. I was travelling, by the way, to New York. Six months later I was in Los Angeles, and I noticed the fellow again. Don’t know why I should have—but I did. Still, nothing in that.”

“Continue.”

“A month afterwards I had occasion to go to Seattle, and shortly after I got there who should I see but my friend again, only this time he wore a beard.”

“Distinctly curious.”

“Wasn’t it? Of course I didn’t fancy it had anything to do with me at that time, but when I saw the man again in Los Angeles, beardless, in Chicago with a moustache and different eyebrows and in a mountain village disguised as a hobo—well, I began to wonder.”

“Naturally.”

“And at last—well, it seemed odd—but not a doubt about it. I was being what you call shadowed.”

“Most remarkable.”

“Wasn’t it? After that I made sure of it. Wherever I was, there, somewhere near at hand, was my shadow made up in different disguises. Fortunately, owing to the gold tooth, I could always spot him.”

“Ah! that gold tooth, it was a very fortunate occurrence.”

“It was.”

“Pardon me, M. Martin, but did you never speak to the man? Question him as to the reason of his persistent shadowing?”

“No, I didn’t.” The actor hesitated. “I thought of doing so once or twice, but I always decided against it. It seemed to me that I should merely put the fellow on his guard and learn nothing. Possibly once they had discovered that I had spotted him, they would have put someone else on my track—someone whom I might not recognize.”

“En effet…someone without that useful gold tooth.”

“Exactly. I may have been wrong—but that’s how I figured it out.”

“Now, M. Martin, you referred to ‘they’ just now. Whom did you mean by ‘they?’”

“It was a mere figure of speech used for convenience. I assumed—I don’t know why—a nebulous ‘they’ in the background.”

“Have you any reason for that belief?”

“None.”

“You mean you have no conception of who could want you shadowed or for what purpose?”

“Not the slightest idea. At least—”

“Continuez,” said Poirot encouragingly.

“I have an idea,” said Bryan Martin slowly. “It’s a mere guess on my part, mind.”

“A guess may be very successful sometimes, Monsieur.”

“It concerns a certain incident that took place in London about two years ago. It was a slight incident, but an inexplicable and an unforgettable one. I’ve often wondered and puzzled over it. Just because I could find no explanation of it at the time, I am inclined to wonder if this shadowing business might not be connected in some way with it—but for the life of me I can’t see why or how.”

“Perhaps I can.”

“Yes, but you see—” Bryan Martin’s embarrassment returned. “The awkward thing is that I can’t tell you about it—not now, that is. In a day or so I might be able to.”

Stung into further speech by Poirot’s inquiring glance he continued desperately.

“You see—a girl was concerned in it.”

“Ah! parfaitement! An English girl?”

“Yes. At least—why?”

“Very simple. You cannot tell me now, but you hope to do so in a day or two. That means that you want to obtain the consent of the young lady. Therefore she is in England. Also, she must have been in England during the time you were shadowed, for if she had been in America you would have sought her out then and there. Therefore, since she has been in England for the last eighteen months she is probably, though not certainly, English. It is good reasoning that, eh?”

“Rather. Now tell me, M. Poirot, if I get her permission, will you look into the matter for me?”

There was a pause. Poirot seemed to be debating the matter in his mind. Finally he said:

“Why have you come to me before going to her?”

“Well, I thought—” he hesitated. “I wanted to persuade her to—to clear things up—I mean to let things be cleared up by you. What I mean is, if you investigate the affair, nothing need be made public, need it?”

“That depends,” said Poirot calmly.

“What do you mean?”

“If there is any question of crime—”

“Oh! there’s no crime concerned.”

“You do not know. There may be.”

“But you would do your best for her—for us?”

“That, naturally.”

He was silent for a moment and then said:

“Tell me, this follower of yours—this shadow—of what age was he?”

“Oh! quite youngish. About thirty.”

“Ah!” said Poirot. “That is indeed remarkable. Yes, that makes the whole thing very much more interesting.”

I stared at him. So did Bryan Martin. This remark of his was, I am sure, equally unexplicable to us both. Bryan questioned me with a lift of the eyebrows. I shook my head.

“Yes,” murmured Poirot. “It makes the whole story very interesting.”

“He may have been older,” said Bryan doubtfully, “but I don’t think so.”

?

??No, no, I am sure your observation is quite accurate, M. Martin. Very interesting—extraordinarily interesting.”

Rather taken aback by Poirot’s enigmatical words, Bryan Martin seemed at a loss what to say or do next. He started making desultory conversation.

“An amusing party the other night,” he said. “Jane Wilkinson is the most high-handed woman that ever existed.”

“She has the single vision,” said Poirot, smiling. “One thing at a time.”

“She gets away with it, too,” said Martin. “How people stand it, I don’t know!”

“One will stand a good deal from a beautiful woman, my friend,” said Poirot with a twinkle. “If she had the pug nose, the sallow skin, the greasy hair, then—ah! then she would not ‘get away with it’ as you put it.”

“I suppose not,” conceded Bryan. “But it makes me mad sometimes. All the same, I’m devoted to Jane, though in some ways, mind you, I don’t think she’s quite all there.”

“On the contrary, I should say she was very much on the spot.”

“I don’t mean that, exactly. She can look after her interests all right. She’s got plenty of business shrewdness. No, I mean morally.”

“Ah! morally.”