Death in the Clouds (Hercule Poirot 12)

Poirot shot a sideways glance at him.

‘You will not like it,’ he said warningly.

‘What is it?’ repeated the young man impatiently.

Very delicately, so as not to offend English susceptibilities, Poirot used a toothpick. Then he said: ‘Frankly, what I need is a blackmailer.’

‘A blackmailer?’ exclaimed Norman. He stared at Poirot as a man does who cannot believe his ears.

Poirot nodded.

‘Precisely,’ he said. ‘A blackmailer.’

‘But what for?’

‘Parbleu! To blackmail.’

‘Yes, but I mean who? Why?’

‘Why,’ said Poirot, ‘is my business. As to whom—’ He paused for a moment, then went on in a calm business-like tone:

‘Here is the plan I will outline for you. You will write a note—that is to say, I will write a note and you will copy it—to the Countess of Horbury. You will mark it “Personal”. In the note you will ask for an interview. You will recall yourself to her memory as having travelled to England by air on a certain occasion. You will also refer to certain business dealings of Madame Giselle’s having passed into your hands.’

‘And then?’

‘And then you will be accorded an interview. You will go and you will say certain things (in which I will instruct you). You will ask for—let me see—ten thousand pounds.’

‘You’re mad!’

‘Not at all,’ said Poirot. ‘I am eccentric, possibly, but mad, no.’

‘And suppose Lady Horbury sends for the police? I shall go to prison.’

‘She will not send for the police.’

‘You can’t know that.’

‘Mon cher, practically speaking, I know everything.’

‘And, anyway, I don’t like it.’

‘You will not get the ten thousand pounds—if that makes your conscience any clearer,’ said Poirot with a twinkle.

‘Yes, but look here, M. Poirot—this is the sort of wildcat scheme that might ruin me for life.’

‘Ta—ta—ta—the lady will not go to the police—that I assure you.’

‘She may tell her husband.’

‘She will not tell her husband.’

‘I don’t like it.’

‘Do you like losing your patients and ruining your career?’

‘No, but—’

Poirot smiled at him kindly.