Death in the Clouds (Hercule Poirot 12)

Aloud he said rather insolently:

‘Quite so—well, what about it, Lady Horbury?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Come, come. Must we really go into details? Everyone knows how pleasant a—well, call it a weekend at the seaside—can be; but husbands seldom agree. I think you know, Lady Horbury, just exactly what the evidence consists of. Wonderful woman, old Giselle. Always had the goods. Hotel evidence, etc., is quite first class. Now the question is who wants it most—you or Lord Horbury? That’s the question.’

She stood there quivering.

‘I’m a seller,’ said Norman, his voice growing commoner as he threw himself more whole-heartedly into the part of Mr Robinson. ‘Are you a buyer? That’s the question.’

‘How did you get hold of this—evidence?’

‘Now really, Lady Horbury, that’s rather beside the point. I’ve got it, that’s the main thing.’

‘I don’t believe you. Show it to me.’

‘Oh, no.’ Norman shook his head with a cunning leer. ‘I didn’t bring anything with me. I’m not so green as that. If we agree to do business, that’s another matter. I’ll show you the stuff before you hand the money over. All fair and above board.’

‘How—how much?’

‘Ten thousand of the best—pounds, not dollars.’

‘Impossible. I could never lay my hands on anything like that amount.’

‘It’s wonderful what you can do if you try. Jewels aren’t fetching what they did, but pearls are still pearls. Look here, to oblige a lady I’ll make it eight thousand. That’s my last word. And I’ll give you two days to think it over.’

‘I can’t get the money, I tell you.’

Norman sighed and shook his head.

‘Well, perhaps it’s only right Lord Horbury should know what’s been going on. I believe I’m correct in saying that a divorced woman gets no alimony—and Mr Barraclough’s a very promising young actor, but he’s not touching big money. Now not another word. I’ll leave you to think it over; and mind what I say—I mean it.’

He paused and then added:

‘I mean it, just as Giselle meant it…’

Then quickly, before the wretched woman could reply, he had left the room.

‘Ouch!’ said Norman as he reached the street. He wiped his brow. ‘Thank goodness that’s over.’

III

It was a bare hour later when a card was brought to Lady Horbury.

‘M. Hercule Poirot.’

She thrust it aside. ‘Who is he? I can’t see him!’

‘He said, m’lady, that he was here at the request of Mr Raymond Barraclough.’

‘Oh.’ She paused. ‘Very well, show him in.’

The butler departed, reappeared.

‘M. Hercule Poirot.’

Exquisitely dressed in the most dandiacal style, M. Poirot entered, bowed.