Death in the Clouds (Hercule Poirot 12) - Page 87
Poirot hesitated, then he said:
‘You are on the right track, yes, but go a little further; and do not forget the wasp.’
‘The wasp?’ Fournier stared. ‘No, there I do not follow you. I cannot see where the wasp comes in.’
‘You cannot see? But it is there that I—’
He broke off as the telephone rang.
He took up the receiver.
‘’Allo, ’allo. Ah, good morning. Yes, it is I myself, Hercule Poirot.’ In an aside to Fournier he said, ‘It is Thibault…’
‘Yes—yes, indeed. Very well. And you? M. Fournier? Quite right. Yes, he has arrived. He is here at this moment.’
Lowering the receiver, he said to Fournier:
‘He tried to get you at the Sûreté. They told him that you had come to see me here. You had better speak to him. He sounds excited.’
Fournier took the telephone.
‘’Allo—’allo. Yes, it is Fournier speaking…What…What…In verity, is that so…? Yes, indeed…Yes…Yes, I am sure he will. We will come round at once.’
He replaced the telephone on its hook and looked across at Poirot.
‘It is the daughter. The daughter of Madame Giselle.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, she has arrived to claim her heritage.’
‘Where has she come from?’
‘America, I understand. Thibault has asked her to return at half past eleven. He suggests we should go round and see him.’
‘Most certainly. We will go immediately…I will leave a note for Mademoiselle Grey.’
He wrote:
Some developments have occurred which force me to go out. If M. Jean Dupont should ring up or call, be amiable to him. Talk of buttons and socks, but not as yet of prehistoric pottery. He admires you; but he is intelligent!
Au revoir,
Hercule Poirot.
‘And now let us come, my friend,’ he said, rising. ‘This is what I have been waiting for—the entry on the scene of the shadowy figure of whose presence I have been conscious all along. Now—soon—I ought to understand everything.’
II
Maître Thibault received Poirot and Fournier with great affability.
After an interchange of compliments and polite questions and answers, the lawyer settled down to the discussion of Madame Giselle’s heiress.
‘I received a letter yesterday,’ he said, ‘and this morning the young lady herself called upon me.’
‘What age is Mademoiselle Morisot?’
‘Mademoiselle Morisot—or rather Mrs Richards—for she is married, is exactly twenty-four years of age.’
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