Death in the Clouds (Hercule Poirot 12)

‘I thought of that. It was one of the reasons for my telephone call. George Leman, Giselle’s blackguard of a husband, was killed in the early days of the war.’

He paused and then remarked abruptly:

‘What was it that I just said—not my last remark—the one before?—I have an idea that—without knowing it—I said something of significance.’

Fournier repeated as well as he could the substance of Poirot’s remarks, but the little man shook his head in a dissatisfied manner.

‘No—no—it was not that. Well, no matter…’

He turned to Jane and engaged her in conversation.

At the close of the meal he suggested that they have coffee in the lounge.

Jane agreed and stretched out her hand for her bag and gloves, which were on the table. As she picked them up she winced slightly.

‘What is it, Mademoiselle?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ laughed Jane. ‘It’s only a jagged nail. I must file it.’

Poirot sat down again very suddenly.

‘Nom d’un nom d’un nom,’ he said quietly.

The other two stared at him in surprise.

‘M. Poirot?’ cried Jane. ‘What is it?’

‘It is,’ said Poirot, ‘that I remember now why the face of Anne Morisot is familiar to me. I have seen her before…in the aeroplane on the day of the murder. Lady Horbury sent for her to get a nail file. Anne Morisot was Lady Horbury’s maid.’

Chapter 25

‘I Am Afraid’

This sudden revelation had an almost stunning effect on the three people sitting round the luncheon table. It opened up an entirely new aspect of the case.

Instead of being a person wholly remote from the tragedy, Anne Morisot was now shown to have been actually present on the scene of the crime. It took a minute or two for everyone to readjust their ideas.

Poirot made a frantic gesture with his hands—his eyes closed—his face contorted in agony.

‘A little minute—a little minute,’ he implored them. ‘I have got to think, to see, to realize how this affects my ideas of the case. I must go back in my mind. I must remember…A thousand maledictions on my unfortunate stomach. I was preoccupied only with my internal sensations!’

‘She was actually on the plane, then,’ said Fournier. ‘I see. I begin to see.’

‘I remember,’ said Jane. ‘A tall, dark girl.’ Her eyes half closed in an effort of memory. ‘Madeleine, Lady Horbury called her.’

‘That is it, Madeleine,’ said Poirot.

‘Lady Horbury sent her along to the end of the plane to fetch a case—a scarlet dressing-case.’

‘You mean,’ said Fournier, ‘that this girl went right past the seat where her mother was sitting?’

‘That is right.’

‘The motive,’ said Fournier. He gave a great sigh.

‘And the opportunity…Yes, it is all there.’

Then with a sudden vehemence most unlike his usual melancholy manner, he brought down his hand with a bang on the table.