Death in the Clouds (Hercule Poirot 12)

‘What was the solution? Obviously that the murderer wanted the blowpipe to be found.

‘But why? Only one answer seemed logical. If a poisoned dart and a blowpipe were found, it would naturally be assumed that the murder had been committed by a thorn shot from a blowpipe. Therefore in reality the murder had not been committed that way.

‘On the other hand, as medical evidence was to show, the cause of death was undoubtedly the poisoned thorn. I shut my eyes and asked myself—what is the surest and most reliable way of placing a poisoned thorn in the jugular vein? And the answer came immediately: By hand.

‘And that immediately threw light on the necessity for the finding of the blowpipe. The blowpipe inevitably conveyed the suggestion of distance. If my theory was right, the person who killed Madame Giselle was a person who went right up to her table and bent over her.

‘Was there such a person? Yes, there were two people. The two stewards. Either of them could go up to Madame Giselle, lean towards her, and nobody would notice anything unusual.

‘Was there anyone else?

‘Well, there was Mr Clancy. He was the only person in the car who had passed immediately by Madame Giselle’s seat—and I remembered that it was he who had first drawn attention to the blowpipe and thorn theory.’

Mr Clancy sprang to his feet.

‘I protest,’ he cried. ‘I protest. This is an outrage.’

‘Sit down,’ said Poirot. ‘I have not finished yet. I have to show you all the steps by which I arrived at my conclusion.

‘I had now three persons as possible suspects—Mitchell, Davis, and Mr Clancy. None of them at first sight appeared likely murderers, but there was much investigation to be done.

‘I next turned my mind to the possibilities of the wasp. It was suggestive, that wasp. To begin with, no one had noticed it until about the time coffee was served. That in itself was rather curious. I constructed a certain theory of the crime. The murderer presented to the world two separate solutions of the tragedy. On the first or simplest, Madame Giselle was stung by a wasp and had succumbed to heart failure. The success of that solution depended on whether or no the murderer was in a position to retrie

ve the thorn. Japp and I agreed that that could be done easily enough—so long as no suspicion of foul play had arisen. There was the particular colouring of silk which I had no doubt was deliberately substituted for the original cerise so as to simulate the appearance of a wasp.

‘Our murderer, then, approaches the victim’s table, inserts the thorn and releases the wasp! The poison is so powerful that death would occur almost immediately. If Giselle cried out—it would probably not be heard owing to the noise of the plane. If it was just noticed, well, there was the wasp buzzing about to explain the cry. The poor woman had been stung.

‘That, as I say, was plan No. 1. But supposing that, as actually happened, the poisoned thorn was discovered before the murderer could retrieve it. In that case the fat is in the fire. The theory of the natural death is impossible. Instead of getting rid of the blowpipe through the window, it is put in a place where it is bound to be discovered when the plane is searched; and at once it will be assumed that the blowpipe was the instrument of the crime. The proper atmosphere of distance will be created and when the blowpipe is traced it will focus suspicion in a definite and prearranged direction.

‘I had now my theory of the crime, and I had three suspects with a barely possible fourth—M. Jean Dupont, who had outlined the “Death by a Wasp Sting theory”, and who was sitting on the gangway so near Giselle that he might just possibly have moved from it without being noticed. On the other hand, I did not really think he would have dared to take such a risk.

‘I concentrated on the problem of the wasp. If the murderer had brought the wasp on to the plane and released it at the psychological moment—he must have had something in the nature of a small box in which to keep it.

‘Hence my interest in the contents of the passengers’ pockets and hand luggage.

‘And here I came up against a totally unexpected development. I found what I was looking for—but as it seemed to me on the wrong person. There was an empty small-sized Bryant & May’s match-box in Mr Norman Gale’s pocket. But by everybody’s evidence Mr Gale had never passed down the gangway of the car. He had only visited the toilet compartment and returned to his own seat.

‘Nevertheless, although it seems impossible, there was a method by which Mr Gale could have commited the crime—as the contents of his attaché case showed.’

‘My attaché case?’ said Norman Gale. He looked amused and puzzled. ‘Why, I don’t even remember now what was in it.’

Poirot smiled at him amiably.

‘Wait a little minute. I will come to that. I am telling you my first ideas.

‘To proceed—I had four persons who could have done the crime—from the point of view of possibility: the two stewards, Clancy and Gale.

‘I now looked at the case from the opposite angle—that of motive—if a motive were to coincide with a possibility—well, I had my murderer! But alas, I could find nothing of the kind. My friend Japp has accused me of liking to make things difficult. On the contrary, I approached this question of motive with all the simplicity in the world. To whose benefit would it be if Madame Giselle were removed? Clearly to her unknown daughter’s benefit—since that unknown daughter would inherit a fortune. There were also certain persons who were in Madame Giselle’s power, or shall we say—who might be in Giselle’s power, for aught we knew. That, then, was a task of elimination. Of the passengers in the plane I could only be certain of one who was undoubtedly mixed up with Giselle. That one was Lady Horbury.

‘In Lady Horbury’s case the motive was very clear. She had visited Giselle at her house in Paris the night before. She was desperate and she had a friend, a young actor, who might easily have impersonated the American who bought the blowpipe—and might also have bribed the clerk in Universal Airlines to ensure that Giselle travelled by the 12 o’clock service.

‘I had, as it were, a problem in two halves. I did not see how it was possible for Lady Horbury to commit the crime; and I could not see for what motive the stewards, Mr Clancy, or Mr Gale should want to commit it.

‘Always, in the back of my mind, I considered the problem of Giselle’s unknown daughter and heiress. Were any of my four suspects married—and if so, could one of the wives be this Anne Morisot? If her father was English, the girl might have been brought up in England. Mitchell’s wife I soon dismissed—she was of good old Dorset stock. Davis was courting a girl whose father and mother were alive. Mr Clancy was not married. Mr Gale was obviously head over ears in love with Miss Jane Grey.

‘I may say that I investigated the antecedents of Miss Grey very carefully, having learned from her in casual conversation that she had been brought up in an orphanage near Dublin. But I soon satisfied myself that Miss Grey was not Madame Giselle’s daughter.

‘I made out a table of results—the stewards had neither gained nor lost by Madame Giselle’s death—except that Mitchell was obviously suffering from shock. Mr Clancy was planning a book on the subject by which he hoped to make money. Mr Gale was fast losing his practice. Nothing very helpful there.