Japp slapped his pockets and shook his head.
Laverton-West produced his own cigarette case, murmured, “Er—have one of mine, M. Poirot.”
“Thank you—thank you.” The little man helped himself.
“As you say, M. Poirot,” resumed the other, “we English do not parade our emotions. A stiff upper lip—that is our motto.”
He bowed to the two men and went out.
“Bit of a stuffed fish,” said Japp disgustedly. “And a boiled owl! The Plenderleith girl was quite right about him. Yet he’s a good-looking sort of chap—might go down well with some woman who had no sense of humour. What about that cigarette?”
Poirot handed it over, shaking his head.
“Egyptian. An expensive variety.”
“No, that’s no good. A pity, for I’ve never heard a weaker alibi! In fact, it wasn’t an alibi at all . . . You know, Poirot, it’s a pity the boot wasn’t on the other leg. If she’d been blackmailing him . . . He’s a lovely type for blackmail—would pay out like a lamb! Anything to avoid a scandal.”
“My friend, it is very pretty to reconstruct the case as you would like it to be, but that is not strictly our affair.”
“No, Eustace is our affair. I’ve got a few lines on him. Definitely a nasty fellow.”
“By the way, did you do as I suggested about Miss Plenderleith?”
“Yes. Wait a sec, I’ll ring through and get the latest.”
He picked up the telephone receiver and spoke through it.
After a brief interchange he replaced it and looked up at Poirot.
“Pretty heartless piece of goods. Gone off to play golf. That’s a nice thing to do when your friend’s been murdered only the day before.”
Poirot uttered an exclamation.
“What’s the matter now?” asked Japp.
But Poirot was murmuring to himself.
“Of course . . . of course . . . but naturally . . . What an imbecile I am—why, it leapt to the eye!”
Japp said rudely:
“Stop jabbering to yourself and let’s go and tackle Eustace.”
He was amazed to see the radiant smile that spread over Poirot’s face.
“But—yes—most certainly let us tackle him. For now, see you, I know everything—but everything!”
Eight
Major Eustace received the two men with the easy assurance of a man of the world.
His flat was small, a mere pied à terre, as he explained. He offered the two men a drink and when that was refused he took out his cigarette case.
Both Japp and Poirot accepted a cigarette. A quick glance passed between them.
“You smoke Turkish, I see,” said Japp as he twirled the cigarette between his fingers.
“Yes. I’m sorry, do you prefer a gasper? I’ve got one somewhere about.”