“You arranged the robbery. Pretended to see the thief on the terrace—thereby clearing Carlile of suspicion. Even if he had not left the room, the desk was so near the window that a thief might have taken the plans while Carlile was busy at the safe with his back turned. You walked over to the desk, took the plans and kept them on your own person until the moment when, by prearranged plan, you slipped them into Mrs. Vanderlyn’s dressing case. In return she handed you the fatal letter disguised as an unposted letter of her own.”
Poirot stopped.
Lord Mayfield said:
“Your knowledge is very complete, M. Poirot. You must think me an unutterable skunk.”
Poirot made a quick gesture.
“No, no, Lord Mayfield. I think, as I said, that you are a very clever man. It came to me suddenly as we talked here last night. You are a first-class engineer. There will be, I think, some subtle alterations in the specifications of that bomber, alterations done so skilfully that it will be difficult to grasp why the machine is not the success it ought to be. A certain foreign power will find the type a failure . . . It will be a disappointment to them, I am sure. . . .”
Again there was a silence—then Lord Mayfield said:
“You are much too clever, M. Poirot. I will only ask you to believe one thing. I have faith in myself. I believe that I am the man to guide England through the days of crisis that I see coming. If I did not honestly believe that I am needed by my country to steer the ship of state, I would not have done what I have done—made the best of both worlds—saved myself from disaster by a clever trick.”
“My lord,” said Poirot, “if you could not make the best of both worlds, you could not be a politician!”
/> DEAD MAN’S MIRROR
One
I
The flat was a modern one. The furnishings of the room were modern, too. The armchairs were squarely built, the upright chairs were angular. A modern writing table was set squarely in front of the window, and at it sat a small, elderly man. His head was practically the only thing in the room that was not square. It was egg-shaped.
M. Hercule Poirot was reading a letter:
Station: Whimperley.
Hamborough Close,
Telegrams:
Hamborough St. Mary
Hamborough St. John.
Westshire.
September 24th, 1936.
M. Hercule Poirot.
Dear Sir,—A matter has arisen which requires handling with great delicacy and discretion. I have heard good accounts of you, and have decided to entrust the matter to you. I have reason to believe that I am the victim of fraud, but for family reasons I do not wish to call in the police. I am taking certain measures of my own to deal with the business, but you must be prepared to come down here immediately on receipt of a telegram. I should be obliged if you will not answer this letter.
Yours faithfully,
Gervase Chevenix-Gore.
The eyebrows of M. Hercule Poirot climbed slowly up his forehead until they nearly disappeared into his hair.
“And who, then,” he demanded of space, “is this Gervase Chevenix-Gore?”
He crossed to a bookcase and took out a large, fat book.
He found what he wanted easily enough.
Chevenix-Gore, Sir Gervase Francis Xavier, 10th Bt. cr. 1694; formerly Captain 17th Lancers; b. 18th May, 1878; e.s. of Sir Guy Chevenix-Gore, 9th Bt., and Lady Claudia Bretherton, 2nd. d. of 8th Earl of Wallingford. S. father, 1911; m. 1912, Vanda Elizabeth, e.d. of Colonel Frederick Arbuthnot, q.v.; educ. Eton. Served European War, 1914–18. Recreations: travelling, big game hunting. Address: Hamborough St. Mary, Westshire, and 218 Lowndes Square, S.W.1. Clubs: Cavalry. Travellers.