The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding

‘Come now into the library,’ he said, ‘and look out of the window and I will show you something that may explain the mystery.’

He led the way and they followed him.

‘Consider once again,’ said Poirot, ‘the scene of the crime.’

He pointed out of the window. A simultaneous gasp broke from the lips of all of them. There was no body lying on the snow, no trace of the tragedy seemed to remain except a mass of scuffled snow.

‘It wasn't all a dream, was it?’ said Colin faintly. ‘I — has someone taken the body away?’

‘Ah,’ said Poirot. ‘You see? The Mystery of the Disappearing Body.’ He nodded his head and his eyes twinkled gently.

‘Good lord,’ cried Michael. ‘M. Poirot, you are — you haven't — oh, look, he's been having us on all this time!’

Poirot twinkled more than ever.

‘It is true, my children, I also have had my little joke. I knew about your little plot, you see, and so I arranged a counter-plot of my own. Ah, voilà Mademoiselle Bridget. None the worse, I hope, for your exposure in the snow? Never should I forgive myself if you attrapped une fluxion de poitrine.’

Bridget had just come into the room. She was wearing a thick skirt and a woollen sweater. She was laughing.

‘I sent a tisane to your room,’ said Poirot severely. ‘You have drunk it?’

‘One sip was enough!’ said Bridget. ‘I'm all right. Did I do it well, M. Poirot? Goodness, my arm hurts still after that tourniquet you made me put on it.’

‘You were splendid, my child,’ said Poirot. ‘Splendid. But see, all the others are still in the fog. Last night I went to Mademoiselle Bridget. I told her that I knew about your little complot and I asked her if she would act a part for me. She did it very cleverly. She made the footprints with a pair of Mr Lee-Wortley's shoes.’

Sarah said in a harsh voice:

‘But what's the point of it all, M. Poirot? What's the point of sending Desmond off to fetch the police? They'll be very angry when they find out it's nothing but a hoax.’

Poirot shook his head gently.

‘But I do not think for one moment, Mademoiselle, that Mr Lee-Wortley went to fetch the police,’ he said. ‘Murder is a thing in which Mr Lee-Wortley does not want to be mixed up. He lost his nerve badly. All he could see was his chance to get the ruby. He snatched that, he pretended the telephone was out of order and he rushed off in a car on the pretence of fetching the police. I think myself it is the last you will see of him for some time. He has, I understand, his own ways of getting out of England. He has his own plane, has he not, Mademoiselle?’

Sarah nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We were thinking of —’ She stopped.

‘He wanted you to elope with him that way, did he not? Eh bien, that is a very good way of smuggling a jewel out of the country. When you are eloping with a girl, and that fact is publicised, then you will not be suspected of also smuggling a historic jewel out of the country. Oh yes, that would have made a very good camouflage.’

‘I don't believe it,’ said Sarah. ‘I don't believe a word of it!’

‘Then ask his sister,’ said Poirot, gently nodding his head over her shoulder. Sarah turned her head sharply.

A platinum blonde stood in the doorway. She wore a fur coat and was scowling. She was clearly in a furious temper.

‘Sister my foot!’ she said, with a short unpleasant laugh. ‘That swine's no brother of mine! So he's beaten it, has he, and left me to carry the can? The whole thing was his idea! He put me up to it! Said it was money for jam. They'd never prosecute because of the scandal. I could always threaten to say that Ali had given me his historic jewel. Des and I were to have shared the swag in Paris — and now the swine runs out on me! I'd like to murder him!’ She switched abruptly. ‘The sooner I get out of here — Can someone telephone for a taxi?’

‘A car is waiting at the front door to take you to the station, Mademoiselle,’ said Poirot.

‘Think of everything, don't you?’

‘Most things,’ said Poirot complacently.

But Poirot was not to get off so easily. When he returned to the dining-room after assisting the spurious Miss Lee-Wortley into the waiting car, Colin was waiting for him.

There was a frown on his boyish face.

‘But look here, M. Poirot. What about the ruby? Do you mean to say you've let him get away with it?’

Poirot's face fell. He twirled his moustaches. He seemed ill at ease.

‘I shall recover it yet,’ he said weakly. ‘There are other ways. I shall still —’

‘Well, I do think!’ said Michael. ‘To let that swine get away with the ruby!’

Bridget was sharper.

‘He's having us on again,’ she cried. ‘You are, aren't you, M. Poirot?’

‘Shall we do a final conjuring trick, Mademoiselle? Feel in my left-hand pocket.’

Bridget thrust her hand in. She drew it out again with a scream of triumph and held aloft a large ruby blinking in crimson splendour.