Ill Met By Moonlight

Chapter 3 - What Now?

'What now?' asked Hastings as he passed through the hall doorway into the sitting room in Poirot's comfortable flat. They had arrived back in London the night before.

'First, mon cher Hastings, we will have a cup of George's excellent coffee and then we will start to look for the creatures,' answered Poirot.

'Where do you think they will have gone?'

'I think that they will have gone back to London.'

'That's a pretty big supposition,' protested Hastings. 'They have my car, they could gone anywhere in the United Kingdom!'

'That is what Chief Inspector Japp thinks except that there are several factors limiting their movements,' argued Poirot. 'Unless they are exceptionally stupid they must know that the police are looking for them. They can only move by night and they have only so far that they can go before they must stop. The girl has a strong cockney accent. Where better to hide a tree than in a forest?'

'I suppose so.' Hastings was doubtful; he thought Japp was right and that the pair could simply hole up somewhere before daylight. Poirot asked his manservant George to provide them with coffee, which was soon quietly served to them.

Miss Lemon, Poirot's thin, middle-aged secretary entered the room.

'Ah, the ever efficient Miss Lemon. You have purchased the items I desired?'

'Yes, Mr Poirot.'

'Enough for all of us?'

'Oh yes Mr Poirot.'

With that she placed two brown paper parcels on the coffee table. Poirot pounced on them and unwrapped them to display four small boxes and four pocket-sized books. Poirot picked one of the boxes and books up and handed them to Hastings. Hastings looked at the book and realised that it was a very small bible. He opened the box and saw a silver cross with a silver chain nestling against the black velvet.

'Oh I say, Poirot,' he protested. 'Isn't this all a bit much?'

'Certainly not, Hastings. We must protect ourselves.' He picked up two boxes and two bibles and handed them to Miss Lemon. 'For yourself and for George. Please be so good as to wear the cross and chain at all times and keep the bible about your person. George needs to understand this as well.'

'I'll speak to him, Mr Poirot, don't you worry.' She left the room.

Poirot and Hastings finished their coffee and Poirot rang for Miss Lemon.

'You wanted me, Mr Poirot?' she enquired.

Poirot beamed. ' Miss Lemon, I require a list of the second rate theatrical agents in London and a list of all the smaller theatres in London. I then want you to ring the theatres asking them if they have recently had a psychic or medium giving performances.'

'Why on earth do you want that?' asked Hastings baffled.

'I cannot ask the police to do this because Japp is concentrating the police's attention on the ports and airports. As I mentioned, he believes, as you do Hastings, that they will attempt to get out of the country. Let us see if any of these theatres have recently had an act that fits that description. We can then call on the theatrical agent who booked that act.'

It took some time but Miss Lemon eventually came up with a small theatre who until recently had had a young psychic called Nancy Vilier performing there. Shortly after that she presented Poirot with a slip of paper with the name of the theatrical agent.

'Mr Edgar Windthrop, Frith Street,' read out Poirot. 'Come on Hastings, let's go!'

Mr Windthrop's address was in Soho, a rather seedy area of central London with many nightclubs and theatres. There was an Italian restaurant on the ground floor. They toiled up the stairs to the second floor and saw Windthrop's Theatrical Agency emblazoned on a rather grubby door. They pushed open the door and saw a faded blonde sitting at a desk. The blonde looked up when they entered and said in a bored voice 'He's not here.'

'Will he be long?' asked Poirot.

'He said not but…' the blonde shrugged her shoulders.

'May we wait?'

'Suit yourself.'

They sat down on a leather sofa that had seen better days. Hastings gazed at the framed black and white photos on the wall. They featured a variety of men and women who had all inscribed their photos to 'Darling Windy'. The blonde's desk was small and the typewriter in front of her looked huge and heavy. It occurred to Poirot that the desk might collapse at any moment if the keys of the typewriter were hit with any vigour. Luckily, the blonde made no such effort. `He reflected, not for the first time, how fortunate he was to have the energetic Miss Lemon as his secretary. However, they had not been waiting for more than a few minutes when the door burst open and a florid, large man barged into the room

'Any calls, Sophy?' Sophy replied in the negative.

'But these gentlemen are here to see you.' The large man swivelled to look at them.

'Come into my office, gents,' he oozed. They followed him into a small office. He shut the door.

'Now let me look at you.' He studied them intently, walking round them once or twice,

'Oh yes,' he said, 'I think we have got a lot of potential here. You the comedian?' This was addressed to Poirot.

'No, we,' started Poirot but he was interrupted by the large man. 'You're surely not the comedian? You have the look of a straight man to me.' This was addressed to Hastings who stiffened.

'No,' began Poirot again but he was interrupted by Mr Windthrop. 'I like the look of you two, great comedic contrast. You in particular have great potential. Have you got a dinner suit?' This was directed at Poirot.

'Why yes,' admitted Poirot, 'but…'

Mr Windthrop interrupted again; Mr Windthrop obviously liked the sound of his own voice. 'You're French! Excellent, adds to the comic effect. Now, what's your stage name? Because I think Monsieur Penguin, would go down very well.'

'Enough! I am Belgian not French!' shouted Poirot, turning a little red. Getting his nationality wrong was the last straw. 'I am Poirot, a Belgian detective.' He stressed the Belgian. 'My friend and I have come here today to ask some questions about one of your acts, Nancy the Psychic.'

Mr Windthrop deflated and sank into his chair. 'You're a detective?' he asked wonderingly. Poirot puffed out his chest. 'Yes, and a very good one I might add.'

'Well, what do you want with me?' Mr Windthrop sounded nervous.

'We are trying to track down the granddaughter of a wealthy Belgian business man who has not long to live. There was a quarrel; a misunderstanding and she ran away from home. I believe that she is now on the stage as Nancy the Psychic.' Hastings was astonished at the ease with which the lies poured from Poirot's lips.

'Nancy doesn't sound foreign,' said Mr Windthrop dubiously.

'As I said, she is the grand daughter, she is half Belgian and half English but she has been brought up in England,' explained Poirot. Hastings was starting to wonder when Poirot's nose would begin to grow.

'There may be a reward for information leading to her discovery,' added Poirot.

Mr Windthrop brightened. 'Really?'

'Is Nancy currently performing at a theatre?'

'No. In fact, she's caused me some trouble. She didn't turn up for her booking at the Alhambra Theatre. The manager was quite shirty about it. It's not good in this profession to get a reputation for unreliability.'

'Have you been in touch with her?'

'I tried but her landlady told me that she had not been seen at home for a couple of days.' Mr Windthrop told them.

'Is it possible to have the address of her lodgings?' asked Poirot.

'Oh yes,' Mr Windthrop wrote down the name of the landlady and the address on a scrap of paper.

Poirot thanked him and they started to leave the office. Mr Windthrop called after them,

'Don't forget about the reward money!'

Once they were out of the office, Hastings turned to Poirot and said admiringly, 'I say, Poirot, you are turning into a most accomplished liar!'