It wasn't far to the solicitor's office, but the trip to Hatton Garden added enough to the distance that I felt justified in using the Lagonda. In any case, after a few days of remaining in the same area of London, driving even a reasonably short distance was enough to make me feel like I was being offered something of an escape.

I glanced at my watch as we pulled up near the jeweller's shop where the apparently law-abiding Mr Allerton worked. We had twenty minutes or so to complete our journey, more than enough time. "That's him, behind the counter." Miss Lemon said as we both looked into the store.

"Right. Thanks, Miss Lemon." I jumped out of the car.

"Would you like me to come with you?" She asked.

I gave her a quick smile at her words. "I'm only going to ask for a meeting with him at his home after work, Miss Lemon." I assured her.

The bells above the door tinkled cheerfully as I entered. He looked up with the expression of polite, friendly helpfulness common to many shop staff. I studied him thoughtfully as I took the three or four paces to the counter. He was a presentable looking young man with neat light brown hair and grey eyes, pleasant looking without being particularly distinctive. To my eye he looked like a friendly, honest young man, but I reminded myself that my first impressions were frequently wrong, as Poirot always seem to delight in telling me, and I shouldn't be too surprised if they proved to be so this time. I couldn't risk letting any chance of apprehending Poirot's killer go because of any mistaken impressions I formed.

"Good morning, sir. Can I help you?" He asked. There was the hint of an accent under his polished shop voice – West Country, I thought.

"I hope so. You're Stephen Allerton, aren't you?"

"That's right." A hint of still-friendly puzzlement had crept into his voice.

"I'm Captain Hastings. I work – used to work, I should say – with Hercule Poirot. I've received information that you might know something about his murder."

I was watching him closely, and thought he turned slightly pale. "Me? Who told you that?"

"I'm not at liberty to say. But I would like to ask you a few questions."

He glanced at the door marked 'staff only' behind him; I guessed that there were other staff in the office and he was worried about them coming into the shop unexpectedly. "Uh – Captain Hastings, I really can't talk now," he began, stumbling slightly.

"No, no, of course I can see that." I assured him. "In fact, I was hoping I could visit you after you finish work."

"Tonight?" He hesitated.

"If it's no trouble."

He wavered for a few more seconds, chewing on his lower lip, then gave a single, jerky nod of agreement; I guessed that he was reluctant to make an appointment for the same day, but was afraid that refusing would make him look as though he had something to hide. "Yes, all right, Captain Hastings," he said. He reached for a notepad on the counter by the till and scribbled a few words on it before tearing it off and thrusting it at me. "This is my address; I should be home by about six tonight, but am expecting company, so would ask that you don't stay overly long."

"I shan't." I gave him a polite smile before I turned away.

"Captain Hastings." He called after me; I glanced back at him. "I was genuinely sorry to hear about Mister Poirot's death. He struck me as a good man."

"Yes, he was." I agreed.


The solicitor was a neat, dark young man with round glasses that gave him a studious air. He introduced himself as Charles McNeill, the junior partner in the firm. He set his folder down on the table, opening it with a rustle of paper that seemed loud in the oppressive quiet of the bland room Japp, Miss Lemon and myself were sitting in. "Thank you all for coming," he said, as he removed a sheaf of papers. "I understand this may be a difficult time for you all."

I privately doubted that he understood at all, with his cool, dry voice. He cleared his throat. "I trust that you understand the terms of the law that I will be using. If something is unexplained, please ask."

His gaze went back to the papers as he read:

"'This is the last will and testament of Hercule Poirot. I direct that all my expenses should be paid, and I appoint Mr Charles McNeill as my executor.'" He looked up briefly. "There are a few small bequests and donations to charities that I need not go into here. I propose to skip to the part that concerns you." He cleared his throat again. "'To my friend Chief Inspector James Harold Japp I leave the sum of one thousand pounds.'" An expression of some sort crossed Japp's face before he bowed his head; I think he was overcome at that moment and felt some sympathy for him.

"'To my faithful secretary Miss Felicity Lemon I leave the sum of three thousand pounds and the pieces of my mother's jewellery that she so admired.' The will lists the pieces here: one bracelet of silver, set with-"

"I know the pieces he means." Miss Lemon said quietly. She sounded subdued, upset, and I reached out to squeeze her fingers gently with mine. She gave me a faint smile, and returned the pressure.

The solicitor found his place in the will and continued "'...and to my dear friend Captain Arthur Hastings, in recognition of the years of friendship and loyalty he has given me, I leave everything else of which I die possessed.'"

There was a moment of silence. I'd been thinking that Poirot would've used the term 'mon cher ami' and I was wishing they'd left it untranslated because I much preferred it, so it took a while for me to realise what he'd actually said. "Me? Poirot left everything to me?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yes, saving these few other bequests. It's set down quite clearly, Captain Hastings. There is also an instruction to give you this." He handed over an envelope; I saw my name written in Poirot's distinctive hand on the front and for a confused moment wondered if it would be another list of instructions.

Still slightly bewildered I stammered "But what – I mean – I don't even know-"

"I think he's trying to ask how much it comes to." Japp said drily.

The young man considered. "After taking death duties and the other bequests into account, I should say it comes to a sum of a little over £40,000."

After a moment of shocked silence I heard Japp laugh and say, "Good for you, Captain Hastings," sounding genuinely pleased.

"Good lord." I murmured.

The young solicitor shut his folder with another rustle of paper. "Well, I must be going. Captain Hastings, you have my condolences. If we can be of any more help to you, then feel free to contact us." He gave me a nod and left.

Japp cleared his throat. "I should make a move too. I'll expect I'll see you soon, Captain Hastings, Miss Lemon."

"Goodbye, Chief Inspector." Miss Lemon said. I was still too stunned to speak. After a while Miss Lemon asked quietly "Would you like me to leave before you open that?"

Her words broke through my daze, and I shook my head. "No, please stay." I drew my hand away to open the letter. It wasn't a set of instructions as I'd imagined, just a simple short letter; glancing at the date I saw it'd been written three years ago.

Mon cher ami Hastings,

I have left instructions that you are to be given this letter at the reading of my will. I fear that you, mon cher, with your so beautiful nature will be stunned and staggered by what I am leaving you. You may even fling up your hands and cry 'This is too much!' If these thoughts plague you, then I beg that you now dispel them.

Since we first met, mon ami, you have been the truest, the most dear of friends (and here you would correct me and say 'dearest' is the word I should write, would you not?); the most loyal of dogs, I may say, and so gain your displeasure. If such words have ever caused you the least feelings of anger and pain, then I beg now for your forgiveness.

Have you never seen how much I valued you, mon cher Hastings, your friendship, your unwavering loyalty and trust? If ever I was able to lead, it was only because you were willing to follow and so pushed me on further. I have always relied on you, mon ami, and you have never failed me.

Godspeed mon cher ami, my Arthur, and may le bon Dieu keep you safe until we meet again.

Hercule Poirot.

I drew a deep shaky breath at the end that was perilously close to a sob.

"Are you all right?" Miss Lemon asked.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment against threatening tears and then handed the letter to her. "Read it, please." I said in a choked voice.

She read in silence while I sat with my head bowed. After a moment she said "Oh, Captain Hastings," in a voice that sounded as unsteady as mine. I took the letter back from her and folded it carefully before replacing it in the envelope and placing it in my pocket.

"He always has the last word, doesn't he, Miss Lemon?" I said. I was trying for lightness but had to swallow hard before I spoke.

"Always." She agreed. She smiled, but her eyes were shining with unshed tears as we walked out into the bright, cold sunshine.


"Captain Hastings?"

The tone of Miss Lemon's voice suggested she'd spoken my name more than once before I actually heard her. I started slightly, pulling my gaze from the depths of my own tea cup. "Sorry, Miss Lemon; did you say something?"

She was frowning slightly with concern. "Are you all right? You've been silent since we left the solicitor's office."

We'd retreated to a Lyons Tea House and I'd managed to order a pot of tea for two and ask Miss Lemon if she cared for anything to eat before we'd been seated and I'd stared at my tea cup as though I could truly read my future in its depths. I took a mouthful now and grimaced; I'd been sitting long enough for the tea to become cold and stale. I pushed it aside and signalled to one of the waitresses. She came over smartly and I requested a fresh pot of tea, waiting while she cleared away the old tea and the used crockery before I answered Miss Lemon. "I'm just a little…bewildered I suppose, Miss Lemon." I said. "You remember that I was the original executor of Poirot's will three or four years ago? When he told me he'd changed his mind and had appointed his solicitor as his executor instead, I felt - well, hurt, I suppose. I thought that Poirot didn't trust me to carry out that task." I swallowed, remembering the hurt I'd felt and thought how ridiculous it was now. "To find out that he'd done it because he wanted to leave what he could to me…" My voice trailed off and I gave her a shrug.

There was more to it than that, but that would've been impossible for me to put into words – the fact that Poirot had held me in such affection, the words he'd written in his letter… they were enough to make an unseemly lump rise in my throat, and for all that it wasn't really proper to talk about such things, I would always treasure his last words to me.

As usual Miss Lemon seemed to understand what I wasn't saying. "He loved you, Captain Hastings," she said gently, "almost like a brother, I think. I wish you could've seen how it affected him when you went to South America and we thought you might stay there. He threw himself into his work almost with a sort of desperation. I think without you he felt his life was considerably emptier. It seems an odd word to use for Mister Poirot, but he was lonely."

"But Poirot had lots of friends," I protested, "there's you and Japp and Miss Oliver, and…"

"I was his secretary, Captain Hastings, and Japp was a friend, yes, but he came to see Poirot because he needed his help most of the time. I think you were the only person he ever really thought of first as a friend and second as… an assistant, or a client or whatever. Do you realise you were the only person he ever called 'mon cher ami'? With Japp or me it was only 'mon ami' sometimes. I think the truth is you were his only dear friend."

The waitress brought the new tea things and I considered her words as I poured us both a fresh cup of tea. I handed Miss Lemon her cup and said, somewhat awkwardly, "I thought of him as my dear friend too, Miss Lemon."

She gave me one of her understanding smiles, touching me lightly on the arm. "I know that, Captain Hastings. And so did he."


Stephen Allerton lived in an apartment in a new housing complex in the north of Shepherd's Bush, near the site that had once housed the exhibition pavilions known as the Great White City. He showed us into a modest sitting room politely enough even though he still looked tense and nervous.

"Thank you for coming around so promptly," he said quietly, perching awkwardly on the edge of his chair. "I couldn't really talk at the shop, you see." His eyes met mine and darted away again nervously.

"But you can talk now." I prompted.

"Can I?" His gaze flickered onto me again as he twisted his hands together. I saw him swallow and then he said, "I didn't have anything to do with Mister Poirot's death, Captain Hastings. I remember Miss Lemon from working with him before, and she'll tell you I tried to be helpful with his case involving the stolen jewels being fenced."

Since Miss Lemon had already told me that I nodded, and waited for him to continue.

"But I may – I mean, I hope I'm wrong about this – but I may know something about what led to his death," he blurted, and then fell silent.

I waited for a few seconds, and then prompted him. "Yes?"

He gave me a look of sheer misery. "But – but I can't tell you, because… because it could get me into the most fearful trouble."

Thinking he was afraid of Poirot's murderer seeking revenge, I said "You needn't worry about that. If you can tell us what you know we can talk to Chief Inspector Japp and see about getting you some sort of police protection." I knew Japp could organise something of the sort if absolutely necessary, and thought he would consider getting Poirot's murderer convicted important enough to do so.

Allerton shook his head. "No, you don't understand, Captain Hastings. I can't tell you because – I could be in trouble with the law. And not just me. There are others…" His voice trailed off.

I stared at him, baffled. There was no doubt Allerton honestly meant what he was saying; he was the very picture of anguish, sitting slump-shouldered and pale faced in his chair. I felt a spurt of irritation – it may be that he had vital information, but he wouldn't or couldn't tell me because of whatever real or imagined consequences he feared.

"We might be able to speak to Japp, get things sorted out for you," Miss Lemon suggested. It was unlike her to suggest something potentially morally questionable, and I had to assume it was because she wanted to see Poirot avenged as badly as I did.

"I don't think you can." He gave a sigh and straightened up a little. "Let me talk to… the other people involved. If we decide we can risk talking to you then I'll be in touch." He looked at his watch. "And now, would you mind leaving? I have things to do."

I supressed another surge of irritation. I wanted to demand whatever information he had, but such an action would only make him stubborn and in all honesty, if his words would put other people at risk then I had no right to do so. I glanced at Miss Lemon and reluctantly stood up. "I hope you will get in touch, Mister Allerton," I said. "I'm anxious to see Poirot's murderer face justice. He was a very great friend of mine."

He gave a brief, sad smile. "Yes, I can understand that, Captain Hastings. I would feel the same way if – well," he dropped whatever he'd been about to say with a shrug.

Back outside, we reluctantly made our way back to the Lagonda. "So what do we do now, Captain Hastings?" Miss Lemon asked, sounding subdued.

"I'm not sure." I admitted with a sense of frustration; it seemed that I was never sure any more. I glanced back at the apartment block we'd just left, and noticed a figure making their way to the building. He passed under a street light, and I caught my breath as I got a clear glimpse of his face. I leaned back against the Lagonda as he entered the building, my brain spinning with new ideas.

I didn't move for a while, didn't speak, just thought. I was usually eager for action, impulsive, according to Poirot, but this time I wanted to think, to consider if my next course of action would bring results. I took a deep breath, calming myself. I was fairly sure that for once I had the right idea, and had to handle things carefully.

Miss Lemon kept silent, though I was aware of her watching me curiously. "Captain Hastings?" She asked at last.

"Yes." I pushed myself away from the car. "Let's go and pay another visit on Mister Allerton and his guest, shall we?"

"His guest?"

"The young man who just arrived. I can't believe he's come to see someone else, that would be too much of a coincidence."

When there was no response to my first ringing of the doorbell, I simply held it down with my thumb, letting it ring constantly. Eventually I heard the sound of feet approaching the door. Allerton blanched when he saw who it was, what little colour there was draining out of his face.

"Maybe we could have that talk now, Mister Allerton," I said gently. My eyes went to the sitting room where I could glimpse the shadow of the other man. "A talk with you and Mister Boulet."