فصل نوزدهم

CHAPTER NINETEEN

‘But it is beautiful, my friend,’ said Hercule Poirot. ‘So clear - so beautifully clear. Everything fits in its correct place.’

‘Even these?’ Inspector Sharpe showed Poirot the two red hairs.

‘Ah - yes, the one deliberate mistake.’ The two men looked at each other. ‘For the other investigation, my friend, it is all fixed? ‘ ‘Yes, for tomorrow.’

‘You go yourself?’

‘No. I plan to appear at 26 Hickory Road. Cobb will be in charge.’

‘We will wish him good luck,’ said Hercule Poirot

II

Sergeant Cobb marched boldly into the pink interior of Sabrina Fair, Detective Constable McCrae behind him. A beautiful creature moved towards them, her feet hardly seeming to touch the floor.

Sergeant Cobb said, ‘Good morning, Madam,’ and explained why he was there. The beautiful creature backed away and another beautiful, but much older creature with smooth hair and steel-grey eyes appeared.

‘This is most unusual,’ she said. ‘Please come this way.’ She led him through the salon into a room with a big desk, and several hard-backed chairs. ‘I am Mrs Lucas, the owner of this place. My partner, Miss Hobhouse, is not here today.’

‘No, Madam,’ said Sergeant Cobb, who already knew that.

‘This is her private office, and your search warrant seems to be most unnecessary,’ said Mrs Lucas.

He waited politely until she left them alone. A quarter of an hour later, a safe and the drawers of the desk had been searched, but they had found nothing.

‘Looks like we got it wrong,’ said McCrae.

‘We’re only just beginning,’ said Cobb. He took the drawers one after the other and turned them upside down. ‘Here we are!’ Fastened with tape underneath the bottom drawer were six small dark-blue books with gold lettering. ‘Passports.’

McCrae watched as Cobb opened the passports and compared the photographs. ‘You really wouldn’t think it was the same woman, would you?’

The passports were those of Mrs da Silva, Miss Irene French, Mrs Olga Kohn, Miss Nina Le Mesurier, Mrs Gladys Thomas, and Miss Moira O’Neele. The photos were all of a dark young woman between the ages of twenty-five and forty.

‘It’s the different hairstyle that does it,’ said Cobb. ‘I expect she’s got bank accounts in all these different names.’

‘Bit complicated, that?’

‘It has to be complicated. It’s not so difficult to make money by smuggling - but it’s very difficult to account for money when you’ve got it! I bet this little gambling club in Mayfair was started by the lady for just that reason. Winning money by gambling is about the only thing a tax inspector can’t check. And then, one day, she must have left one of these false passports lying about at Hickory Road and poor little Celia saw it.’