Poirot Investigates

“Deduce, Poirot, from the following facts! Here is a young lady, richly dressed—fashionable hat, magnificent furs. She is coming along slowly, looking up at the houses as she goes. Unknown to her, she is being shadowed by three men and a middle-aged woman. They have just been joined by an errand boy who points after the girl, gesticulating as he does so. What drama is this being played? Is the girl a crook, and are the shadowers detectives preparing to arrest her? Or are _they_ the scoundrels, and are they plotting to attack an innocent victim? What does the great detective say?”

“The great detective, _mon ami_, chooses, as ever, the simplest course. He rises to see for himself.” And my friend joined me at the window.

“As usual, your facts are tinged with your incurable romanticism. That is Miss Mary Marvell, the film star. She is being followed by a bevy of admirers who have recognized her. And, _en passant_, my dear Hastings, she is quite aware of the fact!”

“Ah! _Sacré_!” cried Poirot. “Is it that you expect her to promenade herself in the streets of London in a cowboy hat, or with bare feet, and a bunch of curls, as an Irish colleen? Always with you it is the non-essentials! Remember the case of the dancer, Valerie Saintclair.”

“What will you? When one is unique, one knows it! And others share that opinion—even, if I mistake not, Miss Mary Marvell.”

“Very simply. This street, it is not aristocratic, _mon ami_! In it there is no fashionable doctor, no fashionable dentist—still less is there a fashionable milliner! But there _is_ a fashionable detective. _Oui_, my friend, it is true—I am become the mode, the _dernier cri_! One says to another: ‘_Comment?_ You have lost your gold pencil-case? You must go to the little Belgian. He is too marvellous! Every one goes! _Courez!’_ And they arrive! In flocks, _mon ami_! With problems of the most foolish!” A bell rang below. “What did I tell you? That is Miss Marvell.”