Hercule Poirot's Casebook

of the genus butler stood outlined against the lighted hall.

'Mr Benedict Farley?' asked Hercule Poirot.

The impersonal glance surveyed him from head to foot,

inoffensively but ffectively.

En gros et en ddtail, thought Hercule Poirot to himself with

appreciation.

'You have an appointment, sir?' asked the suave voice.

'Yes.'

'Your name, sir?'

'Monsieur Hercule Poirot.'

The butler bowed and drew back. Hercule Poirot entered the

house. The butler closed the door behind him.

But there was yet one more formality before the deft hands

took hat and stick from the visitor.

'You will excuse me, sir. I was to ask for a letter.,

With deliberation Poirot took from his pocket the folded

letter and handed it to the butler. The latter gave it a mere

glance, then returned it with a bow. Hercule Poirot returned it

to his pocket. Its contents were simple.

Nonhway Home, W.8

M. H ercule P oirot

DearS ir,

Mr Benedict Farley would like to have the benefit of your

advice. If convenient to yourself he would be glad if you would

call upon him at the above address at 9.30 tomorrow(Thursday)

P.S. Please bring this letter with you. 144

Hugo C omworthy

(Secretary)

Deftly the butler felicced Poirot of hat, stick and overcoat. He

said:

--,,e up to Mr Comworthy's room?'

wm you plea .,, the broad staircase. Poirot followed him, look

He

led the way °..rt such objets d'art as were of an opulent and

ing with appreciO-': i art was always somewhat bourgeois.

florid nature! Hi , butler knocked on a door.

On the first flo.,s eyebrows rose very slightly. It was the first

Hercule Poirotth10est butlers do not knock at doors - and

jarring note. For . was a frrst-class buffer!

yet indubitably tl-2 the fzrst intimation of contact with the

It was, so to s ..lv'.. ' ;re'

eccentricity of a ffioaJlhthicalled out something. The buffer threw

A voice from ,Se afn°unced (and again Poirot sensed the

open the door. c..oca orthodoxy):

deliberate departO': ore expecting, sir'

'The gentlema.o°la' room. It wasa fair-sized room, very

Poirot passed . workmanlike fashion. Filing cabinets,

green-shaded rea °/vchairs. It was placed so as to cast itsy full

arm of one of the .,achin§ from the door. Hercule Poirot

g t on anyone ol;g .that the lamp bulb was at least 150

blinked a little, f-lff sat a thin figure in a patchwork

watts. In the nedict Farley. His head was stuck forward

dressing-gown ·

attittlde, his beaked nose projecting like that

m a characteristic ;wlaite hair like that of a cockatoo rose above

of a bird. A crest °.S,,es littered behind thick lenses as he peered

his forehead. His v:

sus,

picio,usly at hitiaS[°rn,d his voice was shrill an,d, harsh, with

Hey, he said a 'So you re Hercule Poirot, hey?

a rasping note in it' , said Poirot politely and bowed, one hand

'At your serviC¢aTf

on the back of the c ·

145

'Sit down- sit down,' said the old man testily.

Hercule Poirot sat down - in the full glare of the lamp.

From behind it the old man seemed to be studying him

attentively.

'How do I know you're Hercule Poirot - hey?' he de-manded

fretfully. 'Tell me that-hey?'

Once more Poirot drew the letter from his pocket and

handed it to Farley.

'Yes,' admitted the millionaire grudgingly. 'That's it.

That's what I got Cornworthy to write.' He folded it up and

tossed it back. 'So you're the fellow, are you?'

With a little wave of his hand Poirot said:

'I assure you there is no deception?

Benedict Farley chuckled suddenly.

'That's what the conjurer says before he takes the goldfish

out of the hat! Saying that is part of the trick, you know!'

Poirot did not reply. Farley said suddenly:

'Think I'm a suspicious old man, hey? So I am. Don't trust

anybody! That's my motto. Can't trust anybody when you're

rich. No, no, it doesn't do.'

'You wished,' Poirot hinted gently,"to consult me?'

The old man nodded.

'Go to the expert and don't count the cost. You'll notice,

M. Poirot, I haven't asked you your fee. I'm not going to!

Send me in the bill later - I shan't cut up rough over it.

Damned fools at the dairy thought they could charge me two

and nine for eggs when two and seven's the market price- lot

of swindlers! I won't be swindled. But the man at the top's

different. He's worth the money. I'm at the top myself- I

know. '

Hercule Poirot made no reply. He listened attentively, his

head poised a little on one side.

Behind his impassi(e exterior he was conscious of a feeling

of disappointment. He could not exactly put his finger on it.

So far Benedict Farley had run true to type - that is, he had

146

conformed to the popular idea of himself; and yet - Poirot

was disappointed.

'The man,' he said disgustedly to himself, 'is a

mountebank- nothing but a mountebank!'

He had known other millionaires, eccentric men too, but

in nearly every case he had been conscious of a certain force,

an inner energy that had commanded his respect. If they had

worn a patchwork dressing-gown, it would have been be-cause

they liked wearing such a dressing-gown. But the

dressing-gown of Benedict Farley, or so it seemed to Poirot,

was essentially a stage property. And the man himself was