Read Online Death in the Clouds by Agatha Christie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Agatha Christie
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and everybody says she didn't - she couldn't possibly have aimed the thorn to catch Giselle on the side of the neck. I think we can take it she's pretty well out of it.
“Now then, No. 12, opposite. That's the dentist, Norman Gale. Very much the same applies to him. Small fry. I suppose he'd have a slightly better chance of getting hold of snake venom.”
“It is not an injection favored by dentists,” murmured Poirot gently. “It would be a case of kill rather than cure.”
“A dentist has enough fun with his patients as it is,” said Japp, grinning. “Still, I suppose he might move in circles where you could get access to some funny business in drugs. He might have a scientific friend. But as regards possibility, he's pretty well out of it. He did leave his seat, but only to go to the wash room - that's in the opposite direction. On his way back to his seat he couldn't be farther than the gangway here, and to shoot off a thorn from a blowpipe so as to catch the old lady in the neck, he'd have to have a kind of pet thorn that would do tricks and make a right-angle turn. So he's pretty well out of it.”
“I agree,” said Fournier. “Let us proceed.”
“We'll cross the gangway now. No. 17.”
“That was my seat originary,” said Poirot. “I yielded it to one of the ladies, since she desired to be near her friend.”
“That's the Honorable Venetia. Well, what about her? She's a big bug. She might have borrowed from Giselle. Doesn't look as though she had any guilty secrets in her life, but perhaps she pulled a horse in a point to point, or whatever they call it. We'll have to pay a little attention to her. The position's possible. If Giselle had got her head turned a little, looking out of the window, the Honorable Venetia could take a sporting shot - or do you call it a sporting puff? - diagonally across down the car, it would be a bit of a fluke, though. I rather think she'd have to stand up to do it. She's the sort of woman who goes out with the guns in the autumn. I don't know whether shooting with a gun is any help to you with a native blowpipe. I suppose it's a question of eye just the same. Eye and practice. And she's probably got friends - men - who've been big-game hunters in odd parts of the globe. She might have got hold of some queer native stuff that way. What balderdash it all sounds, though! It doesn't make sense.”
“It does indeed seem unlikely,” said Fournier. “Mademoiselle Kerr - I saw her at the inquest today.” He shook his head. “One does not readily connect her with murder.”
“Seat 13,” said Japp. “Lady Horbury. She's a bit of a dark horse. I know something about her I'll tell you presently. I shouldn't be surprised if she had a guilty secret or two.”
“I happen to know,” said Fournier, “that the lady in question has been losing very heavily at the baccarat table at Le Pinet.”
“That's smart of you. Yes, she's the type of pigeon to be mixed up with Giselle.”
“I agree absolutely.”
“Very well, then; so far, so good. But how did she do it? She didn't leave her seat either, you remember. She'd have had to have knelt up in her seat and leaned over the top - with eleven people looking at her. Oh, hell, let's get on.”
“Numbers 9 and 10,” said Fournier, moving his finger on the plan.
“M. Hercule Poirot and Doctor Bryant,” said Japp, “What has M. Poirot to say for himself?”
Poirot shook his head sadly.
“Mon estomac,” he said pathetically. "Alas, that the brain should be the servant of the stomach.
“I, too,” said Fournier with sympathy. “In the air, I do not feel well.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head expressively.
“Now then, Doctor Bryant. What about Doctor Bryant? Big bug in Harley Street. Not very likely to go to a Frechwoman money lender, but you never know. And if any funny business crops up with a doctor, he's done for life! Here's where my scientific theory comes in. A man like Bryant, at the top of the
“Now then, No. 12, opposite. That's the dentist, Norman Gale. Very much the same applies to him. Small fry. I suppose he'd have a slightly better chance of getting hold of snake venom.”
“It is not an injection favored by dentists,” murmured Poirot gently. “It would be a case of kill rather than cure.”
“A dentist has enough fun with his patients as it is,” said Japp, grinning. “Still, I suppose he might move in circles where you could get access to some funny business in drugs. He might have a scientific friend. But as regards possibility, he's pretty well out of it. He did leave his seat, but only to go to the wash room - that's in the opposite direction. On his way back to his seat he couldn't be farther than the gangway here, and to shoot off a thorn from a blowpipe so as to catch the old lady in the neck, he'd have to have a kind of pet thorn that would do tricks and make a right-angle turn. So he's pretty well out of it.”
“I agree,” said Fournier. “Let us proceed.”
“We'll cross the gangway now. No. 17.”
“That was my seat originary,” said Poirot. “I yielded it to one of the ladies, since she desired to be near her friend.”
“That's the Honorable Venetia. Well, what about her? She's a big bug. She might have borrowed from Giselle. Doesn't look as though she had any guilty secrets in her life, but perhaps she pulled a horse in a point to point, or whatever they call it. We'll have to pay a little attention to her. The position's possible. If Giselle had got her head turned a little, looking out of the window, the Honorable Venetia could take a sporting shot - or do you call it a sporting puff? - diagonally across down the car, it would be a bit of a fluke, though. I rather think she'd have to stand up to do it. She's the sort of woman who goes out with the guns in the autumn. I don't know whether shooting with a gun is any help to you with a native blowpipe. I suppose it's a question of eye just the same. Eye and practice. And she's probably got friends - men - who've been big-game hunters in odd parts of the globe. She might have got hold of some queer native stuff that way. What balderdash it all sounds, though! It doesn't make sense.”
“It does indeed seem unlikely,” said Fournier. “Mademoiselle Kerr - I saw her at the inquest today.” He shook his head. “One does not readily connect her with murder.”
“Seat 13,” said Japp. “Lady Horbury. She's a bit of a dark horse. I know something about her I'll tell you presently. I shouldn't be surprised if she had a guilty secret or two.”
“I happen to know,” said Fournier, “that the lady in question has been losing very heavily at the baccarat table at Le Pinet.”
“That's smart of you. Yes, she's the type of pigeon to be mixed up with Giselle.”
“I agree absolutely.”
“Very well, then; so far, so good. But how did she do it? She didn't leave her seat either, you remember. She'd have had to have knelt up in her seat and leaned over the top - with eleven people looking at her. Oh, hell, let's get on.”
“Numbers 9 and 10,” said Fournier, moving his finger on the plan.
“M. Hercule Poirot and Doctor Bryant,” said Japp, “What has M. Poirot to say for himself?”
Poirot shook his head sadly.
“Mon estomac,” he said pathetically. "Alas, that the brain should be the servant of the stomach.
“I, too,” said Fournier with sympathy. “In the air, I do not feel well.”
He closed his eyes and shook his head expressively.
“Now then, Doctor Bryant. What about Doctor Bryant? Big bug in Harley Street. Not very likely to go to a Frechwoman money lender, but you never know. And if any funny business crops up with a doctor, he's done for life! Here's where my scientific theory comes in. A man like Bryant, at the top of the
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