Read Online Thomas Godfrey (Ed) by Murder for Christmas - Free Book Online Page B

“That
would be still more abominable. A large, cold, stone manor house.”
    “Not at all,” said Mr. Jesmond. “Things
have changed very much in the last ten years or so. Oil-fired central heating.”
    “They have oil-fired central heating
at Kings Lacey?” asked Poirot. For the first time he seemed to waver.
    Mr. Jesmond seized his opportunity. “Yes,
indeed,” he said, “and a splendid hot water system. Radiators in every bedroom.
I assure you, my dear M. Poirot, Kings Lacey is comfort itself in the winter
time. You might even find the house too warm.”
    “That is most unlikely,” said
Hercule Poirot.
    With practised dexterity Mr. Jesmond
shifted his ground a little.
    “You can appreciate the terrible
dilemma we are in,” he said, in a confidential manner.
    Hercule Poirot nodded. The problem
was, indeed, not a happy one. A young potentate-to-be, the only son of the
ruler of a rich and important native State had arrived in London a few weeks
ago. His country had been passing through a period of restlessness and
discontent. Though loyal to the father whose way of life had remained
persistently Eastern, popular opinion was somewhat dubious of the younger
generation. His follies had been Western ones and as such looked upon with
disapproval.
    Recently, however, his betrothal had
been announced. He was to marry a cousin of the same blood, a young woman who,
though educated at Cambridge, was careful to display no Western influence in
her own country. The wedding day was announced and the young prince had made a
journey to England, bringing with him some of the famous jewels of his house to
be reset in appropriate modern settings by Cartier. These had included a very
famous ruby which had been removed from its cumbersome old-fashioned necklace
and had been given a new look by the famous jewellers. So far so good, but
after this came the snag. It was not to be supposed that a young man possessed
of much wealth and convivial tastes, should not commit a few follies of the
pleasanter type. As to that there would have been no censure. Young princes
were supposed to amuse themselves in this fashion. For the prince to take the
girl friend of the moment for a walk down Bond Street and bestow upon her an
emerald bracelet or a diamond clip as a reward for the pleasure she had
afforded him would have been regarded as quite natural and suitable,
corresponding in fact to the Cadillac cars which his father invariably
presented to his favourite dancing girl of the moment.
    But the prince had been far more
indiscreet than that. Flattered by the lady’s interest, he had displayed to her
the famous ruby in its new setting, and had finally been so unwise as to accede
to her request to be allowed to wear it—just for one evening!
    The sequel was short and sad. The
lady had retired from their supper table to powder her nose. Time passed. She
did not return. She had left the establishment by another door and since then
had disappeared into space. The important and distressing thing was that the
ruby in its new setting had disappeared with her.
    These were the facts that could not
possibly be made public without the most dire consequences. The ruby was
something more than a ruby, it was a historical possession of great
significance, and the circumstances of its disappearance were such that any
undue publicity about them might result in the most serious political
consequences.
    Mr. Jesmond was not the man to put
these facts into simple language. He wrapped them up, as it were, in a great
deal of verbiage. Who exactly Mr. Jesmond was, Hercule Poirot did not know. He
had met other Mr. Jesmonds in the course of his career. Whether he was
connected with the Home Office, the Foreign Secretary or some more discreet
branch of public service was not specified. He was acting in the interests of
the Commonwealth. The ruby must be recovered.
    M. Poirot, so Mr. Jesmond delicately
insisted, was the man to recover it. “Perhaps—yes,” Hercule