be in need of the money. Then, when he hears of the crime, he frightens the girl into concealing their visit to the house. They will say that they spent that interval together at the Opera House.'
'Then why did they not do so?' asked Poirot sharply.
Japp shrugged his shoulders.
'Changed his mind. Or judged that she wouldn't be able to go through with it. She's a nervous type.'
'Yes,' said Poirot meditatively. 'She is a nervous type.'
After a minute or two, he said:
'It does not strike you that it would have been easier and simpler for Captain Marsh to have left the opera during the interval by himself. To have gone in quietly with his key, killed his uncle, and returned to the opera - instead of having a taxi outside and a nervous girl coming down the stairs any minute who might lose her head and give him away.'
Japp grinned.
'That's what you and I would have done. But then we're a shade brighter than Captain Ronald Marsh.'
'I am not so sure. He strikes me as intelligent.'
'But not so intelligent as M. Hercule Poirot! Come now, I'm sure of that!' Japp laughed.
Poirot looked at him coldly.
'If he isn't guilty why did he persuade the Adams girl to take on that stunt?' went on Japp. 'There can be only one reason for that stunt - to protect the real criminal.'
'There I am of accord with you absolutely.'
'Well, I'm glad we agree about something.'
'It might be he who actually spoke to Miss Adams,' mused Poirot. 'Whilst really - no, that is an imbecility.'
Then, looking suddenly at Japp, he rapped out a quick question.
'What is your theory as to her death?'
Japp cleared his throat.
'I'm inclined to believe - accident. A convenient accident, I admit. I can't see that he could have had anything to do with it. His alibi is straight enough after the opera. He was at Sobranis with the Dortheimers till after one o'clock. Long before that she was in bed and asleep. No, I think that was an instance of the infernal luck criminals sometimes have. Otherwise, if that accident hadn't happened, I think he had his plans for dealing with her. First, he'd put the fear of the Lord into her - tell her she'd be arrested for murder if she confessed the truth. And then he'd square her with a fresh lot of money.'
'Does it strike you - ' Poirot stared straight in front of him. 'Does it strike you that Miss Adams would let another woman be hanged when she herself held evidence that would acquit her?'
'Jane Wilkinson wouldn't have been hanged. The Montagu Corner party evidence was too strong for that.'
'But the murderer did not know that. He would have had to count on Jane Wilkinson being hanged and Carlotta Adams keeping silence.'
'You love talking, don't you, M. Poirot? And you're positively convinced now that Ronald Marsh is a white-headed boy who can do no wrong. Do you believe that story of his about seeing a man sneak surreptitiously into the house?'
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
'Do you know who he says he thought it was?'
'I could guess, perhaps.'
'He says he thought it was the film star, Bryan Martin. What do you think of that? A man who'd never even met Lord Edgware.'
'Then it would certainly be curious if one saw such a man entering that house with a key.'
'Chah!' said Japp. A rich noise expressive of contempt. 'And now I suppose it will surprise you to hear that Mr Bryan Martin wasn't in London that night. He took a young lady to dine down at Molesey. They didn't get back to London till midnight.'
'Ah!' said Poirot mildly. 'No, I am not surprised. Was the young lady also a member of the profession?'
'No. Girl who keeps a hat shop. As a matter of fact, it was Miss Adams' friend, Miss Driver. I think you'll agree her testimony is past suspicion.'
'I am not disputing it, my friend.'
'In fact, you're done down and you know it, old boy,' said Japp, laughing. 'Cock and bull story trumped up on the moment, that's what it was. Nobody entered No. 17...and nobody entered either of the houses either side - so what does that show? That his lordship's a liar.'
Poirot shook his head sadly.
Japp rose to his feet - his spirits restored.
'Come, now, we're right, you know.'
'Who was D. Paris, November?'
Japp shrugged his shoulders.
'Ancient history, I imagine. Can't a girl have a souvenir six months ago without its having something to do with this crime?