Poirot's Early Cases

That placed a somewhat different complexion on the matter, and I placed myself at her service without more ado.

A slight colour rose in her cheeks. 'I thank you, monsieur. It is the death of M. Paul Droulard that I ask you to investi-gate.'

'Comment?' I exclaimed, surprised.

'Monsieur, I have nothing to go upon - nothing but my woman's instinct, but I am convinced - convinced, I tell you - that M.

Droulard did not die a natural death!'

'But surely the doctors - '

'Doctors may be mistaken. He was so robust, so strong. Ah, Monsieur Poirot, I beseech of you to help me - '

The poor child was almost beside herself. She would have knelt to me. I soothed her as best I could.

'I will help you, mademoiselle. I feel almost sure that your fears are unfounded, but we will see. First, I will ask you to describe to me the inmates of the house.'

'There are the domestics, of course, Jeanette, Flicie, and Denise the cook. She has been there many years; the others are simple country girls. Also there is Francois, but he too is an old servant.

Then there is Monsieur Droulard's mother who lived with him, and myself. My name is Virginie Mesnard. I am a poor cousin of the late Madame Droulard, M. Paul's wife, and I have been a member of their mnage for over three years. I have now described to you the household. There were also two guests staying in the house.' 'And they were?' 'M. de Saint Alard, a neighbour of M. Droulard's in France.

Also an English friend, Mr John Wilson.' 'Are they still with you?' 'Mr Wilson, yes, but M. de Saint Alard departed yesterday.' 'And what is your plan, Mademoiselle Mesnard?' 'If you will present yourself at the house in half an hour's time, I will have arranged some story to account for your presence. I had better represent you to be co

I wonder, my friend (continued Poirot), whether you can possibly figure to yourself the difficulties of my task? Here was a man whose death had taken place three days previously. If there had been foul play, only one possibility was admittable -poironl And I had had no chance of seeing the body, and there was no possibility of examining, or analysing, any medium in which the poison could have been administered. There were no clues, false or otherwise, to consider. Had the man been poisoned? Had he died a natural death? I, Hercule Poirot, with nothing to help me, had to decide.

First, I interviewed the domestics, and with their aid, I recapitulated the evening. I paid especial notice to the food at

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He said it was without doubt an apoplexy, explained the man. But when the doctor arrived, the patient was past help.

Mr John Wilson, to whom I was presented by Mademoiselle Virginie, was what was known in those days as a regular John Bull Englishman, middle-aged and burly. His account, delivered in very British French, was substantially the same.

'Droulard went very red in the face, and down he fell.' There was nothing further to be found out there. Next I went to the scene of the tragedy, the study, and was left alone there at my own request. So far there was nothing to support MademoiseIle Mesnard's theory. I could not but believe that it was a delusion on her part. Evidently she had entertained a romantic passion for the dead man which had not permitted her to take a normal view of the case. Nevertheless, I searched the study with meticulous care. It was just possible that a.hypodermic needle might have been introduced into the dead man's chair in such a way as to allow of a fatal injection. The minute puncture it would cause was likely to remain u

'Enfin, I abandon it!' I said aloud. 'There is not a clue any-wherel Everything is perfectly normal.' As I said the words, my eyes fell on a large box of chocolates standing on a table near by, and my heart gave a leap. It might not

be a clue to M. D6roulard's death, but here at least was something that was not normal. I lifted the lid. The box was full, untouched; not a chocolate was missing - but that only made the peculiarity that had caught my eye more striking. For, see you, Hastings, while the box itself was pink, the lid was blue. Now, one often sees a blue ribbon on a pink box, and vice versa, but a box of one colour, and a lid of another - no; decidedly - fa ne se You jamais!

I did not as yet see that this little incident was of any use to me, yet I determined to investigate it as being out of the ordinary.

I rang the bell for Franvois, and asked him if his late master had been fond of sweets. A faint melancholy smile came to his lips.

'Passionately fond of them, monsieur. He would always have a box of chocolates in the house. He did not drink wine of any kind, you see.' 'Yet this box has not been touched?' I lifted the lid to show him.

'Pardon, monsieur, but that was a new box purchased on the day of his death, the other being nearly finished.' 'Then the other box was finished on the day of his death,' I said slowly.

'Yes, monsieur, I found it empty in the morning and threw it away.' 'Did M. D6roulard eat sweets at all hours of the day?' 'Usually after di

'Franvois,' I said, 'you can be discreet?' 'If there is need, monsieur.' 'Bon! Know, then, that I am of the police. Can you find me that other box?' 'Without doubt, monsieur. It will be in the dustbin.' He departed, and returned in a few minutes with a dust-covered object. It was the duplicate of the box I held, save for the fact that this time the box was blue and the lid was pink. I thanked Francois, recommended him once more to be discreet, and left the house in the Avenue Louise without more ado.

Nt I called upon the doctor who had attended M. D6roulard.

With him I had a difficult task. He entrenched himself prettil, behind a wall of learned phraseology, but I fancied that he was quite as sure about the case as he would like to be.

'There have been many curious occurrences of the kind,' he observed, when I had managed to disarm him somewhat. ', sudden fit of anger, a violent emotion - after a heavy di