Do not be too trusting, mademoiselle.
Everywhere in the world there are rogues and vagabonds, even it may be on this very coach of ours.
One should always be on the guard, suspicious!”
She stared at him openmouthed, and he nodded sapiently.
“But yes, it is as I say.
Who knows?
Even I who speak to you may be a malefactor of the worst description.”
And he twinkled more than ever at her surprised face.
We stopped for lunch at Monkhampton, and, after a few words with the waiter, Poirot managed to secure us a small table for three close by the window.
Outside, in a big courtyard, about twenty char-a-bancs were parked—char-a-bancs which had come from all over the country.
The hotel dining room was full, and the noise was rather considerable.
“One can have altogether too much of the holiday spirit,” I said with a grimace.
Mary Durrant agreed.
“Ebermouth is quite spoiled in the summers nowadays.
My aunt says it used to be quite different.
Now one can hardly get along the pavements for the crowd.”
“But it is good for business, mademoiselle.”
“Not for ours particularly.
We sell only rare and valuable things.
We do not go in for cheap bric-a-brac.
My aunt has clients all over England.
If they want a particular period table or chair, or a certain piece of china, they write to her, and, sooner or later, she gets it for them.
That is what has happened in this case.”
We looked interested and she went on to explain.
A certain American gentleman, Mr. J. Baker Wood, was a connoisseur and collector of miniatures.
A very valuable set of miniatures had recently come into the market, and Miss Elizabeth Penn—Mary’s aunt—had purchased them.
She had written to Mr. Wood describing the miniatures and naming a price.
He had replied at once, saying that he was prepared to purchase if the miniatures were as represented and asking that someone should be sent with them for him to see where he was staying at Charlock Bay.
Miss Durrant had accordingly been despatched, acting as representative for the firm.
“They’re lovely things, of course,” she said. “But I can’t imagine anyone paying all that money for them.
Five hundred pounds!
Just think of it!
They’re by Cosway.
Is it Cosway I mean?
I get so mixed up in these things.”
Poirot smiled.
“You are not yet experienced, eh, mademoiselle?”
“I’ve had no training,” said Mary ruefully. “We weren’t brought up to know about old things.
It’s a lot to learn.”
She sighed.
Then suddenly, I saw her eyes widen in surprise.
She was sitting facing the window, and her glance now was directed out of that window, into the courtyard.
With a hurried word, she rose from her seat and almost ran out of the room.
She returned in a few moments, breathless and apologetic.
“I’m so sorry rushing off like that.
But I thought I saw a man taking my suitcase out of the coach.
I went flying after him, and it turned out to be his own.
It’s one almost exactly like mine.
I felt like such a fool.
It looked as though I were accusing him of stealing it.”