Poirot - Chapter 10 The Adventure of the Italian Nobleman

Poirot - Chapter 10 The Adventure of the Italian Nobleman

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Episode Transcript

(00:00):
The adventure of the Italian nobleman Poirot, and I had many friends and acquaintances
of an informal nature. Amongst thesewas to be numbered doctor Hawker, a
near neighbor of ours and a memberof the medical profession. It was the
genial doctor's habit to drop in sometimesof an evening and have a chat with
Poirot, of whose genius he wasan ardent admirer. The doctor, himself

(00:24):
frank and unsuspicious to the last degree, admired the talents so far removed from
his own. On one particular eveningin early June, he arrived about half
past eight and settled down to acomfortable discussion on the cheery topic of the
prevalence of our senical poisoning and crimes. It must have been about a quarter
of an hour later when the doorof our sitting room flew open and a

(00:45):
distracted female precipitated herself into the room. Oh doctor, you're wanted such a
terrible voice. It gave me aturn, it did. Indeed, I
recognized in our new visitor, doctorHawker's housekeeper, Miss Ryder. The doctor
was a bachelor and lived in aglue the old house, a few streets
away, the usually placid miss Riderwas now in a state bordering on incoherence.

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What terrible voice? Who is it? And what's the trouble? It
was the telephone doctor. I answeredit, and a voice spoke Help.
It said doctor, help, they'vekilled me. Then it sort of tailed
away. Who's speaking? I said, who's speaking? Then I got a
reply, just a whisper. Itseemed Fouscatine, something like that Regent's Court.

(01:27):
The doctor uttered an exclamation, CountFoscatini, he has a flat in
Regent's Court. I must go atonce. What can have happened a patient
of yours, asked Poirot. Iattended him for some slight ailment a few
weeks ago, an Italian, buthe speaks English perfectly well. I must
wish you good night, Monsieur Poirot, unless he hesitated. I perceive the

(01:49):
thought in your mind, said Poirot, smiling, I shall be delighted to
accompany you. Hastings, run downand get hold of a taxi. Taxis
always make themselves sought for when oneis particularly pressed for time. But I
captured one at last, and wewere soon bowling along in the direction of
Regent's Park. Regent's Court was anew block of flats situated just off Saint

(02:10):
John's Wood Road. They had onlyrecently been built and contained the latest service
devices. There was no one inthe hall. The doctor pressed the lift
bell impatiently, and when the liftarrived, questioned the uniformed attendant, sharply,
Flat two, Count Foscatini, there'sbeen an accident there, I understand.
The man stared at him. First. I've heard of it, mister

(02:32):
Graves. That's Count Foscatini's man wentout about half an hour ago, and
he said, nothing. Is theCount alone in the flat? No,
sir, he's got two gentlemen diningwith him. What are they like,
I asked eagerly. We were inthe lift, now ascending rapidly to the
second floor, on which Flat twowas situated. I didn't see them myself,

(02:53):
sir, but I understand that theywere foreign gentlemen. He pulled back
the iron door and we stepped outon the landing. Note it was opposite
to us. The doctor rang thebell. There was no reply, and
we could hear no sound from within. The doctor rang again and again.
We could hear the bell trilling within, but no sign of life. Rewarded
us. This is getting serious,muttered the doctor. He turned to the

(03:15):
lift attendant. Is there any passkey to this door? There is one
in the porter's office downstairs. Getit then, and look here. I
think you'd better send for the police. Poirot approved with a nod of the
head. The man returned Shortly.With him came the manager. Will you
tell me, gentlemen, what isthe meaning of all this? Certainly I

(03:36):
received a telephone message from Count Foscatinistating that he had been attacked and was
dying. You can understand that wemust lose no time if we are not
already too late. The manager producedthe key without more ado, and we
all entered the flat. We passedfirst into a small square lounge hall.
A door on the right of itwas half open. The manager indicated it

(03:58):
with a nod. The dining room. Doctor Hawker led the way. We
followed, close on his heels.As we entered the room, I gave
a gasp. The round table inthe center bore the remains of a meal.
Three chairs were pushed back, asthough their occupants had just risen.
In the corner to the right ofthe fireplace was a big writing table,
and sitting at it was a man, or what had been a man.

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His right hand still grasped the baseof the telephone, but he had fallen
forward, struck down by a terrificblow on the head from behind. The
weapon was not far to seek.A marble statuette stood where it had been
hurriedly put down, the base ofit stained with blood. The doctor's examination
did not take a minute. Stonedead must have been almost instantaneous. I

(04:42):
wonder he even managed to telephone.It will be better not to move him
until the police arrived. On themanager's suggestion, we searched the flat,
but the result was a foregone conclusion. It was not likely that the murderers
would be concealed there when all theyhad to do was to walk out.
We came back to the dining room. Poirot had not a coompanied us in
our tour. I found him studyingthe center table with close attention. I

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joined him. It was a wellpolished, round mahogany table. A bowl
of roses decorated the center, andwhite lace mats reposed on the gleaming surface.
There was a dish of fruit,but the three dessert plates were untouched.
There were three coffee cups with remainsof coffee in them, two black,
one with milk. All three menhad taken port, and the decanter,

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half full, stood before the centerplate. One of the men had
smoked a cigar, the other twocigarettes. A tortoiseshell and silver box holding
cigars and cigarettes stood open upon thetable. I enumerated all these facts to
myself, but I was forced toadmit that they did not shed any brilliant
light on the situation. I wonderedwhat Poirot saw in them to make him
so intent, I asked him,mon Ami, He replied, you miss

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the point. I am looking forsomething that I do not see. What
is that? A mistake, evena little mistake on the part of the
murderer. He stepped swiftly to thesmall adjoining kitchen, looked in and shook
his head. Monsieur, he saidto the manager. Explain to me,
I pray your system of serving mealshere. The manager stepped to a small
hatch in the wall. This isthe service lift, he explained. It

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runs to the kitchens at the topof the building. You order through this
telephone and the dishes are sent downin the lift. One course at a
time, the dirty plates and dishesare sent up in the same manner.
No domestic worries, you understand,and at the same time you avoid the
wearying publicity of always dining in arestaurant. Puarot nodded. Then the plates
and dishes that were used tonight areon high in the kitchen. You permit

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that I mount there. Oh,certainly, if you like Robert's, the
lift man will take you up andintroduce you. But I'm afraid you won't
find anything that's of any use.They're handling hundreds of plates and dishes,
and they'll be all lumped together.Poiret remained firm, however, and together
we visited the kitchens and questioned theman who had taken the order from Flat

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two. The order was given fromthe a la carte menu for three.
He explained, soup julienne, filetde soul normand tornadoes of beef, and
a rice souflet. What time?Just about eight o'clock? I should say,
No, I'm afraid the plates anddishes have been all washed up by
now. Unfortunate you were thinking offinger prints. I suppose not exactly,

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said Poirot with an enigmatical smile.I am more interested in Count Foscatini's appetite.
Did he partake of every dish?Yes, but of course I can't
say how much of each he ate. The plates were all soiled and the
dishes empty. That is to say, with the exception of the rice souflet,
there was a fair amount of thatleft. Ah, said Poirot,

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and seemed satisfied with the fact.As we descended to the flat again,
he remarked, in a low tone, we have decidedly to do with a
man of method. Do you meanthe murderer or Count Foscatini. The latter
was undoubtedly and orderly gentleman. Afterimploring help and announcing his approaching demise,
he carefully hung up the telephone receiver. I stared at Poirot. His words

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now in his recent inquiries gave methe glimmering of an idea, you suspect
poison, I breathed. The blowon the head was a blind. Poirot
merely smiled. We re entered theflat to find the local inspector of police
had arrived with two constables. Hewas inclined to resent our appearance, but
Poirot calmed him with the mention ofour Scotland yard friend, Inspector Japp,

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and we were accorded a grudging permissionto remain. It was a lucky thing
we were for we had not beenback five minutes before an agitated middle aged
man came rushing into the room withevery appearance of grief and agitation. This
was Graves, Valet, butler tothe late Count Foscatini. The story he
had to tell was a sensational one. On the previous morning, two gentlemen

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had called to see his master.They were Italians, and the elder of
the two, a man of aboutforty, gave his name as Signora Scanio.
The younger was a well dressed ladof about twenty four. Count Fossecte
was evidently prepared for their visit andimmediately sent Graves out upon some trivial errand
here the man paused and hesitated inhis story. In the end, however,

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he admitted that, curious as tothe purport of the interview, he
had not obeyed immediately, but hadlingered about, endeavoring to hear something of
what was going on. The conversationwas carried on in so low a tone
that he was not as successful ashe had hoped, but he gathered enough
to make it clear that some kindof monetary proposition was being discussed, and
that the basis of it was athreat. The discussion was anything but amicable.

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In the end, Count Foscattini raisedhis voice slightly, and the listener
heard these words clearly. I haveno time to argue further. Now,
gentlemen, if you will dine withme tomorrow night at eight o'clock, we
will resume the discussion. Afraid ofbeing discovered listening, Graves had then hurried
out to do his master's errand thisevening. The two men had arrived punctually
at eight. During dinner, theyhad talked of indifferent matters, politics,

(09:56):
the weather, and the theatrical world. When Graves had placed the port upon
the table and brought in the coffee, his master told him that he might
have the evening off. Was thata usual proceeding of his when he had
guests, asked the inspector, No, sir, it wasn't. That's what
made me think it must be somebusiness of a very unusual kind that he
was going to discuss with these gentlemen. That finished Graves's story. He had

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gone out about eight point three zero, and, meeting a friend, had
accompanied him to the Metropolitan Music Hallin Edgeware Road. Nobody had seen the
two men leave, but the timeof the murder was fixed clearly enough.
At eight point four seven. Asmall clock on the writing table had been
swept off by Foscattini's arm and hadstopped at that hour, which agreed with

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Miss Ryder's telephone summons. The policesurgeon had made his examination of the body,
and it was now lying on thecouch. I saw the face for
the first time, the olive complexion, the long nose, the luxuriant black
mustache, and the full red lipsdrawn back from the dazzlingly white teeth.
Not altogether, they're a pleasant face, well, said the inspector, refastening

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his notebook. The case seems clearenough. The only difficulty will be to
lay our hands on this Signor Ascanio. I suppose his address is not in
the dead man's pocketbook by any chance. As Poirot had said, the late
Foscatini was an orderly man, neatlywritten in small, precise handwriting. Was
the inscription Signor Paolo Ascanio, GrosvenorHotel, the inspector busied himself with the

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telephone, then turned to us witha grin. Just in time, our
fine gentleman was off to catch theboat train to the continong. Well,
gentlemen, that's about all we cando here. It's a bad business,
but straightforward enough, one of theseItalian vendetta things as likely as not.
Thus airily dismissed, we found ourway downstairs. Doctor Hawker was full of

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excitement, like the beginning of anovel. Eh, real exciting stuff.
Wouldn't believe it if you read aboutit. Poiro did not speak. He
was very thoughtful all the evening.He had hardly opened his lips. What
says the master detective, eh,asked Hawker, clapping him on the back.
Nothing to work your gray cells overthis time? You think not what

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could there be? Well, forexample, there is the window, the
window, but it was fastened.Nobody could have got out or in that
way. I noticed it specially,And why were you able to notice it?
The doctor looked puzzled. Poirot hastenedto explain. It is to the
curtains, I refer they were notdrawn. A little odd that. And
then there was the coffee. Itwas very black coffee. Well what of

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it? Very black, repeated Poirot. In conjunction with that, let us
remember that very little of the ricesouflet was eaten, and we get what
Moonshine, laughed the doctor. You'repulling my leg. Never do I pull
the leg. Hastings here knows thatI am perfectly serious. I don't know
what you were getting at all.The same I confessed, you suspect the

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man servant. Do you he mighthave been in with the gang and put
some dope in the coffee. Isuppose they'll test his alibi without doubt,
my friend, But it is thealibi of Signor Ascanio that interests me.
You think he has an alibi,That is just what worries me. I
have no doubt that we shall soonbe enlightened on that point. The Daily

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Newsmonger enabled us to become conversant withsucceeding events. Senor Ascanio was arrested and
charged with the murder of Count Foscatini. When arrested, he denied knowing the
count and declared he had never beennear Regent's Court, either on the evening
of the crime or on the previousmorning. The younger man had disappeared entirely.

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Signor Ascanio had arrived alone at theGrosvenor Hotel from the continent two days
before the murder. All efforts totrace the second man failed. Ascanio,
however, was not sent for trial. No less a personage than the Italian
ambassador himself came forward and testified atthe police court proceedings that Ascanio had been

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with him at the embassy from eighttill nine that evening the prisoner was discharged.
Naturally, a lot of people thoughtthat the crime was a political one
and was being deliberately hushed up.Poirot had taken a keen interest in all
these points. Nevertheless, I wassomewhat surprised when he suddenly informed me one
morning that he was expecting a visitorat eleven o'clock, and that that visitor

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was none other than Ascanio himself.He wishes to consult you do too,
Hastings. I wish to consult him. What about the Regent's court murder?
You are going to prove that hedid it. A man cannot be tried
twice for murder. Hastings. Endeavorto have the common sense, Ah,
that is our friend's ring. Afew minutes later, Signor Ascanio was ushered

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in a small, thin man witha secretive and furtive glance in his eyes.
He remained standing, darting suspicious glancesfrom one to the other of us.
Monsieur Poiro, my little friend,tapped himself gently on the t be
seated. Signor, you received mynote. I am determined to get to
the bottom of this mystery. Insome small measure you can aid me.

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Let us commence. You in companywith a friend, visited the late Count
Fouscatini on the morning of Tuesday theninth. The Italian made an angry gesture.
I did nothing of the sort.I have sworn in court precisement,
and I have a little idea thatyou have sworn falsely. You threaten me,
Bah, I have nothing to fearfrom you. I have been acquitted

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exactly, and as I am notan imbecile. It is not with the
gallows I threaten you, but withpublicity publicity. I see that you do
not like the word. I hadan idea that you would not my little
ideas. You know they are veryvaluable to me. Come, Signor,
your only chance is to be frankwith me. I do not ask to
know whose indiscretions brought you to England. I know this much. You came

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for the especial purpose of seeing CountFoscatini. He was not a count,
growled the Italian. I have alreadynoted the fact that his name does not
appear in the almanac de Goatha.Never mind, the title of count is
often useful in the profession of blackmailing. I suppose I might as well be
frank. You seem to know agood deal. I have employed my gray

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sales to some advantage. Come signorAscanio. You visited the dead man on
the Tuesday morning? That is so, is it not? Yes? But
I never went there on the followingevening. There was no need. I
will tell you all certain information concerninga man of great position in Italy had
come into this scoundrel's possession. Hedemanded a big sum of money in return

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for the papers. I came overto England to arrange the matter. I
called upon him by appointment that morning. One of the young secretaries of the
embassy was with me. The Countwas more reasonable than I had hoped,
although even then the sum of moneyI paid him was a huge one pardon.
How is it paid in Italian notesof comparatively small denomination. I paid

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over the money then and there hehanded me the incriminating paper. I never
saw him again. Why did younot say all this when you were arrested?
In my delicate position, I wasforced to deny any association with the
man send it? And how doyou account for the events of the evening?
Then? I can only think thatsomeone must have deliberately impersonated me.
I understand that no money was foundin the flat. Poirot looked at him

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and shook his head strange. Hemurmured, we all have the little gray
cells, and so few of usknow how to use them. Good morning,
Senor Ascanio. I believe your story. It is very much as I
had imagined, but I had tomake sure. After bowing his guest out,
Poirot returned to his armchair and smiledat me. Let us hear,
Monsieur le capitaine hastings on the case. Well, I suppose Ascanio is right.

(17:45):
Somebody impersonated him. Never, never, will you use the brains the
good God has given you. Recallto yourself some words I uttered after leaving
the flat that night, I referredto the window curtains not being drawn.
We are in the month of June. It is still light at eight o'clock.
The light is failing by half past. Cavu di Quelca shows I perceive

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a struggling impression that you will arrivesomeday. Now let us continue. The
coffee was, as I said,very black. Count Foscatini's teeth were magnificently
white. Coffee stains the teeth.We reason from that that Count Foscatini did
not drink any coffee. Yet therewas coffee in all three cups. Why
should anyone pretend Count Foscatini had drunkcoffee when he had not done? So,

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I shook my head utterly bewildered.Come, I will help you.
What evidence have we that Ascanio andhis friend, or two men posing as
them ever, came to the flatthat night? Nobody saw them go in,
nobody saw them go out. Wehave the evidence of one man and
of a host of inanimate objects.You mean, I mean knives and forks,
and plates and empty dishes. Ah, but it was a clever IDEA

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Graves is a thief and a scoundrel. But what a man of method He
overhears a portion of the conversation inthe morning enough to realize that Ascanio will
be an awkward position to defend himself. The following evening, about eight o'clock,
he tells his master he has wantedat the telephone. Foscatini sits down,
stretches out his hand to the telephone, and from behind Grave strikes him

(19:15):
down with the marble figure. Thenquickly to the service telephone. Dinner for
three it comes. He lays thetable, dirties the plates, knives and
forks, et cetera. But hehas to get rid of the food too.
Not only is he a man ofbrain, he has a resolute and
capacious stomach. But after eating threetornadoes, the risiou flet is too much
for him. He even smokes acigar and two cigarettes to carry out the

(19:38):
illusion ah, but it was magnificentlythorough. Then, having moved on the
hands of the clock to eight pointfour to seven, he smashes it and
stops it. The one thing hedoes not do is to draw the curtains.
But if there had been a realdinner party, the curtains would have
been drawn as soon as the lightbegan to fail. Then he hurries out,

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mentioning the guests to the lift man. In passing, he hurries to
a telephone box, and as nearas possible to eight point four seven rings
up the doctor with his master's dyingcry. So successful is his idea that
no one ever inquires if a callwas put through from Flat two at that
time except Hercule Poirot. I suppose, I said, sarcastically. Not even

(20:19):
Hercule Poirot, said, my friend, with a smile. I am about
to inquire now. I had toprove my point to you first, but
you will see I shall be right. And then Jap, to whom I
have already given a hint, willbe able to arrest the respectable Graves.
I wonder how much of the moneyhe has spent. Poiot is right,
he always is confound him