Chapter 20 19

(nineteen) "But it is beautiful, my friend," said Hercule Poirot admiringly, "so clear--clearly beautiful." "You make it sound as if you're talking about soup," murmured the Inspector. "It might be a consommé to you—but to me there's a lot of pretense. inside." "It's gone now. Everything fits right." "Even these?" Inspector Sharpe showed the two redheads just as he had shown Mrs. Hubbard earlier. Poirot's answer was almost identical to Sharp's earlier answer. "Ah-yes," he said, "what did the announcer say on the radio? A deliberate mistake."

The two men looked at each other. "No one," said Hercule Poirot, "is as clever as they think they are." Inspector Sharpe would have liked to say: "Even Hercule Poirot?" But he suppressed it and didn't say it. "The other one, my friend, is everything arranged?" "Yes, tomorrow." "You go out yourself?" "No, I'm scheduled to go to 26 Hickory Road. Cope will be in charge." "We wish him luck." Hercule Poirot solemnly raised his glass.The glass contained mint liquor. Inspector Sharp raised his whiskey glass.

"I hope so," he said. "They'll really come up with something, these places," said Sergeant Kopp. He was looking enviously and enviously at the display window of "Saarina Mall".Inside the window designer's opulent masterpiece -- "Transparent Smooth Mirror Green Waves" -- shows Sharina reclining, looking joyful in dainty panties, surrounded by an assortment of beautifully packaged Cosmetics.In addition to her panties, she also wore all kinds of gaudy costume jewelry. Detective Mark Cree snorted deeply disapprovingly. "It's called profanity, I say. Serena Mall, that's a reference to Milton's work."

"Well, Milton's work is not a Bible, little brother." "You don't deny that his Paradise Lost is about Adam, Eve and Eden and all the devils in hell. If that's not religion, what is it?" Officer Kopp did not continue the controversial topic.He entered the building rashly, followed by the dogged detective.The police officer and his valet are like two bulls in a fine china shop, out of place in the pink-toned interior of the Serena Mall. They were greeted by a beautiful woman in pink salmon, her feet barely touching the floor. Inspector Kopp said, "Morning, ma'am," and showed his ID.The beautiful animal backed away in panic.An equally lovely, though slightly older woman appeared.In her turn she stepped back, replaced by a dainty dazzled dame, whose blue-gray hair and smooth cheeks belittled her age and wrinkles.A pair of scrutinizing iron gray eyes met Officer Cope's steady gaze.

"This is very unusual," said the countess sharply. "This way, please." She led him through a square reception room with a table in the center on which various magazines and periodicals were piled loosely.On all four walls were curtained niches in which women could be seen lounging on their backs under the hands of pink-robed nuns. The baroness led the sergeant into an office-like room, with a large roll-top table, a few modest chairs, and rough Northland lighting that wasn't at all soft. "I'm Mrs. Lucas, the proprietor," she said, "and my partner, Miss Hohouse, is not here today."

"Yes, ma'am," said Inspector Kopp, to whom this was no news. "Your warrant appears to be very imperious," said Mrs. Lucas. "This is Miss Hohouse's private office. I sincerely hope that you will not have to - er - alarm our customers." "I don't think you need to worry about that," Cope said. "There's no way what we're looking for is out there." He waited politely until she reluctantly withdrew, and then looked around Valerie Hobhouse's office.Narrow windows look out into the backs of other high-end stores.There were pale gray panels on all four walls, and two fine Persian rugs on the floor.His eyes moved from the small safe on the wall to the large desk.

"Not in the safe," Copp said. "It's too obvious." Ten minutes later, the secrets of the safe and all the drawers of the desk were revealed. "It seems to be a waste of time." Mark Keli, who was depressed and melancholy by nature, said. "We're just getting started," Kopp said. The things in the drawers have been taken out and sorted into piles, and now he continues to pull out all the drawers and turn them upside down. He let out a cry of joy. "Yes, little brother," he said. Taped to the back of the bottom drawer are six small notebooks with dark blue gold letters.

"Passport," said Inspector Cope, "issued by the Queen's Foreign Secretary, God bless him with a trusting heart." Mark Kelie leaned over to watch Kopp open those passports with interest, and compared them with the photos posted on them. "It's hardly recognizable as the same woman, is it?" The names on the passports are: Mrs. Da Silva, Miss Ellen French, Mrs. Olga Cohen, Miss Nina McSurrell, Mrs. Gravis Thomas, and Mona O. Miss Neil.They represent a young black woman, between the ages of twenty-five and forty. "It's the effect of each haircut," Copp said, "cuts, curly, straight, inward-cropped, etc. Nose twitches under the pseudonym Olga Cohen, Mrs. Thomas puffs her cheeks." .There are two more here - foreign passports - Mrs. Mamoudi, Algerian. Sheila Donovan, Irish. I think she has bank accounts in these various names."

"It's kind of complicated, isn't it?" "Have to complicate things a bit, little man. The IRS man is always poking around and asking embarrassing questions. It's easy to smuggle in and make money--but what to do with the money once you get it is hard! Small casinos were set up for this very reason. Gambling winnings are arguably the only income the income tax inspectors can't trace. Most of the stolen money must be deposited in banks in Algeria, France and Ireland, I suppose. The whole thing goes through Thorough planning. Then, one day, she must have left a false passport in Hickory Road, and poor little Celia saw it."