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IX. The Disappearance of Mr. Davenheim
“Me,also!Whynot?ItistruethatIapproachsuchproblemswithanexactscience,amathematicalprecision,whichseems,alas,onlytoorareinthenewgenerationofdetectives!”
Jappgrinnedmorewidely.
“Idon’tknow,”hesaid.“Miller,themanwho’sonthiscase,isasmartchap.Youmaybeverysurehewon’toverlookafootprint,oracigar-ash,oracrumbeven.He’sgoteyesthatseeeverything.”
“So,monami,”saidPoirot,“hastheLondonsparrow.Butallthesame,IshouldnotaskthelittlebrownbirdtosolvetheproblemofMr.Davenheim.”
“Comenow,monsieur,you’renotgoingtorundownthevalueofdetailsasclues?”
“Bynomeans.Thesethingsareallgoodintheirway.Thedangeristheymayassumeundueimportance.Mostdetailsareinsignificant;oneortwoarevital.Itisthebrain,thelittlegreycells”—hetappedhisforehead—“onwhichonemustrely.Thesensesmislead.Onemustseekthetruthwithin—notwithout.”
“Youdon’tmeantosay,MonsieurPoirot,thatyouwouldundertaketosolveacasewithoutmovingfromyourchair,doyou?”
“ThatisexactlywhatIdomean—grantedthefactswereplacedbeforeme.Iregardmyselfasaconsultingspecialist.”
Jappslappedhisknee.“HangedifIdon’ttakeyouatyourword.Betyouafiverthatyoucan’tlayyourhand—orrathertellmewheretolaymyhand—onMr.Davenheim,deadoralive,beforeaweekisout.”
Poirotconsidered.“Ehbien,monami,Iaccept.Lesport,itisthepassionofyouEnglish.Now—thefacts.”
“OnSaturdaylast,asishisusualcustom,Mr.
