Published: Seventh story in "Poirot Investigates" (1924)
Jewel Robbery at the Grand Metropolitan is nothing if not a functional title! This is one Poirot story where no-one gets murdered!
But it is a good story, with some interesting embellishments added to adapt it for Agatha Christie's Poirot.
The original opens with Poirot agreeing to Hastings' suggestion of a seaside break at Brighton's Grand Metropolitan hotel. At the hotel they meet a Mrs Opalsen (described quaintly as a "buxom dame" with an "ample bosom" who "waddled"). She tells them about her famous pearls. However, when she insists on going to get them from her room to show them - they have disappeared.
The two likely suspects are Mrs Opalsen's personal maid, Celestine, and a hotel chambermaid, who had both been in the room that evening. The pearls, however, were locked in a box - and Mrs Opalsen had the only key. Although Celestine had gone into an adjoining room very briefly it seemed unlikely that she was away long enough for the hotel maid to have forced open the box and taken the jewels. Both women are searched, and eventually the pearls are found hidden in Celestine's bed - or so it seems. In fact, Poirot immediately recognises them to be fake.
Thanks to the appearance of french chalk on the dressing table, Poirot eventually deduces that the hotel maid was working in cahoots with the hotel valet, who had been waiting in a different adjoining room. When Celestine had popped out the maid had opened the drawer (running silently, thanks to the chalk), had handed him the box through the door, giving him ample time to open it in the next room and to retrieve the jewels. They had reversed the process the next time Celestine went out, to replace the empty box. The imitation pearls had been planted earlier in the day, to incriminate Celestine.
The adaptation features Mr Opalsen more prominently. He is a theatre producer launching a new play, which will feature the famous pearls. Celestine is an excitable French woman in the original; here she is very calm and English, although, we are told, with a French mother. The valet has become Opalsen's chauffeur, who disguises himself as an elderly American, Mr Worthing, and takes the adjoining room, enabling him and the hotel maid to enact their plot. The pearls are stolen while the Opalsen's are at a post-opening night party (also attended by Poirot and Hastings). Japp again replaces a local police inspector as the investigating officer, and Miss Lemon does some snooping in London (to discover that the chauffeur and maid are married) - as well as chiding Hastings for allowing Poirot to get involved in a case when he was supposed to be resting! Struggling playwright Andrew Hall, a friend of Celestine's, is added to the mix as a further red herring.
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The final episode in series five marked the first major turning point in Agatha Christie's Poirot - for at least three reasons.
First, and most obviously, it brought to an end the one-hour (50 minutes without commercial breaks) adaptations of short stories. In all, thirty-six stories had been produced, taken from the major published collections. One intriguing omission was The LeMesurier Inheritance, which appears in "Poirot's Early Cases". By contrast, The Yellow Iris, which hadn't even been published in the UK when David Suchet began playing Poirot, was included in the fifth series.
Second, the end of series five marked the end of Agatha Christie's Poirot as an annual 'series', in the accepted and traditional understanding of that word on television. From its inception in 1989 it had become a staple part of Sunday evening entertainment in the early weeks of the year. Even the three feature-length episodes that constituted the somewhat 'ahead-of-its-time' series four had been shown on consecutive Sundays. From now on that would all change. Although, initially, Sunday evening continued to be the favoured night, it would gradually give way to other slots. More particularly, though, from now on it would be rare for episodes to be aired on more than two consecutive weeks. In time, this would have the effect of making each episode of Agatha Christie's Poirot more of an 'event'. We had seen 41 stories in a little over four years. The remaining 29 episodes filmed by David Suchet (all feature-length, of course) would, from the programme's return in 1995, span a further 18 years!
Third, the end of the one-hour episodes also marked the end of the iconic opening credits. It is fascinating to consider how strongly they are associated in everyone's mind with Poirot - even though they disappeared as the the two-hour episodes became the norm.