destroyer,’ gasped the man. Then, with a final convulsed movement, he fell back in a dead faint.
‘Mon Dieu!’ whispered Poirot, I was right then. I was right.’
‘You think—?’
He interrupted me.
‘Carry him on to the bed in my room. I have not a minute to lose if I would catch my train. Not that I want to catch it. Oh that I could miss it with a clear conscience! But I gave my word. Come, Hastings!’
Leaving our mysterious visitor in the charge of Mrs Pearson, we drove away, and duly caught the train by the skin of our teeth. Poirot was alternately silent and loquacious. He would sit staring out of the window like a man lost in a dream, apparently not hearing a word that I said to him. Then, suddenly reverting to animation, he would shower injunctions and commands upon me, and urge the necessity of constant marconigrams.
He had a long fit of silence just after we passed Woking. The train, of course, did not stop anywhere until Southampton; but just here it happened to be held up by a signal.
‘Ah! Sacré mille tonnerres!’ cried Poirot suddenly. ‘But I have been an imbecile. I see clearly at last. It is undoubtedly the blessed saints who stopped the train. Jump, Hastings, but jump, I tell you.’
In an instant he had unfastened the carriage door and jumped out on the line.
‘Throw out the suitcases and jump yourself.’
I obeyed him. Just in time. As I alighted beside him, the train moved on.
‘And now, Poirot,’ I said, in some exasperation, ‘perhaps you will tell me what all this is about.’
‘It is, my friend, that I have seen the light.’
‘That,’ I said, ‘is very illuminating to me.’
‘It should be,’ said Poirot, ‘but I fear—I very much fear that it is not. If you can carry two of these valises, I think I can manage the rest.’
Fortunately the train had stopped near a station. A short walk brought us to a garage where we were able to obtain a car, and half an hour later we were spinning rapidly back to London. Then, and not till then, did Poirot deign to satisfy my curiosity.
‘You do not see? No more did I. But I see now. Hastings, I was being got out of the way.’
‘What?’
‘Yes. Very cleverly. Both the place and the method were chosen with great knowledge and acumen. They were afraid of me.’
‘Who were?’
‘Those four geniuses who have banded themselves together to work outside the law. A Chinaman, an American, a Frenchwoman, and—another. Pray the good God we arrive back in time, Hastings.’
‘You think there is danger to our visitor?’
‘I am sure of it.’
Mrs Pearson greeted us on arrival. Brushing aside her ecstasies of astonishment on beholding Poirot, we asked for information. It was reassuring. No one had called and our guest had not made any sign.
With a sigh of relief we went up to the rooms. Poirot crossed the outer one and went through to the inner one. Then he called me, his voice strangely agitated.
‘Hastings, he’s dead.’
I came running to join him. The man was lying as we had left him, but he was dead, and had been dead some time. I rushed out for a doctor. Ridgeway, I knew, would not have returned yet. I found one almost immediately, and brought him back with me.
‘He’s dead right enough, poor chap. Tramp you’ve been befriending, eh?’
‘Something of the kind,’ said Poirot evasively. ‘What was the cause of death, doctor?’
‘Hard to say. Might have been some kind of fit. There are signs of asphyxiation. No gas laid on is there?’
‘No, electric light—nothing else.’
‘And both windows wide open, too. Been dead about two hours, I should say. You’ll notify the proper people, won’t you?’
He took his departure. Poirot did some necessary telephoning. Finally, somewhat to my surprise, he rang up our old friend Inspector Japp, and asked him if he could possibly come round.
No sooner were these proceedings completed than Mrs Pearson appeared, her eyes as round as saucers.
‘There’s a man here from ’Anwell—from the ’sylum. Did you ever? Shall I show him up?’
We signified assent, and a big, burly man in uniform was ushered in.
‘’Morning, gentlemen,’ he said cheerily. ‘I’ve got reason to believe you’ve got one of my birds here. Escaped last night, he did.’
‘He was here,’ said Poirot quietly.
‘Not got away again, has he?’ asked the keeper, with some concern.
‘He is dead.’
The man looked more relieved than otherwise.
‘You don’t say so. Well, I daresay it’s best for all parties.’
‘Was he—dangerous?’
‘’Omicidal, d’you mean? Oh, no. ’Armless enough. Persecution mania very acute. Full of secret societies from China that had got him shut up. They’re all the same.’
I shuddered.
‘How long had he been shut up?’ asked Poirot.
‘A matter of two years now.’
‘I see,’ said Poirot quietly. ‘It never occurred to anybody that he might—be sane?’
The keeper permitted himself to laugh.
‘If he was sane, what would he be doing in a lunatic asylum? They all say they’re sane, you know.’
Poirot said no more. He took the man in to see the body. The identification came immediately.
‘That’s ’im, right enough,’ said the keeper callously; ‘funny sort of bloke, ain’t he? Well, gentlemen, I had best go off now and make arrangements under the circumstances. We won’t trouble you with the corpse much longer. If there’s a hinquest, you will have to appear at it, I dare say. Good morning, sir.’
With a rather uncouth bow he shambled out of the room.
