door was already closing behind my late adversary. I rushed to it and shook it, it was locked on the outside. I seized the telephone from Poirot.
“Is that the bureau? Stop a man who is coming out. A tall man, with a buttoned-up overcoat and a soft hat. He is wanted by the police.”
Very few minutes elapsed before we heard a noise in the corridor outside. The key was turned and the door flung open. The manager himself stood in the doorway.
“The man - you have got him?” I cried.
“No, monsieur. No one has descended.”
“You must have passed him.”
“We have passed no one, monsieur. It is incredible that he can have escaped.”
“You have passed some one, I think,” said Poirot, in his gentle voice. “One of the hotel staff, perhaps?”
“Only a waiter carrying a tray, monsieur.”
“Ah!” said Poirot, in a tone that spoke infinities.
“So that was why he wore his overcoat buttoned up to his chin,” mused Poirot, when we had finally got rid of the excited hotel officials.
“I'm awfully sorry, Poirot,” I murmured, rather crestfallen. “I thought I'd downed him all right.”
“Yes, that was a Japanese trick, I fancy. Do not distress yourself, mon ami. All went according to plan - his plan. That is what I wanted.”
“What's this?” I cried, pouncing on a brown object that lay on the floor.
It was a slim pocket-book of brown leather, and had evidently fallen from our visitor's pocket during his struggle with me. It contained two receipted bills in the name of M. Felix Laon, and a folded-up piece of paper which made my heart beat faster. It was a half sheet of note-paper on which a few words were scrawled in pencil but they were words of supreme importance.
“The next meeting of the council will be on Friday at 34 Rue des Echelles at 11 a.m.”
It was signed with a big figure 4.
And today was Friday, and the clock on the mantelpiece showed the hour to be 10:30.
“My God, what a chance!” I cried. “Fate is playing into our hands. We must start at once - though. What stupendous luck.”
“So that was why he came,” murmured Poirot. “I see it all now.”
“See what? Come on, Poirot, don't stay daydreaming there.”
Poirot looked at me, and slowly shook his head, smiling as he did so.
“'Will you walk into my parlour, said the spider to the fly?' That is your little English nursery rhyme, is it not? No, no - they are subtle - but not so subtle as Hercule Poirot.”
“What on earth are you driving at, Poirot?”
“My friend, I have been asking myself the reason of this morning's visit. Did our visitor really hope to succeed in bribing me? Or, alternatively, in frightening me into abandoning my task? It seemed hardly credible. Why, then, did he come? And now I see the whole plan - very neat - very pretty - the ostensible reason to bribe or frighten me - the necessary struggle which he took no pains to avoid, and which should make the dropped pocket-book natural and reasonable - and finally - the pitfall! Rue des Echelles, 11 a.m.? I think not, mon ami! One does not catch Hercule Poirot as easily as that.”
“Good heavens,” I gasped.
Poirot was frowning to himself.
“There is still one thing I do not understand.”
“What is that?”
“The time, Hastings - the time. If they wanted to decoy me away, surely night time would be better? Why this early hour? Is it possible that something is about to happen this morning? Something which they are anxious Hercule Poirot should not know about?”
He shook his head.
“We shall see. Here I sit, mon ami. We do not stir out this morning. We await events here.”
It was at half-past eleven exactly that the summons came. A petit bleu. Poirot tore it open, then handed it to me. It was from Madame Olivier, the world-famous scientist, whom we had visited yesterday in connection with the Halliday case. It asked us to come out to Passy at once.
We obeyed the summons without an instant's delay.
Madame Olivier received us in the
“Is that the bureau? Stop a man who is coming out. A tall man, with a buttoned-up overcoat and a soft hat. He is wanted by the police.”
Very few minutes elapsed before we heard a noise in the corridor outside. The key was turned and the door flung open. The manager himself stood in the doorway.
“The man - you have got him?” I cried.
“No, monsieur. No one has descended.”
“You must have passed him.”
“We have passed no one, monsieur. It is incredible that he can have escaped.”
“You have passed some one, I think,” said Poirot, in his gentle voice. “One of the hotel staff, perhaps?”
“Only a waiter carrying a tray, monsieur.”
“Ah!” said Poirot, in a tone that spoke infinities.
“So that was why he wore his overcoat buttoned up to his chin,” mused Poirot, when we had finally got rid of the excited hotel officials.
“I'm awfully sorry, Poirot,” I murmured, rather crestfallen. “I thought I'd downed him all right.”
“Yes, that was a Japanese trick, I fancy. Do not distress yourself, mon ami. All went according to plan - his plan. That is what I wanted.”
“What's this?” I cried, pouncing on a brown object that lay on the floor.
It was a slim pocket-book of brown leather, and had evidently fallen from our visitor's pocket during his struggle with me. It contained two receipted bills in the name of M. Felix Laon, and a folded-up piece of paper which made my heart beat faster. It was a half sheet of note-paper on which a few words were scrawled in pencil but they were words of supreme importance.
“The next meeting of the council will be on Friday at 34 Rue des Echelles at 11 a.m.”
It was signed with a big figure 4.
And today was Friday, and the clock on the mantelpiece showed the hour to be 10:30.
“My God, what a chance!” I cried. “Fate is playing into our hands. We must start at once - though. What stupendous luck.”
“So that was why he came,” murmured Poirot. “I see it all now.”
“See what? Come on, Poirot, don't stay daydreaming there.”
Poirot looked at me, and slowly shook his head, smiling as he did so.
“'Will you walk into my parlour, said the spider to the fly?' That is your little English nursery rhyme, is it not? No, no - they are subtle - but not so subtle as Hercule Poirot.”
“What on earth are you driving at, Poirot?”
“My friend, I have been asking myself the reason of this morning's visit. Did our visitor really hope to succeed in bribing me? Or, alternatively, in frightening me into abandoning my task? It seemed hardly credible. Why, then, did he come? And now I see the whole plan - very neat - very pretty - the ostensible reason to bribe or frighten me - the necessary struggle which he took no pains to avoid, and which should make the dropped pocket-book natural and reasonable - and finally - the pitfall! Rue des Echelles, 11 a.m.? I think not, mon ami! One does not catch Hercule Poirot as easily as that.”
“Good heavens,” I gasped.
Poirot was frowning to himself.
“There is still one thing I do not understand.”
“What is that?”
“The time, Hastings - the time. If they wanted to decoy me away, surely night time would be better? Why this early hour? Is it possible that something is about to happen this morning? Something which they are anxious Hercule Poirot should not know about?”
He shook his head.
“We shall see. Here I sit, mon ami. We do not stir out this morning. We await events here.”
It was at half-past eleven exactly that the summons came. A petit bleu. Poirot tore it open, then handed it to me. It was from Madame Olivier, the world-famous scientist, whom we had visited yesterday in connection with the Halliday case. It asked us to come out to Passy at once.
We obeyed the summons without an instant's delay.
Madame Olivier received us in the
Similar Books
