Poirot bowed.
"M. Ie Docteur, may I speak to you alone?"
Savaronoff turned to his niece.
"Leave us, Sonia."
She disappeared obediently.
"Now, sir, what is it?"
"Dr. Savaronoff, you have recently come into an enormous fortune. If you should-die unexpectedly, who inherits it?"
"I have made a will leaving everything to my niece, Sonia Daviloff. You do not suggest-"
"I suggest nothing, but you have not seen your niece since she was a child. It would have been easy for any one to impersonate her."
Savaronoff seemed thunderstruck by the suggestion.
Poirot went on easily.
"Enough as to that. I give you the word of warning, that is all. What I want you to do now is to describe to me the game of chess the other evening."
"How do you mean-describe it?"
"Well, I do not play the chess myself, but I understand that there are various regular ways of beginning-the gambit, do they not call it?"
Dr. Savaronoff smiled a little.
"Ah! I comprehend you now. Wilson opened Ruy Lopez-one of the soundest openings there is, and one frequently adopted in tournaments and matches."
"And how long had you been playing when the tragedy happened?"
"It must have been about the third or fourth move when Wilson suddenly fell toward over the table, stone dead."
Poirot rose to depart. He flung out his last question as though it was of absolutely no importance, but I knew better.
"Had he had anything to eat or drink?"
"A whisky and soda, I think.''
"Thank you, Dr. Savaronoff. I will disturb you no longer."
Ivan was in the hall to show us out. Poirot lingered on the threshold.
"The flat below this, do you know who lives there?"
"Sir Charles Kingwell, a member of Parliament, sir.
It has been let furnished lately, though."
"Thank you."
We went out into the bright winter sunlight.
"Well, really, Poirot," I burst out. "I don't think you've distinguished yourself this time. Surely your questions were very inadequate."
"You think so, Hastings?" Poirot looked at me appealingly.
"I was boulverse, yes. What would you have asked?"
I considered the question carefully, and then outlined my scheme to Poirot. He listened with what seemed to be close interest. My monologue lasted until we had nearly reached home.
"Very excellent, very searching, Hastings," said Poirot, as he inserted his key in the door and preceded me up the stairs. "But quite unnecessary."
"Unnecessary!" I cried, amazed. "If the man was poisoned-"
"Aha," cried Poirot, pouncing upon a note which lay on the table. "From Japp. Just as I thought." He flung it over to me. It was brief and to the point. No traces of poison had been found, and there was nothing to show how the man came by his death.
"You see," said Poirot, "our questions would have been quite unnecessary."
"You guessed this beforehand?"
" 'Forecast the probable result of the deal,' " quoted Poirot from a recent Bridge problem on which I had spent much time. "Mon ami, when you do that successfully, you do not call it guessing."
"Don't let's split hairs," I said impatiently. "You foresaw this?"
"I did."
"Why?"
Poirot put his hand into his pocket and pulled out-a white bishop,
"Why," I cried, "you forgot to give it back to Dr.Savaronoff."
"You are in error, my friend. That bishop still reposes in my left-hand pocket. I took its fellow from the box of chessmen Mademoiselle Daviloff kindly permitted me to examine. The plural of one bishop is two bishops."
He sounded the final "s" with a great hiss. I was completely mystified.
"But why did you take it?"
"Parbleu, I wanted to see if they were exactly alike."
He stood them on the table side by side.
"Well, they are, of course," I said. "exactly alike."
Poirot looked at them with his head on one side.
"They seem so, I admit. But one should take no fact for granted until it is proved. Bring me, I pray you, my little scales."
With infinite care he weighed the two chessmen, then turned to me with a face alight with triumph.
"I was right. See you,'I was right. Impossible to deceive Hercule Poirot!"
He rushed to the telephone-waited impatiently.
"Is that Japp? Ah! Japp, it is you. Hercule Poirot speaks. Watch the man-servant, Ivan. On no account let him slip through your fingers. Yes, yes, it is as I say."
He dashed down the receiver and turned to me.
"You see it not, Hastings? I will explain. Wilson was not poisoned, he was electrocuted. A thin metal rod passes up the middle of one of those chessmen. The table was prepared beforehand and set upon a certain spot on the floor. When the bishop was placed upon one of the silver squares, the current passed through Wilson's body, killing him instantly. The only mark was the electric burn upon his hand-his left hand, because he was left-handed. The 'special table' was an extremely cunning piece of mechanism. The table I examined was a duplicate, perfectly innocent. It was substituted for the other immediately after the murder. The thing was worked from the flat below, which, if you remember, was let furnished. But one accomplice at least was in Savaronoff's flat. The girl is an agent of the Big Four, working to inherit Savaronoff's money."
"And Ivan?"
"I strongly suspect that Ivan is none other than the famous Number Four."
"What?"
"Yes. The man is a marvellous character actor. He can assume any part he pleases."
I thought back over past adventures, the lunatic asylum keeper, the butcher's young man, the suave doctor, all the same man, and all totally unlike each other.
"It's amazing," I said at last. "Everything fits in.
Savaronoff had an inkling of the plot, and that's why he was so averse to playing the match."
Poirot looked at me without speaking. Then he turned abruptly away, and began pacing up and down.
"Have you a book on chess by any chance, mon amiV he asked suddenly.
"I believe I have somewhere."
It took me some time to ferret it out, but I found it at last, and brought it to Poirot, who sank down in a chair and started reading it with the greatest attention.
In about a quarter of an hour the telephone rang. I answered it. It was Japp. Ivan had left the flat, carrying a large bundle. He had sprung into a waiting taxi, and the chase had begun. He was evidently trying to lose his pursuers. In the end he seemed to fancy that he had done so, and had then driven to a big empty house at Hampstead. The house was surrounded.
I recounted all this to Poirot. He merely stared at me as though he scarcely took in what I was saying. He held out the chess book.
"Listen to this, my friend. This is the Ruy Lopez opening. 1 P-K4, P-K4; 2 Kt-KB3, Kt-QB3; 3BKt5;
Then there comes a question as to Black's best third move. He has the choice of various defences. It was White's third move that killed Gilmour Wilson, 3BKt5.
Only the third move-does that say nothing to you?"
I hadn't the least idea what he meant, and told him so.
"Suppose, Hastings, that while you were sitting in this chair, you heard the front door being opened and shut, what would you think?"
"I should think some one had gone out, I suppose."
"Yes-but there are always two ways of looking at things. Some one gone out-some one come w-two totally different things, Hastings. But if you assumed the wrong one, presently some little discrepancy would creep in and show you that you were on the wrong track."
"What does all this mean. Poirot?"
Poirot sprang to his feet with sudden energy.
"It means that I have been a triple imbecile. Quick, quick, to the flat in Westminster. We may yet be in time."
We tore off in a taxi. Poirot returned no
answer to my excited questions. We raced up the stairs. Repeated rings and knocks brought no reply, but listening closely I could distinguish a hollow groan coming from within.
The hall porter proved to have a master key, and after a few difficulties he consented to use it.
Poirot went straight to the inner room. A whiff of chloroform met us. On the floor was Sonia Daviloff, gagged and bound, with a great wad of saturated cotton wool over her nose and mouth. Poirot tore it off and began to take measures to restore her. Presently a doctor arrived, and Poirot handed her over to his charge and drew aside with me. There was no sign of Dr.
Savaronoff.
"What does it all mean?" I asked, bewildered.
"It means that before two equal deductions I chose the wrong one. You heard me say that it would be easy for any one to impersonate Sonia Daviloff because her uncle had not seen her for so many years?"
"Yes?"
"Well, precisely the opposite held good also. It was equally easy for any one to impersonate the uncle.'' "What?"
"Savaronoff did die at the outbreak of the Revolution.
The man who pretended to have escaped with such terrible hardships, the man so changed 'that his own friends could hardly recognise him,' the man who successfully laid claim to an enormous fortune-"
"Yes. Who was he?"
"Number Four. No wonder he was frightened when Sonia let him know she had overheard one of his private conversations about the 'Big Four.' Again he has slipped through my fingers. He guessed I should get on the right track in the end, so he sent off the honest Ivan on a tortuous wild goose chase, chloroformed the girl, and got out, having by now doubtless realised most of the securities left by Madame Gospoja."
"But-but who tried to kill him then?"
"Nobody tried to kill him. Wilson was the intended victim all along."
"But why?"
"My friend, Savaronoff was the second greatest chess player in the world. In all probability Number Four did not even known the rudiments of the game. Certainly he could not sustain the fiction of a match. He tried all he knew to avoid the contest. When that failed, Wilson's doom was sealed. At all costs he must be prevented from discovering that the great Savaronoff did not even know how to play chess. Wilson was fond of the Ruy Lopez opening, and was certain to use it. Number Four arranged for death to come with the third move, before any complications of defence set in."
"But, my dear Poirot," I persisted, "are we dealing with a lunatic? I quite follow your reasoning, and admit that you must be right, but to kill a man just to sustain his role! Surely there were simpler ways out of the difficulty than that? He could have said that his doctor forbade the strain of a match."
Poirot wrinkled his forehead.
"Cerfainement, Hastings," he said, "there were other ways, but none so convincing. Besides, you are assuming that to kill a man is a thing to avoid, are you not? Number Four's mind, it does not act that way. I put myself in his place, a thing impossible for you. I picture his thoughts. He enjoys himself as the professor at that match. I doubt not he has visited the chess tourneys to study his part. He sits and frowns in thought; he gives the impression that he is thinking great plans, and all the time he laughs in himself. He is aware that two moves are all that he knows-and all that he need know. Again, it would appeal to his mind to foresee the events and to make the man his own executioner at the exact time that suits Number Four… Oh, yes, Hastings, I begin to understand our friend and his psychology."
I shrugged.
"Well, I suppose you're right, but I can't understand any one running a risk he could so easily avoid."
"Risk!" Poirot snorted. "Where then lay the risk?
Would Japp have solved the problem? No; if Number was mid-January-a typical English winter day in London, damp and dirty. Poirot and I were sitting in two chairs well drawn up to the fire. I was aware of my friend looking at me with a quizzical smile, the meaning of which I could not fathom.
"A penny for your thoughts," I said lightly.
"I was thinking, my friend, that at midsummer, when you first arrived, you told me that you proposed to be in this country for a couple of months only."
"Did I say that?" I asked, rather awkwardly. "I don't remember."
Poirot's smile broadened.
"You did, mon ami. Since then, you have changed your plan, is it not so?"
"Er- yes. I have."
"And why is that?"
"Dash it all, Poirot, you don't think I'm going to leave you all alone when you're up against a thing like the'Big Four,'do you?"
Poirot nodded gently.
"Just as I thought. You are a staunch friend, Hastings.
It is to serve me that you remain on here. And your wife-little Cinderella as you call her, what does she say?"
"I haven't gone into details, of course, but she understands.
She'd be the last one to wish me to turn my back on a pal."
"Yes, yes, she, too, is a loyal friend. But it is going to be a long business, perhaps."
I nodded, rather discouraged.
"Six months already," I mused, "and where are we?
You know, Poirot, I can't help thinking that we ought to-well, to do something."
"Always so energetic, Hastings! And what precisely would you have me do?"
This was somewhat of a poser, but I was not going to withdraw from my position.
"We ought to take the offensive," I urged. "What have we done all this time?"
"More than you think, my friend. After all, we have established the identity of Number Two and Number Three, and we have learnt more than a little about the ways and methods of Number Four." 1 brightened up a little. As Poirot put it, things didn't sound so bad.
"Oh! Yes, Hastings, we have done a great deal. It is true that I am not in a position to accuse either Ryland or Madame Olivier-who would believe me? You remember I thought once I had Ryland successfully cornered?
Nevertheless I have made my suspicions known in certain quarters-the highest-Lord Aldington, who enlisted my help in the matter of the stolen submarine plans, is fully cognisant of all my information respecting the Big Four-and while others may doubt, he believes.
Ryland and Madame Olivier, and Li Chang Yen himself may go their ways, but there is a searchlight turned on all their movements."
"And Number Four?" I asked.
"As I said just now-I am beginning to know and understand his methods. You may smile, Hastings-but to penetrate a man's personality, to know exactly what he will do under any given circumstances-that is the beginning of success. It is a duel between us, and whilst he is constantly giving away his mentality to me, I endeavour to let him know little or nothing of mine. He is in the light, I in the shade. I tell you, Hastings, that every day they fear me the more for my chosen inactivity."
12. The Baited Trap
"They've let us alone, anyway," I observed. "There have been no more attempts on your life, and no ambushes of any kind."
"No," said Poirot thoughtfully. "On the whole, that rather surprises me. Especially as there are one or two fairly obvious ways of getting at us which I should have thought certain to have occurred to them. You catch my meaning, perhaps?"
"An infernal machine of some kind?" I hazarded.
Poirot made a sharp click with his tongue expressive of impatience.
"But no! I appeal to your imagination, and you can suggest nothing more subtle than bombs in the fireplace.
Well, well, I have need of some matches, I will promenade myself despite the weather. Pardon, my friend, but is it possible that you read The Future of the Argentine, Mirror of Society, Cattle Breeding, The Clue of Crimson and Sport in the Rockies at one and the same time?"
I laughed, and admitted that The Clue of Crimson was at present engaging my sole attention. Poirot shook his head sadly.
"But replace then the others on the bookshelf! Never, never shall I see you embrace the order and the method.
Mon Dieu, what then is a bookshelf for?"
I apologised humbly, and Poirot, after replacing the offending volumes, each in its appointed place, went out and left me to uninterrupted enjoyment of my selected book.
I must admit, however, that I was half asleep when Mrs. Pearson's knock at the door aroused me.
"A telegram for you, captain."
I tore the orange envelope open without much interest.
Then I sat as though turned to stone.
It was a cable from Bronsen, my manager out at the South American ranch, and it ran as follows:-"Mrs. Hastings disappeared yesterday, feared been kidnapped by some gang calling itself big four cable instructions have notified police but no clue as yet. bronsen.
I waved Mrs. Pearson out of the room, and sat as though stunned, reading the words over and over again.
Cinderella-kidnapped! In the hands of the infamous Big Four! God, what could I do?
Poirot! I must have Poirot. He would advise me. He would checkmate them somehow. In a few minutes now, he would be back. I must wait patiently until then.
But Cinderella-in the hands of the Big Four!
Another knock. Mrs. Pearson put her head in once more.
"A note for you, captain-brought by a heathen Chinaman. He's a-waiting downstairs."
I seized it from her. It was brief and to the point.
"If you ever wish to see your wife again, go with the bearer of this note immediately. Leave no message for your friend or she will suffer."
It was signed with a big 4.
What ought I to have done? What would you who read have done in my place?
I had no time to think. I saw only one thing-Cinderella in the power of those devils. I must obey-I dare not risk a hair of her head. I must go with this Chinaman and follow whither he led. It was a trap, yes, and it meant certain capture and possible death, but it was baited with the person dearest to me in the whole world, and I dared not hesitate.
What irked me most was to leave no word for Poirot.
Once set him on my track, and all might yet be well?
Dare I risk it? Apparently I was under no supervision, but yet I hesitated. It would have been so easy for the Chinaman to come up and assure himself that I was keeping to the letter of the command. Why didn't he?
His very abstention made me more suspicious. I had seen so much of the omnipotence of the Big Four that I credited them with almost super-human powers. For all I know, even the little bedraggled servant girl might be one of their agents.
The Big Four hp-5 Page 10