"So I accepted," he continued, "and in an hour's time I must leave to
catch the boat train. One of life's little ironies, is it not? But I
will admit to you, Hastings, that had not the money offered been so
big, I might have hesitated, for just lately I have begun a little
investigation of my own. Tell me, what is commonly meant by the phrase,
'The Big Four'?"
"I suppose it had its origin at the Versailles Conference, and then
there's the famous 'Big Four' in the film world, and the term is used
by hosts of smaller fry."
"I see," said Poirot thoughtfully. "I have come across the phrase,
you understand, under certain circumstances where none of those
explanations would apply. It seems to refer to a gang of international
criminals or something of that kind; only--"
"Only what?" I asked, as he hesitated.
"Only that I fancy that it is something on a large scale. Just a little
idea of mine, nothing more. Ah, but I must complete my packing. The
time advances."
"Don't go," I urged. "Cancel your passage and come out on the same boat
with me."
Poirot drew himself up and glanced at me reproachfully.
"Ah, it is that you do not understand! I have passed my word, you
comprehend--the word of Hercule Poirot. Nothing but a matter of life or
death could detain me now."
"And that's not likely to occur," I murmured ruefully. "Unless at the
eleventh hour 'the door opens and the unexpected guest comes in.'"
I quoted the old saw with a slight laugh, and then, in the pause that
succeeded it, we both started as a sound came from the inner room.
"What's that?" I cried.
"_Ma foi!_" retorted Poirot. "It sounds very like your 'unexpected
guest' in my bedroom."
"But how can any one be in there? There's no door except into this
room."
"Your memory is excellent, Hastings. Now for the deductions."
"The window! But it's a burglar then? He must have had a stiff climb of
it--I should say it was almost impossible."
I had risen to my feet and was striding in the direction of the door
when the sound of a fumbling at the handle from the other side arrested
me.
The door swung slowly open. Framed in the doorway stood a man. He was
coated from head to foot with dust and mud; his face was thin and
emaciated. He stared at us for a moment, and then swayed and fell.
Poirot hurried to his side, then he looked up and spoke to me.
"Brandy--quickly."
I dashed some brandy into a glass and brought it. Poirot managed to
administer a little, and together we raised him and carried him to the
couch. In a few minutes he opened his eyes and looked round him with an
almost vacant stare.
"What is it you want, monsieur?" said Poirot.
The man opened his lips and spoke in a queer mechanical voice.
"M. Hercule Poirot, 14 Farraway Street."
"Yes, yes; I am he."
The man did not seem to understand, and merely repeated in exactly the
same tone:--
"M. Hercule Poirot, 14 Farraway Street."
Poirot tried him with several questions. Sometimes the man did not
answer at all; sometimes he repeated the same phrase. Poirot made a
sign to me to ring up on the telephone.
"Get Dr. Ridgeway to come round."
The doctor was in luckily; and as his house was only just round the
corner, few minutes elapsed before he came bustling in.
"What's all this, eh?"
Poirot gave a brief explanation, and the doctor started examining our
strange visitor, who seemed quite unconscious of his presence or ours.
"H'm!" said Dr. Ridgeway, when he had finished. "Curious case."
"Brain fever?" I suggested.
The doctor immediately snorted with contempt.
"Brain fever! Brain fever! No such thing as brain fever. An invention
of novelists. No; the man's had a shock of some kind. He's come here
under the force of a persistent idea--to find M. Hercule Poirot, 14
Farraway Street--and he repeats those words mechanically without in the
least knowing what they mean."
"Aphasia?" I said eagerly.
This suggestion did not cause the doctor to snort quite as violently as
my last one had done. He made no answer, but handed the man a sheet of
paper and a pencil.
"Let's see what he'll do with that," he remarked.
The man did nothing with it for some moments, then he suddenly began to
write feverishly. With equal suddenness he stopped and let both paper
and pencil fall to the ground. The doctor picked it up, and shook his
head.
"Nothing here. Only the figure 4 scrawled a dozen times, each one
bigger than the last. Wants to write 14 Farraway Street, I expect.
It's an interesting case--very interesting. Can you possibly keep him
here until this afternoon? I'm due at the hospital now, but I'll come
back this afternoon and make all arrangements about him. It's too
interesting a case to be lost sight of."
I explained Poirot's departure and the fact that I proposed to
accompany him to Southampton.
"That's all right. Leave the man here. He won't get into mischief. He's
suffering from complete exhaustion. Will probably sleep for eight hours
on end. I'll have a word with that excellent Mrs. Funnyface of yours,
and tell her to keep an eye on him."
And Dr. Ridgeway bustled out with his usual celerity. Poirot hastily
completed his packing, with one eye on the clock.
"The time, it marches with a rapidity unbelievable. Come now, Hastings,
you cannot say that I have left you with nothing to do. A most
sensational problem. The man from the unknown. Who is he? What is he?
Ah, _sapristi_, but I would give two years of my life to have
this boat go to-morrow instead of to-day. There is something here very
curious--very interesting. But one must have time--_time_. It may
be days--or even months--before he will be able to tell us what he came
to tell."
"I'll do my best, Poirot," I assured him. "I'll try to be an efficient
substitute."
"Ye-es."
His rejoinder struck me as being a shade doubtful. I picked up the
sheet of paper.
"If I were writing a story," I said lightly, "I should weave this in
with your latest idiosyncrasy and call it _The Mystery of the Big
Four_." I tapped the pencilled figures as I spoke.
And then I started, for our invalid, roused suddenly from his stupor,
sat up in his chair and said clearly and distinctly:
"Li Chang Yen."
He had the look of a man suddenly awakened from sleep. Poirot made a
sign to me not to speak. The man went on. He spoke in a clear, high
voice, and something in his enunciation made me feel that he was
quoting from some written report or lecture.
"Li Chang Yen may be regarded as representing the brains of the Big
Four. He is the controlling and motive force. I have designated him,
therefore, as Number One. Number Two is seldom mentioned by name. He is
represented by an 'S' with two lines through it--the sign for a dollar;
also by two stripes and a star. It may be conjectured, therefore, that
he is an American subject, and that he represents the power of wealth.
There seems no doubt that Number Three is a woman, and her nationality
French. It is possible that she may be one of the sirens of the
_demi-monde_ but nothing is known definitely. Number Four--"
His voice faltered and broke. Poirot leant forward.
"Yes," he prompted eagerly. "Number Four?"
His eyes were fastened on the man's face. Some overmastering terror
seemed to be gaining the day; the features were distorted and twisted.
"_The destroyer_," gasped the man. Then, with a final convulsive
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, reverting to animation suddenly, he would shower
injunctions and commands upon me, and urge the necessity of constant
marconigrams.
We 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 suit-cases 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."