"Yes," said Poirot, nodding his head. "There is Gerald Paynter, as you
say. He is his uncle's heir. He was dining out that night, though."
"He might have got at some of the ingredients of the curry," I
suggested. "And he would take care to be out, so as not to have to
partake of the dish."
I think my reasoning rather impressed Poirot. He looked at me with a
more respectful attention than he had given me so far.
"He returns late," I mused, pursuing a hypothetical case. "Sees the
light in his uncle's study, enters, and, finding his plan has failed,
thrusts the old man down into the fire."
"Mr. Paynter, who was a fairly hearty man of fifty-five, would not
permit himself to be burnt to death without a struggle, Hastings. Such
a reconstruction is not feasible."
"Well, Poirot," I cried, "we're nearly there, I fancy. Let us hear what
you think?"
Poirot threw me a smile, swelled out his chest, and began in a pompous
manner.
"Assuming murder, the question at once arises, why choose that
particular method? I can think of only one reason--to confuse identity,
the face being charred beyond recognition."
"What?" I cried. "You think--"
"A moment's patience, Hastings. I was going on to say that I examine
that theory. Is there any ground for believing that the body is not
that of Mr. Paynter? Is there any one else whose body it possibly could
be? I examine these two questions and finally I answer them both in the
negative."
"Oh!" I said, rather disappointed. "And then?"
Poirot's eyes twinkled a little.
"And then I say to myself, 'since there is here something that I do not
understand, it would be well that I should investigate the matter. I
must not permit myself to be wholly engrossed by the Big Four.' Ah! we
are just arriving. My little clothes brush, where does it hide itself?
Here it is--brush me down, I pray you, my friend, and then I will
perform the same service for you."
"Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully, as he put away the brush, "one must
not permit oneself to be obsessed by one idea. I have been in danger of
that. Figure to yourself, my friend, that even here, in this case, I am
in danger of it. Those two lines you mentioned, a downstroke and a line
at right angles to it, what are they but the beginning of a 4?"
"Good gracious, Poirot," I cried, laughing.
"Is it not absurd? I see the hand of the Big Four everywhere. It is
well to employ one's wits in a totally different _milieu_. Ah!
there is Japp come to meet us."