I was very disappointed with the results of Poirot's bomb attack on
the premises in Chinatown. To begin with, the leader of the gang had
escaped. When Japp's men rushed up in response to Poirot's whistle
they found four Chinamen unconscious in the hall, but the man who had
threatened me with death was not among them. I remembered afterwards
that when I was forced out on to the doorstep, to decoy Poirot into the
house, this man had kept well in the background. Presumably he was out
of the danger zone of the gas bomb, and made good his escape by one of
the many exits which we afterwards discovered.
From the four who remained in our hands we learnt nothing. The fullest
investigation by the police failed to bring to light anything to
connect them with the Big Four. They were ordinary low-class residents
of the district, and they professed bland ignorance of the name Li
Chang Yen. A Chinese gentleman had hired them for service in the house
by the waterside, and they knew nothing whatever of his private affairs.
By the next day I had, except for a slight headache, completely
recovered from the effects of Poirot's gas bomb. We went down together
to Chinatown and searched the house from which I had been rescued.
The premises consisted of two ramshackle houses joined together by an
underground passage. The ground floors and the upper stories of each
were unfurnished and deserted, the broken windows covered by decaying
shutters. Japp had already been prying about in the cellars, and had
discovered the secret of the entrance to the subterranean chamber
where I had spent such an unpleasant half-hour. Closer investigation
confirmed the impression that it had made on me the night before. The
silks on the walls and divan and the carpets on the floors were of
exquisite workmanship. Although I know very little about Chinese art, I
could appreciate that every article in the room was perfect of its kind.
With the aid of Japp and some of his men we conducted a most thorough
search of the apartment. I had cherished high hopes that we would
find documents of importance. A list, perhaps, of some of the more
important agents of the Big Four, or cipher notes of some of their
plans, but we discovered nothing of the kind. The only papers we found
in the whole place were the notes which the Chinaman had consulted
whilst he was dictating the letter to Poirot. These consisted of a very
complete record of each of our careers, and estimate of our characters,
and suggestions about the weaknesses through which we might best be
attacked.
Poirot was most childishly delighted with this discovery. Personally I
could not see that it was of any value whatever, especially as whoever
compiled the notes was ludicrously mistaken in some of his opinions. I
pointed this out to my friend when we were back in our rooms.
"My dear Poirot," I said, "you know now what the enemy thinks of us. He
appears to have a grossly exaggerated idea of your brain power, and to
have absurdly underrated mine, but I do not see how we are better off
for knowing this."
Poirot chuckled in rather an offensive way.
"You do not see, Hastings, no? But surely now we can prepare ourselves
for some of their methods of attack now that we are warned of some
of our faults. For instance my friend, we know that you should think
before you act. Again, if you meet a red-haired young woman in trouble
you should eye her--what you say--askance, is it not?"
Their notes had contained some absurd references to my supposed
impulsiveness, and had suggested that I was susceptible to the charms
of young women with hair of a certain shade. I thought Poirot's
reference to be in the worst of taste, but fortunately I was able to
counter him.
"And what about you?" I demanded. "Are you going to try to cure your
'overweening vanity?' Your 'finicky tidiness?'"