anxious to see you. Said she’d wait until you came. I put her in ‘Clerks’ because it was warmer.”
“And from there she could walk in here, of course, without your seeing her. How long has she been gone?”
“About half an hour, sir. Said she’d call again this afternoon. A nice motherly looking body.”
“A nice motherly—oh! get out, Albert.”
Albert withdrew, injured.
“Queer start, that,” said Tommy. “It seems a little purposeless. Puts us on our guard. I suppose there isn’t a bomb concealed in the fireplace or anything of that kind?”
He reassured himself on that point, then he seated himself at the desk and addressed Tuppence.
“ Mon ami ,” he said. “We are here faced with a matter of the utmost gravity. You recall, do you not, the man who was No. 4. Him whom I crushed like an egg shell in the Dolomites—with the aid of high explosives, bien entendu . But he was not really dead—ah! no, they are never really dead, these super criminals. This is the man—but even more so, if I may so put it. He is the 4 squared—in other words, he is now the No. 16. You comprehend, my friend?”
“Perfectly,” said Tuppence. “You are the great Hercule Poirot.”
“Exactly. No moustaches, but lots of grey cells.”
“I’ve a feeling,” said Tuppence, “that this particular adventure will be called the ‘Triumph of Hastings.’ ”
“Never,” said Tommy. “It isn’t