I

“ 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 suitcases 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.”