“And Number Four?” I asked.
“As I said just now—I am beginning to know and understand his methods. You may smile, Hastings—but to penetrate a man’s personality, to know exactly what he will do under any given circumstances—that is the beginning of success. It is a duel between us, and whilst he is constantly giving away his mentality to me, I endeavour to let him know little or nothing of mine. He is in the light, I in the shade. I tell you, Hastings, that every day they fear me the more for my chosen inactivity.”
“They’ve let us alone, anyway,” I observed. “There have been no more attempts on your life, and no ambushes of any kind.”
“No,” said Poirot thoughtfully. “On the whole, that rather surprises me. Especially as there are one or two fairly obvious ways of getting at us which I should have thought certain to have occurred to them. You catch my meaning, perhaps?”
“An infernal machine of some kind?” I hazarded.
Poirot made a sharp click with his tongue expressive of impatience.
“But no! I appeal to your imagination, and you can suggest nothing more subtle than bombs in the fireplace. Well, well, I have need of some matches, I will promenade myself despite the weather. Pardon, my friend, but it is possible that you read The Future of the Argentine , Mirror of Society , Cattle Breeding , The Clue of Crimson and Sport in the Rockies at one and the same time?”
I laughed, and admitted that The Clue of Crimson was at present engaging my sole attention. Poirot shook his head sadly.
“But replace then the others on the bookshelf! Never, never shall I see you embrace the order and the method. Mon Dieu , what then is a bookshelf for?”