In the House of the Enemy
After our adventure in the villa at Passy, we returned posthaste to London. Several letters were awaiting Poirot. He read one of them with a curious smile, and then handed it to me.
“Read this, mon ami .”
I turned first to the signature, “Abe Ryland,” and recalled Poirot’s words: “the richest man in the world.” Mr. Ryland’s letter was curt and incisive. He expressed himself as profoundly dissatisfied with the reason Poirot had given for withdrawing from the South American proposition at the last moment.
“This gives one furiously to think, does it not?” said Poirot.
“I suppose it’s only natural he should be a bit ratty.”
“No, no, you comprehend not. Remember the words of Mayerling, the man who took refuge here—only to die by the hands of his enemies. ‘Number Two is represented by an S with two lines through it—the sign of a dollar; also by two stripes and a star. It may be conjectured therefore that he is an American subject, and that he represents the power of wealth.’ Add to those words the fact that Ryland offered me a huge sum to tempt me out of England—and—and what about it, Hastings?”
“You mean,” I said, staring, “that you suspect Abe Ryland, the multimillionaire, of being Number Two of the Big Four.”
“Your bright intellect has grasped the idea, Hastings. Yes, I do. The tone in which you said multimillionaire was eloquent—but let me impress