After our adventure in the villa1 at Passy we returned post haste 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 curt2 and incisive3. He expressed himself as profoundly dissatisfied with the reasons 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 for a dollar, also by two stripes and a star. It may be conjectured4 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 tempt5 me out of England—and—and what about it, Hastings?"
"You mean," I said, staring, "that you suspect Abe Ryland, the multi-millionaire, 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 multi-millionaire was eloquent—but let me impress upon you one fact—this thing is being run by men at the top—and Mr. Ryland has the reputation of being no beauty in his business dealings. An able, unscrupulous man, a man who has all the wealth that he needs, and is out for unlimited6 power."
There was undoubtedly7 something to be said for Poirot's view. I asked him when he had made up his mind definitely upon the point.
"That is just it. I am not sure. I cannot be sure. Mon ami, I would give anything to know. Let me but place Number Two definitely as Abe Ryland, and we draw nearer to our goal."
"He has just arrived in London, I see by this," I said, tapping the letter. "Shall you call upon him, and make your apologies in person?"
"I might do so."
Two days later, Poirot returned to our rooms in a state of boundless8 excitement. He grasped me by both hands in his most impulsive9 manner.
"My friend, an occasion stupendous, unprecedented10, never to be repeated, has presented itself! But there is danger, grave danger. I should not even ask you to attempt it."
If Poirot was trying to frighten me, he was going the wrong way to work, and so I told him. Becoming less incoherent, he unfolded his plan.
It seemed that Ryland was looking for an English secretary, one with a good social manner and presence. It was Poirot's suggestion that I should apply for the post.
"I would do it, myself, mon ami," he explained apologetically. "But, see you, it is almost impossible for me to disguise myself in the needful manner. I speak the English very well—except when I am excited—but hardly so as to deceive the ear; and even though I were to sacrifice my moustaches, I doubt not but that I should still be recognisable as Hercule Poirot."
I doubted it also, and declared myself ready and willing to take up the part and penetrate11 into Ryland's household.
"Ten to one he won't engage me anyway," I remarked.
"Oh, yes, he will. I will arrange for you such testimonials as shall make him lick his lips. The Home Secretary himself shall recommend you."
This seemed to be carrying things a bit far, but Poirot waved aside my remonstrances12.
"Oh, yes, he will do it. I investigated for him a little matter which might have caused a grave scandal. All was solved with discretion13 and delicacy14, and now, as you would say, he perches15 upon my hand like the little bird and pecks the crumbs16."
Our first step was to engage the services of an artist in "make up." He was a little man, with a quaint17 bird-like turn of the head, not unlike Poirot's own. He considered me some time in silence, and then fell to work. When I looked at myself in the glass half an hour afterwards, I was amazed. Special shoes caused me to stand at least two inches taller, and the coat I wore was arranged so as to give me a long, lank18, weedy look. My eyebrows19 had been cunningly altered, giving a totally different expression to my face, I wore pads in my cheeks, and the deep tan of my face was a thing of the past. My moustache had gone, and a gold tooth was prominent on one side of my mouth.
"Your name," said Poirot, "is Arthur Neville. God guard you, my friend—for I fear that you go into perilous20 places."
It was with a beating heart that I presented myself at the Savoy, at an hour named by Mr. Ryland, and asked to see the great man.
Ryland was sitting at a table. Spread out in front of him was a letter which I could see out of the tail of my eye was in the Home Secretary's handwriting. It was my first sight of the American millionaire, and, in spite of myself, I was impressed. He was tall and lean, with a jutting22 out chin and slightly hooked nose. His eyes glittered cold and gray behind penthouse brows. He had thick grizzled hair, and a long black cigar (without which, I learned later, he was never seen) protruded23 rakishly from the corner of his mouth.
I sat. He tapped the letter in front of him.
"According to this piece here, you're the goods all right, and I don't need to look further. Say, are you well up in the social matters?"
I said that I thought I could satisfy him in that respect.
"I mean to say, if I have a lot of dooks and earls and viscounts and suchlike down to the country place I've gotten, you'll be able to sort them out all right and put them where they should be round the dining table?"
"Oh! quite easily," I replied, smiling.
We exchanged a few more preliminaries, and then I found myself engaged. What Mr. Ryland wanted was a secretary conversant25 with English society, as he already had an American secretary and a stenographer26 with him.
Two days later I went down to Hatton Chase, the seat of the Duke of Loamshire, which the American millionaire had rented for a period of six months.
My duties gave me no difficulty whatever. At one period of my life I had been private secretary to a busy member of Parliament, so I was not called upon to assume a role unfamiliar27 to me. Mr. Ryland usually entertained a large party over the week-end, but the middle of the week was comparatively quiet. I saw very little of Mr. Appleby, the American secretary, but he seemed a pleasant, normal young American, very efficient in his work. Of Miss Martin, the stenographer, I saw rather more. She was a pretty girl of about twenty-three or four, with auburn hair and brown eyes that could look mischievous28 enough upon occasion, though they were usually cast demurely29 down. I had an idea that she both disliked and distrusted her employer, though, of course, she was careful never to hint at anything of the kind, but the time came when I was unexpectedly taken into her confidence.
I had, of course, carefully scrutinised all the members of the household. One or two of the servants had been newly engaged, one of the footmen, I think, and some of the housemaids. The butler, the housekeeper30, and the chef were the duke's own staff, who had consented to remain on in the establishment. The housemaids I dismissed as unimportant; I scrutinised James, the second footman, very carefully; but it was clear that he was an under-footman and an under-footman only. He had, indeed, been engaged by the butler. A person of whom I was far more suspicious was Deaves, Ryland's valet, whom he had brought over from New York with him. An Englishman by birth, with an irreproachable31 manner, I yet harboured vague suspicions about him.
I had been at Hatton Chase three weeks, and not an incident of any kind had arisen which I could lay my finger on in support of our theory. There was no trace of the activities of the Big Four. Mr. Ryland was a man of overpowering force and personality, but I was coming to believe that Poirot had made a mistake when he associated him with that dread32 organisation33. I even heard him mention Poirot in a casual way at dinner one night.
"Wonderful little man, they say. But he's a quitter. How do I know? I put him on a deal, and he turned me down the last minute. I'm not taking any more of your Monsieur Hercule Poirot."
It was at moments such as these that I felt my cheek pads most wearisome!
And then Miss Martin told me a rather curious story. Ryland had gone to London for the day, taking Appleby with him. Miss Martin and I were strolling together in the garden after tea. I liked the girl very much, she was so unaffected and so natural. I could see that there was something on her mind, and at last out it came.
"Do you know, Major Neville," she said, "I am really thinking of resigning my post here."
I looked somewhat astonished, and she went on hurriedly.
"Oh! I know it's a wonderful job to have got, in a way. I suppose most people would think me a fool to throw it up. But I can't stand abuse, Major Neville. To be sworn at like a trooper is more than I can bear. No gentleman would do such a thing."
"Has Ryland been swearing at you?"
She nodded.
"Of course, he's always rather irritable34 and short tempered. That one expects. It's all in the day's work. But to fly into such an absolute fury—over nothing at all. He really looked as though he could have murdered me! And, as I say, over nothing at all!"
"Tell me about it?" I said, keenly interested.
"As you know, I open all Mr. Ryland's letters. Some I hand on to Mr. Appleby, others I deal with myself, but I do all the preliminary sorting. Now there are certain letters that come, written on blue paper, and with a tiny 4 marked on the corner—I beg your pardon, did you speak?"
I had been unable to repress a stifled35 exclamation36, but I hurriedly shook my head, and begged her to continue.
"Well, as I was saying, these letters come, and there are strict orders that they are never to be opened, but to be handed over to Mr. Ryland intact. And, of course, I always do so. But there was an unusually heavy mail yesterday morning, and I was opening the letters in a terrific hurry. By mistake I opened one of these letters. As soon as I saw what I had done, I took it to Mr. Ryland and explained. To my utter amazement37 he flew into the most awful rage. As I tell you, I was quite frightened."
"What was there in the letter, I wonder, to upset him so?"
"Absolutely nothing—that's just the curious part of it. I had read it before I discovered my mistake. It was quite short. I can still remember it word for word, and there was nothing in it that could possibly upset any one."
"You can repeat it, you say?" I encouraged her.
"Yes." She paused a minute and then repeated slowly, whilst I noted38 down the words unobtrusively, the following:—
"Dear Sir,—The essential thing now, I should say, is to see the property. If you insist on the quarry39 being included, then seventeen thousand seems reasonable. 11% commission too much, 4% is ample.
"Yours truly,
"Arthur Leversham."
Miss Martin went on:—
"Evidently about some property Mr. Ryland was thinking of buying. But really, I do feel that a man who can get into a rage over such a trifle is, well, dangerous. What do you think I ought to do, Major Neville? You've more experience of the world than I have."
I soothed40 the girl down, pointed41 out to her that Mr. Ryland had probably been suffering from the enemy of his race—dyspepsia. In the end I sent her away quite comforted. But I was not so easily satisfied myself. When the girl had gone, and I was alone, I took out my notebook, and ran over the letter which I had jotted43 down. What did it mean—this apparently44 innocent-sounding missive? Did it concern some business deal which Ryland was undertaking45, and was he anxious that no details about it should leak out until it was carried through? That was a possible explanation. But I remembered the small figure 4 with which the envelopes were marked, and I felt that, at last, I was on the track of the thing we were seeking.
I puzzled over the letter all that evening, and most of the next day—and then suddenly the solution came to me. It was so simple, too. The figure 4 was the clue. Read every fourth word in the letter, and an entirely46 different message appeared. "Essential should see you quarry seventeen eleven four."
The solution of the figures was easy. Seventeen stood for the seventeenth of October—which was to-morrow, eleven was the time, and four was the signature—either referring to the mysterious Number Four himself—or else it was the "trade-mark" so to speak, of the Big Four. The quarry was also intelligible47. There was a big disused quarry on the estate about half a mile from the house—a lonely spot, ideal for a secret meeting.
For a moment or two I was tempted48 to run the show myself. It would be such a feather in my cap, for once, to have the pleasure of crowing over Poirot.
But in the end I overcame the temptation. This was a big business—I had no right to play a lone42 hand, and perhaps jeopardise our chances of success. For the first time, we had stolen a march upon our enemies. We must make good this time—and, disguise the fact as I might, Poirot had the better brain of the two.
I wrote off post haste to him, laying the facts before him, and explaining how urgent it was that we should overhear what went on at the interview. If he liked to leave it to me, well and good, but I gave him detailed49 instructions how to reach the quarry from the station in case he should deem it wise to be present himself.
I took the letter down to the village and posted it myself. I had been able to communicate with Poirot throughout my stay, by the simple expedient50 of posting my letters myself, but we had agreed that he should not attempt to communicate with me in case my letters should be tampered51 with.
I was in a glow of excitement the following evening. No guests were staying in the house, and I was busy with Mr. Ryland in his study all the evening. I had foreseen that this would be the case, which was why I had had no hope of being able to meet Poirot at the station. I was, however, confident that I would be dismissed well before eleven o'clock.
Sure enough, just after ten-thirty, Mr. Ryland glanced at the clock, and announced that he was "through." I took the hint and retired52 discreetly53. I went upstairs as though going to bed, but slipped quietly down a side staircase and let myself out into the garden, having taken the precaution to don a dark overcoat to hide my white shirt-front.
I had gone some way down the garden when I chanced to look over my shoulder. Mr. Ryland was just stepping out from his study window into the garden. He was starting to keep the appointment. I redoubled my pace, so as to get a clear start. I arrived at the quarry somewhat out of breath. There seemed no one about, and I crawled into a thick tangle54 of bushes and awaited developments.
Ten minutes later, just on the stroke of eleven, Ryland stalked up, his hat over his eyes and the inevitable55 cigar in his mouth. He gave a quick look round, and then plunged56 into the hollows of the quarry below. Presently I heard a low murmur57 of voices come up to me. Evidently the other man—or men—whoever they were, had arrived first at the rendezvous58. I crawled cautiously out of the bushes, and inch by inch, using the utmost precaution against noise, I wormed myself down the steep path. Only a boulder59 now separated me from the talking men. Secure in the blackness, I peeped round the edge of it and found myself facing the muzzle60 of a black, murderous-looking automatic!
"Hands up!" said Mr. Ryland succinctly61. "I've been waiting for you."
He was seated in the shadow of the rock, so that I could not see his face, but the menace in his voice was unpleasant. Then I felt a ring of cold steel on the back of my neck, and Ryland lowered his own automatic.
"That's right, George," he drawled. "March him around here."
Raging inwardly, I was conducted to a spot in the shadows, where the unseen George (whom I suspected of being the impeccable Deaves), gagged and bound me securely.
"This is going to be the end of you two. You've got in the way of the Big Four once too often. Ever heard of land slides? There was one about here two years ago. There's going to be another to-night. I've fixed63 that good and square. Say, that friend of yours doesn't keep his dates very punctually."
A wave of horror swept over me. Poirot! In another minute he would walk straight into the trap. And I was powerless to warn him. I could only pray that he had elected to leave the matter in my hands, and had remained in London. Surely, if he had been coming, he would have been here by now.
With every minute that passed, my hopes rose.
Suddenly they were dashed to pieces. I heard footsteps—cautious footsteps, but footsteps nevertheless. I writhed64 in impotent agony. They came down the path, paused, and then Poirot himself appeared, his head a little on one side, peering into the shadows.
I heard the growl65 of satisfaction Ryland gave as he raised the big automatic and shouted "Hands up." Deaves sprang forward as he did so, and took Poirot in the rear. The ambush66 was complete.
"Please to meet you, Mr. Hercule Poirot," said the American grimly.
Poirot's self-possession was marvellous. He did not turn a hair. But I saw his eyes searching in the shadows.
"My friend? He is here?"
"Yes, you are both in the trap—the trap of the Big Four."
He laughed.
"Say, haven't you tumbled to it yet?"
"I comprehend that there is a trap—yes," said Poirot gently. "But you are in error, monsieur. It is you who are in it—not I and my friend."
"If you fire, you commit murder watched by ten pairs of eyes, and you will be hanged for it. This place is surrounded—has been for the last hour—by Scotland Yard men. It is checkmate, Mr. Abe Ryland."
He uttered a curious whistle, and as though by magic, the place was alive with men. They seized Ryland and the valet and disarmed69 them. After speaking a few words to the officer in charge, Poirot took me by the arm, and led me away.
"You are alive—you are unhurt. It is magnificent. Often have I blamed myself for letting you go."
"I'm perfectly71 all right," I said, disengaging myself. "But I'm just a bit fogged. You tumbled to their little scheme, did you?"
"But I was waiting for it! For what else did I permit you to go there? Your false name, your disguise, not for a moment was it intended to deceive!"
"What?" I cried. "You never told me."
"As I have frequently told you, Hastings, you have a nature so beautiful and so honest that unless you are yourself deceived, it is impossible for you to deceive others. Good, then, you are spotted72 from the first, and they do what I had counted on their doing—a mathematical certainty to any one who uses his gray cells properly—use you as a decoy. They set the girl on—By the way, mon ami, as an interesting fact psychologically, has she got red hair?"
"If you mean Miss Martin," I said coldly. "Her hair is a delicate shade of auburn, but—"
"They are épatant—these people! They have even studied your psychology73. Oh! yes, my friend, Miss Martin was in the plot—very much so. She repeats the letter to you, together with her tale of Mr. Ryland's wrath74, you write it down, you puzzle your brains—the cipher75 is nicely arranged, difficult, but not too difficult—you solve it, and you send for me."
"But what they do not know is that I am waiting for just this very thing to happen. I go post haste to Japp and arrange things. And so, as you see, all is triumph!"
I was not particularly pleased with Poirot, and I told him so. We went back to London on a milk train in the early hours of the morning, and a most uncomfortable journey it was.
I was just out of my bath and indulging in pleasurable thoughts of breakfast when I heard Japp's voice in the sitting-room76. I threw on a bathrobe and hurried in.
"A pretty mare's nest you've got us into this time," Japp was saying. "It's too bad of you, M. Poirot. First time I've ever known you take a toss."
Poirot's face was a study. Japp went on.
"There were we, taking all this Black Hand stuff seriously—and all the time it was the footman."
"Yes, James, or whatever his name is. Seems he laid 'em a wager78 in the servants' hall that he could get taken for the old man by his nibs—that's you, Captain Hastings—and would hand him out a lot of spy stuff about a Big Four gang."
"Impossible!" I cried.
"Don't you believe it. I marched our gentleman straight to Hatton Chase, and there was the real Ryland in bed and asleep, and the butler and the cook and God knows how many of them to swear to the wager. Just a silly hoax—that's all it was—and the valet is with him."
"So that was why he kept in the shadow," murmured Poirot.
After Japp had gone we looked at each other.
"We know, Hastings," said Poirot at last. "Number Two of the Big Four is Abe Ryland. The masquerading on the part of the footman was to ensure a way of retreat in case of emergencies. And the footman—"
"Yes," I breathed.
"Number Four," said Poirot gravely.
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1
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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perches
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| 栖息处( perch的名词复数 )； 栖枝； 高处； 鲈鱼 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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protruded
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grunted
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conversant
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stenographer
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unfamiliar
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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dread
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organisation
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irritable
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stifled
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exclamation
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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51
tampered
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| v.窜改( tamper的过去式 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
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52
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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54
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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57
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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60
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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succinctly
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| adv.简洁地；简洁地，简便地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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69
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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72
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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73
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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76
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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77
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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