Chapter 26 Paris?
A few minutes later we were jumping into a taxi.
Poirot’s face was very grave.
‘I am afraid, Hastings,’ he said. ‘I am afraid.’
‘You don’t mean –’ I said and stopped.
‘We are up against somebody who has already struck twice – that person will not hesitate to strike again. He is twisting and turning like a rat, fighting for his life. Ross is a danger. Then Ross will be eliminated.’
‘Was what he had to tell so important?’ I asked doubtfully. ‘He did not seem to think so.’
‘Then he was wrong. Evidently what he had to tell was of supreme¹ importance.’
‘But how could anyone know?’
‘He spoke² to you, you say. There, at Claridge’s. With people all round. Madness – utter madness. Ah! why did you not bring him back with you – guard him – let no one near him till I had heard what he had to say.’
‘I never thought – I never dreamt –’ I stammered³.
Poirot made a quick gesture.
‘Do not blame yourself – how could you know? I – I would have known. The murderer, see you, Hastings, is as cunning as a tiger and as relentless⁴. Ah! shall we never arrive?’
We were there at last. Ross lived in a maisonette on the first floor of a house in a big square in Kensington. A card stuck on a little slot by the door-bell gave us the information. The hall door was open. Inside was a big flight of stairs.
‘So easy to come in. None to see,’ murmured Poirot as he sprang up the stairs.
On the first floor was a kind of partition and a narrow door with a Yale lock. Ross’s card was stuck in the centre of the door.
We paused there. Everywhere there was dead silence. I pushed the door – to my surprise it yielded.
We entered.
There was a narrow hall and an open door one side, another in front of us opening into what was evidently the sitting-room⁵.
Into this sitting-room we went. It was the divided half of a big front drawing-room. It was cheaply but comfortably furnished and it was empty. On a small table was the telephone, the receiver stood down beside the instrument.

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