NINETEEN, TWENTY, MY PLATE’S EMPTY
Hercule Poirot walked home along the deserted¹ streets.
An unobtrusive figure joined him.
“Well?” said Mr. Barnes.
Hercule Poirot shrugged² his shoulders and spread out his hands.
Barnes said:
“What line did he take?”
“He admitted everything and pleaded justification³. He said that this country needed him.”
“So it does,” said Mr. Barnes.
He added after a minute or two:
“Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, then—”
“We may be wrong,” said Hercule Poirot.
“I never thought of that,” said Mr. Barnes. “So we may.”
They walked on for a little way, then Barnes asked curiously⁴:
“What are you thinking about?”
Hercule Poirot quoted:
“Because thou hast rejected the word of the Lord, he hath also rejected thee from being king.”
“Hm—I see—” said Mr. Barnes. “Saul—after the Amalekites. Yes, you could think of it that
way.”
They walked on a little farther, then Barnes said:
“I take the tube here. Good night, Poirot.” He paused, then said awkwardly: “You know—
there’s something I’d like to tell you.”
“Yes, mon ami?”
“Feel I owe it to you. Led you astray unintentionally. Fact of the matter is, Albert Chapman,
Q.X.912.”
“Yes?”
“I’m Albert Chapman. That’s partly why I was interested. I knew, you see, that I’d never had a
wife.”
He hurried away, chuckling⁵.
Poirot stood stock still. Then his eyes opened, his eyebrows⁶ rose.
He said to himself:
“Nineteen, twenty, my plate’s empty—”
And went home.
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