Big Four - Agatha Christie [41]
‘And Ivan?’
‘I strongly suspect that Ivan is none other than the famous Number Four.’
‘What?’
‘Yes. The man is a marvellous character actor. He can assume any part he pleases.’
I thought back over past adventures, the lunatic asylum keeper, the butcher’s young man, the suave doctor, all the same man, and all totally unlike each other.
‘It’s amazing,’ I said at last. ‘Everything fits in. Savaronoff had an inkling of the plot, and that’s why he was so averse to playing the match.’
Poirot looked at me without speaking. Then he turned abruptly away, and began pacing up and down.
‘Have you a book on chess by any chance, mon ami?’ he asked suddenly.
‘I believe I have somewhere.’
It took me some time to ferret it out, but I found it at last, and brought it to Poirot, who sank down in a chair and started reading it with the greatest attention.
In about a quarter of an hour the telephone rang. I answered it. It was Japp. Ivan had left the flat, carrying a large bundle. He had sprung into a waiting taxi, and the chase had begun. He was evidently trying to lose his pursuers. In the end he seemed to fancy that he had done so, and had then driven to a big empty house at Hampstead. The house was surrounded.
I recounted all this to Poirot. He merely stared at me as though he scarcely took in what I was saying. He held out the chess book.
‘Listen to this, my friend. This is the Ruy Lopez opening. 1 P-K4, P-K4; 2 Kt-KB3, K-QB3; 3 B-Kt5. Then there comes a question as to Black’s best third move. He has the choice of various defences. It was White’s third move that killed Gilmour Wilson, 3 B-Kt5. Only the third move—does that say nothing to you?’
I hadn’t the least idea what he meant, and told him so.
‘Suppose, Hastings, that, while you were sitting in this chair, you heard the front door being opened and shut, what would you think?’
‘I should think someone had gone out, I suppose.’
‘Yes—but there are always two ways of looking at things. Someone gone out—someone come in—two totally different things, Hastings. But if you assumed the wrong one, presently some little discrepancy would creep in and show you that you were on the wrong track.’
‘What does all this mean, Poirot?’
Poirot sprang to his feet with sudden energy.
‘It means that I have been a triple imbecile. Quick, quick, to the flat in Westminster. We may yet be in time.’
We tore off in a taxi. Poirot returned no answer to my excited questions. We raced up the stairs. Repeated rings and knocks brought no reply, but listening closely I could distinguish a hollow groan coming from within.
The hall porter proved to have a master key, and after a few difficulties he consented to use it.
Poirot went straight to the inner room. A whiff of chloroform met us. On the floor was Sonia Daviloff, gagged and bound, with a great wad of saturated cotton-wool over her nose and mouth. Poirot tore it off and began to take measures to restore her. Presently a doctor arrived, and Poirot handed her over to his charge and drew aside with me. There was no sign of Dr Savaronoff.
‘What does it all mean?’ I asked, bewildered.
‘It means that before two equal deductions I chose the wrong one. You heard me say that it would be easy for anyone to impersonate Sonia Daviloff because her uncle had not seen her for so many years?’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, precisely the opposite held good also. It was equally easy for anyone to impersonate the uncle.’
‘What?’
‘Savaronoff did die at the outbreak of the Revolution. The man who pretended to have escaped with such terrible hardships, the man so changed “that his own friends could hardly recognize him”, the man who successfully laid claim to an enormous fortune—’
‘Yes. Who was he?’
‘Number Four. No wonder he was frightened when Sonia let him know she had overheard one of his private conversations about the “Big Four”. Again he has slipped through my fingers. He guessed I should get on the right track in the end, so he sent off