Big Four - Agatha Christie [65]
It was a communication from a firm of solicitors.
Dear Sir (it ran)—As instructed by our late client, M. Hercule Poirot, we forward you the enclosed letter. This letter was placed in our hands a week before his death, with instructions that in the event of his demise, it should be sent to you at a certain date after his death.
Yours faithfully, etc.
I turned the enclosed missive over and over. It was undoubtably from Poirot. I knew that familiar writing only too well. With a heavy heart, yet a certain eagerness, I tore it open.
Mon Cher Ami (it began)—When you receive this I shall be no more. Do not shed tears about me, but follow my orders. Immediately upon receipt of this, return to South America. Do not be pig-headed about this. It is not for sentimental reasons that I bid you undertake the journey. It is necessary . It is part of the plan of Hercule Poirot! To say more is unnecessary, to anyone who has the acute intelligence of my friend Hastings.
A bas the Big Four! I salute you, my friend, from beyond the grave.
Ever thine,
Hercule Poirot
I read and re-read this astonishing communication. One thing was evident. The amazing man had so provided for every eventuality that even his own death did not upset the sequence of his plans! Mine was to be the active part—his the directing genius. Doubtless I should find full instructions awaiting me beyond the seas. In the meantime my enemies, convinced that I was obeying their warning, would cease to trouble their heads about me. I could return, unsuspected, and work havoc in their midst.
There was now nothing to hinder my immediate departure. I sent off cables, booked my passage, and one week later found me embarking in the Ansonia, en route for Buenos Aires.
Just as the boat left the quay, a steward brought me a note. It had been given him, so he explained, by a big gentleman in a fur coat who had left the boat last thing before the gangway planks were lifted.
I opened it. It was terse and to the point.
‘You are wise,’ it ran. It was signed with a big figure 4.
I could afford to smile to myself!
The sea was not too choppy. I enjoyed a passable dinner, made up my mind as to the majority of my fellow passengers, and had a rubber or two of bridge. Then I turned in and slept like a log as I always do on board ship.
I was awakened by feeling myself persistently shaken. Dazed and bewildered, I saw that one of the ship’s officers was standing over me. He gave a sigh of relief as I sat up.
‘Thank the Lord I’ve got you awake at last. I’ve had no end of a job. Do you always sleep like that?’
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, still bewildered and not fully awake. ‘Is there anything wrong with the ship?’
‘I expect you know what’s the matter better than I do,’ he replied drily. ‘Special instructions from the Admiralty. There’s a destroyer waiting to take you off.’
‘What?’ I cried. ‘In mid-ocean?’
‘It seems a most mysterious affair, but that’s not my business. They’ve sent a young fellow aboard who is to take your place, and we are all sworn to secrecy. Will you get up and dress?’
Utterly unable to conceal my amazement I did as I was told. A boat was lowered, and I was conveyed aboard the destroyer. There I was received courteously, but got no further information. The commander’s instructions were to land me at a certain spot on the Belgian coast. There his knowledge and responsibility ended.
The whole thing was like a dream. The one idea I held to firmly was that all this must be part of Poirot’s plan. I must simply go forward blindly, trusting in my dead friend.
I was duly landed at the spot indicated. There a motor was waiting, and soon I was rapidly whirling across the flat Flemish plains. I slept that night at a small hotel in Brussels. The next day we went on again. The country became wooded and hilly. I realized that we were penetrating into the Ardennes, and I suddenly remembered Poirot’s saying that he