Part 32 (1/2)

”What is the trouble?” I asked.

With a great thump on the table, Poirot demolished his carefully built up edifice.

”It is this, mon ami! That I can build card houses seven stories high, but I

cannot”.thump.”find”.thump.”that last link of which I spoke to you.”

I could not quite tell what to say, so I held my peace, and he began slowly building up the cards again, speaking in jerks as he did so.

”It is done.so! By placing.one card.on another.with mathematical.precision!”

I watched the card house rising under his hands, story by story. He never hesitated or faltered. It was really

almost like a conjuring trick.

”What a steady hand you've got,” I remarked. ”I believe I've only seen your hand shake once.”

”On an occasion when I was enraged, without doubt,” observed Poirot, with great placidity.

”Yes indeed! You were in a towering rage. Do you remember? It was when you discovered that the lock of

the despatch-case in Mrs. Inglethorp's bedroom had been forced. You stood by the mantel-piece, twiddling

the things on it in your usual fas.h.i.+on, and your hand shook like a leaf! I must say..”

But I stopped suddenly. For Poirot, uttering a hoa.r.s.e and inarticulate cry, again annihilated his masterpiece of cards, and putting his hands over his eyes swayed backwards and forwards, apparently suffering the keenest agony.

”Good heavens, Poirot!” I cried. ”What is the matter? Are you taken ill?””No, no,” he gasped. ”It is.it is.that I have an idea!””Oh!” I exclaimed, much relieved. ”One of your 'little ideas'?””Ah, ma foi, no!” replied Poirot frankly. ”This time it is an idea gigantic! Stupendous! And you.you, my friend, have given it to me!”

Suddenly clasping me in his arms, he kissed me warmly on both cheeks, and before I had recovered from my surprise ran headlong from the room.

Mary Cavendish entered at that moment.

”What is the matter with Monsieur Poirot? He rushed past me crying out: 'A garage! For the love of Heaven,

direct me to a garage, madame!' And, before I could answer, he had dashed out into the street.”

I hurried to the window. True enough, there he was, tearing down the street, hatless, and gesticulating as he went. I turned to Mary with a gesture of despair.

”He'll be stopped by a policeman in another minute. There he goes, round the corner!”

Our eyes met, and we stared helplessly at one another.

”What can be the matter?”

I shook my head.

”I don't know. He was building card houses, when suddenly he said he had an idea, and rushed off as you

saw.”

”Well,” said Mary, ”I expect he will be back before dinner.”

But night fell, and Poirot had not returned.

CHAPTER XII.

THE LAST LINK

POIROT'S abrupt departure had intrigued us all greatly. Sunday morning wore away, and still he did not reappear. But about three o'clock a ferocious and prolonged hooting outside drove us to the window, to see Poirot alighting from a car, accompanied by j.a.pp and Summerhaye. The little man was transformed. He radiated an absurd complacency. He bowed with exaggerated respect to Mary Cavendish.

”Madame, I have your permission to hold a little reunion in the salon? It is necessary for every one to attend.”

Mary smiled sadly.

”You know, Monsieur Poirot, that you have carte blanche in every way.”

”You are too amiable, madame.”

Still beaming, Poirot marshalled us all into the drawing-room, bringing forward chairs as he did so.

”Miss Howard.here. Mademoiselle Cynthia. Monsieur Lawrence. The good Dorcas. And Annie. Bien! We

must delay our proceedings a few minutes until Mr. Inglethorp arrives. I have sent him a note.”

Miss Howard rose immediately from her seat.

”If that man comes into the house, I leave it!”