And today was Friday, and the clock on the mantelpiece showed the hour to be 10:30.
"My God, what a chance!" I cried. "Fate is playing into our hands.
We must start at once - though.
What stupendous luck."
"So that was why he came," murmured Poirot. "I see it all now."
"See what?
Come on, Poirot, don't stay daydreaming there."
Poirot looked at me, and slowly shook his head, smiling as he did so. "'Will you walk into my parlour, said the spider to the fly?' That is your little English nursery rhyme, is it not?
No, no - they are subtle - but not so subtle as Hercule Poirot."
"What on earth are you driving at, Poirot?"
"My friend, I have been asking myself the reason of this morning's visit.
Did our visitor really hope to succeed in bribing me?
Or, alternatively, in frightening me into abandoning my task?
It seemed hardly credible.
Why, then, did he come?
And now I see the whole plan - very neat - very pretty - the ostensible reason to bribe or frighten me - the necessary struggle which he took no pains to avoid, and which should make the dropped pocket-book natural and reasonable - and finally - the pitfall!
Rue des Echelles, 11 a.m.? I think not, mon ami!
One does not catch Hercule Poirot as easily as that."
"Good heavens," I gasped.
Poirot was frowning to himself.
"There is still one thing I do not understand."
"What is that?"
"The time, Hastings - the time.
If they wanted to decoy me away, surely night time would be better?
Why this early hour?
Is it possible that something is about to happen this morning?
Something which they are anxious Hercule Poirot should not know about?"
He shook his head.
"We shall see.
Here I sit, mon ami.
We do not stir out this morning.
We await events here."
It was at half-past eleven exactly that the summons came. A petit bleu.
Poirot tore it open, then handed it to me.
It was from Madame Olivier, the world-famous scientist, whom we had visited yesterday in connection with the Halliday case.
It asked us to come out to Passy at once.
We obeyed the summons without an instant's delay.
Madame Olivier received us in the same small salon.
I was struck anew with the wonderful power of this woman, with her long nun's face and burning eyes - this brilliant successor of Becquerel and the Curies.
She came to the point at once.
"Messieurs, you interviewed me yesterday about the disappearance of M. Halliday.
I now learn that you returned to the house a second time, and asked to see my secretary, Inez Veroneau.
She left the house with you, and has not returned here since."
"Is that all, madame?"
"No, monsieur, it is not.
Last night the laboratory was broken into, and several valuable papers and memoranda were stolen.
The thieves had a try for something more precious still, but luckily they failed to open the big safe."
"Madame, these are the facts of the case.
Your late secretary, Madame Veroneau, was really the Countess Rossakoff, an expert thief, and it was she who was responsible for the disappearance of M. Halliday.
How long had she been with you?"