"Yes," said Poirot, nodding his head. "There is Gerald Paynter, as you say.
He is his uncle's heir.
He was dining out that night, though."
"He might have got at some of the ingredients of the curry," I suggested. "And he would take care to be out, so as not to have to partake of the dish."
I think my reasoning rather impressed Poirot.
He looked at me with a more respectful attention than he had given me so far.
"He returns late," I mused, pursuing a hypothetical case. "Sees the light in his uncle's study, enters, and, finding his plan has failed, thrusts the old man down into the fire."
"Mr. Paynter, who was a fairly hearty man of fifty-five, would not permit himself to be burnt to death without a struggle, Hastings.
Such a reconstruction is not feasible."
"Well, Poirot," I cried, "we're nearly there, I fancy. Let us hear what you think?"
Poirot threw me a smile, swelled out his chest, and began in a pompous manner.
"Assuming murder, the question at once arises, why choose that particular method?
I can think of only one reason - to confuse identity, the face being charred beyond recognition."
"What?" I cried. "You think -"
"A moment's patience, Hastings.
I was going on to say that I examine that theory.
Is there any ground for believing that the body is not that of Mr. Paynter?
Is there any one else whose body it possibly could be?
I examine these two questions and finally I answer them both in the negative."
"Oh!" I said, rather disappointed. "And then?"
Poirot's eyes twinkled a little.
"And then I say to myself, 'since there is here something that I do not understand, it would be well that I should investigate the matter.
I must not permit myself to be wholly engrossed by the Big Four.'
Ah! we are just arriving.
My little clothes brush, where does it hide itself?
Here it is - brush me down, I pray you, my friend, and then I will perform the same service for you."
"Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully, as he put away the brush, " one must not permit oneself to be obsessed by one idea.
I have been in danger of that.
Figure to yourself, my friend, that even here, in this case, I am in danger of it.
Those two lines you mentioned, a downstroke and a line at right angles to it, what are they but the beginning of a 4?"
"Good gracious, Poirot," I cried, laughing.
"Is it not absurd?
I see the hand of the Big Four everywhere. It is well to employ one's wits in a totally different milieu.
Ah! there is Japp come to meet us."
Chapter 10 WE INVESTIGATE AT CROFTLANDS
The Scotland Yard Inspector was, indeed, waiting on the platform, and greeted us warmly.
"Well, Moosior Poirot, this is good.
Thought you'd like to be let in on this.
Tip-top mystery, isn't it?"
I read this alright as showing Japp to be completely puzzled and hoping to pick up a pointer from Poirot.
Japp had a car waiting, and we drove up in it to Croftlands.
It was a square, white house, quite unpretentious, and covered with creepers, including the starry yellow jasmine.
Japp looked up at it as we did.
"Must have been balmy to go writing that, poor old cove," he remarked. "Hallucinations, perhaps, and thought he was outside."
Poirot was smiling at him.
"Which was it, my good Japp?" he asked; "accident or murder?"
The Inspector seemed a little embarrassed by the question.
"Well, if it weren't for that curry business, I'd be for accident every time.
There's no sense in holding a live man's head in the fire - why, he'd scream the house down."
"Ah!" said Poirot in a low voice. "Fool that I have been.