We can climb down before they begin to suspect."
"Climb down?"
"Yes, we must get out of this house at once.
You saw him at dinner?"
"The doctor?"
"No, young Templeton.
His trick with his bread.
Do you remember what Flossie Monro told us before she died?
That Claud Darrell had a habit of dabbing his bread on the table to pick up crumbs.
Hastings, this is a vast plot, and that vacant-looking young man is our arch enemy - Number Four!
Hurry."
I did not wait to argue.
Incredible as the whole thing seemed, it was wiser not to delay.
We scrambled down the ivy as quietly as we could and made a bee-line for the small town and the railway station.
We were just able to catch the last train, the 8:34 which would land us in town about eleven o'clock.
"A plot," said Poirot thoughtfully. "How many of them were in it, I wonder?
I suspect that the whole Templeton family are just so many agents of the Big Four.
Did they simply want to decoy us down there?
Or was it more subtle than that.
Did they intend to play the comedy down there and keep me interested until they had had time to do - what?
I wonder now."
He remained very thoughtful.
Arrived at our lodgings, he restrained me at the door of the sitting-room.
"Attention, Hasting.
I have my suspicions. Let me enter first."
He did so, and, to my slight amusement, took the precaution to press on the electric switch with an old galosh.
Then he went round the room like a strange cat, cautiously, delicately, on the alert for danger.
I watched him for some time, remaining obediently where I had been put by the wall.
"It's all right, Poirot," I said impatiently.
"It seems so, mon ami, it seems so.
But let us make sure."
"Rot," I said. "I shall light the fire, anyway, and have a pipe.
I've caught you out for once.
You had the matches last and you didn't put them back in the holder as usual - the very thing you're always cursing me for doing."
I stretched out my hand.
I heard Poirot's warning cry - saw him leaping towards me - my hand touched the matchbox.
Then - a flash of blue flame - an ear-rending crash - and darkness - I came to myself to find the familiar face of our old friend Dr. Ridgeway bending over me.
An expression of relief passed over his features.
"Keep still," he said soothingly. "You're all right.
There's been an accident, you know."
"Poirot?" I murmured.
"You're in my digs.
Everything's quite all right." A cold fear clutched at my heart. His evasion woke a horrible fear.
"Poirot?" I reiterated. "What of Poirot?"
He saw that I had to know and that further evasions were useless.
"By a miracle you escaped - Poirot - did not!"
A cry burst from my lips.
"Not dead?
Not dead?"
Ridgeway bowed his head, his features working with emotion.