Agatha Christie Fullscreen The Big Four (1927)

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I was very much astonished.

Nevertheless, after a moment's reflection I said that I would come down at once.

St. Giles' Hospital was, I knew, down by the docks, and it occurred to me that the Chinaman might have just come off some ship.

It was on my way down there that a sudden suspicion shot into my mind.

Was the whole thing a trap?

Wherever a Chinaman was, there might be the hand of Li Chang Yen.

I remembered the adventure of the Baited Trap.

Was the whole thing a ruse on the part of my enemies?

A little reflection convinced me that at any rate a visit to the hospital would do no harm.

It was probable that the thing was not so much a plot as what is vulgarly known as a "plant."

The dying Chinaman would make some revelation to me upon which I should act, and which would have the result of leading me into the hands of the Big Four. The thing to do was to preserve an open mind, and whilst feigning credulity be secretly on my guard.

On arriving at St. Giles' Hospital, and making my business known, I was taken at once to the accident ward, to the bedside of the man in question.

He lay absolutely still, his eyelids closed, and only a very faint movement of the chest showed that he still breathed.

A doctor stood by the bed, his fingers on the Chinaman's pulse.

"He's almost gone," he whispered to me. "You know him, eh?"

I shook my head.

"I've never seen him before."

"Then what was he doing with your name and address in his pocket?

You are Captain Hastings, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I can't explain it any more than you can."

"Curious thing.

From his papers he seems to have been the servant of a man called Ingles - a retired Civil Servant.

Ah, you know him, do you?" he added quickly, as I started at the name.

Ingles' servant!

Then I had seen him before.

Not that I had ever succeeded in being able to distinguish one Chinaman from another.

He must have been with Ingles on his way to China, and after the catastrophe he had returned to England with a message, possibly, for me.

It was vital, imperative that I should hear that message.

"Is he conscious?" I asked. "Can he speak?

Mr. Ingles was an old friend of mine, and I think it possible that this poor fellow has brought me a message from him.

Mr. Ingles is believed to have gone overboard about ten days ago."

"He's just conscious, but I doubt if he has the force to speak.

He lost a terrible lot of blood, you know.

I can administer a stimulant, of course, but we've already done all that is possible in that direction."

Nevertheless, he administered a hypodermic injection, and I stayed by the bed, hoping against hope for a word - a sign - that might be of the utmost value to me in my work.

But the minutes sped on and no sign came.

And suddenly a baleful idea shot across my mind.

Was I not already falling into the trap?

Suppose that this Chinaman had merely assumed the part of Ingles' servant, that he was in reality an agent of the Big Four?

Had I not once read that certain Chinese priests were capable of simulating death?

Or, to go further still, Li Chang Yen might command a little band of fanatics who would welcome death itself if it came at the command of their master.

I must be on my guard.

Even as these thoughts flashed across my mind, the man in the bed stirred.

His eyes opened. He murmured something incoherently. Then I saw his glance fasten upon me.

He made no sign of recognition, but I was at once aware that he was trying to speak to me.

Be he friend or foe, I must hear what he had to say.

I leaned over the bed, but the broken sounds conveyed no sort of meaning to me.

I thought I caught the word "hand," but in what connection it was used I could not tell.

Then it came again, and this time I heard another word, the word "Largo."

I stared in amazement, as the possible juxtaposition of the two suggested itself to me.