"My great opponent," said Poirot gravely. "It was fated that he and I should never meet in the flesh.
When he received the news of the disaster here, he took the simplest way out.
A great brain, my friend, a great brain.
But I wish I had seen the face of the man who was Number Four... Supposing that, after all - but I romance.
He is dead.
Yes, mon ami, together we have faced and routed the Big Four; and now you will return to your charming wife, and I - I shall retire.
The great case of my life is over.
Anything else will seem tame after this.
No, I shall retire.
Possibly I shall grow vegetable marrows!
I might even marry and arrange myself!"
He laughed heartily at the idea, but with a touch of embarrassment. I hope... small men always admire big, flamboyant women -
"Marry and arrange myself," he said again. "Who knows?"