Poirot, I cried My voice died away.
It has come? Open it, Hastings. Quickly. Every moment may be needed. We must make our plans.
I tore open the letter (Poirot for once did not reproach me with untidiness) and extracted the printed sheet.
Read it, said Poirot.
I read aloud:
Poor Mr Poirot,Not so good at these little criminal matters as you thought yourself, are you? Rather past your prime[165], perhaps? Let us see if you can do any better this time.This time its an easy one. Churston on the 30th. Do try and do something about it! Its a bit dull having it all my own way, you know!
Good hunting. Ever yours,A B C.Churston, I said, jumping to our own copy of an А В C. Lets see where it is.
Hastings, Poirots voice came sharply and interrupted me. When was that letter written? Is there a date on it?
I glanced at the letter in my hand.
Written on the 27th, I announced.
Did I hear you aright, Hastings? Did he give the date of the murder as the 30th?
Thats right. Let me see, thats
Bon Dieu[166], Hastingsdo you not realise? Today is the 30th.
His eloquent hand pointed to the calendar on the wall. I caught up the daily paper to confirm it.
But whyhow I stammered.
Poirot caught up the torn envelope from the floor. Something unusual about the address had registered itself vaguely in my brain, but I had been too anxious to get at the contents of the letter to pay more than fleeting attention to it.
Poirot was at the time living in Whitehaven Mansions[167]. The address ran: M. Hercule Poirot, Whitehorse Mansions, across the corner was scrawled: Not known at Whitehorse Mansions, EC1, nor at Whitehorse Courttry Whitehaven Mansions.
Mon Dieu! murmured Poirot. Does even chance aid this madman? Vite[168]vitewe must get on to Scotland Yard.
A minute or two later we were speaking to Crome over the wire. For once the self-controlled inspector did not reply Oh, yes? Instead a quickly stifled curse came to his lips. He heard what we had to say, then rang off in order to get a trunk connection[169] to Churston as rapidly as possible.
Cest trop tard[170], murmured Poirot.
You cant be sure of that, I argued, though without any great hope.
He glanced at the clock.
Twenty minutes past ten? An hour and forty minutes to go. Is it likely that ABC will have held his hand so long?
I opened the railway guide I had previously taken from its shelf.
Churston, Devon, I read, from Paddington[171] 204 3/4 miles. Population 656. It sounds a fairly small place. Surely our man will be bound to be noticed there.
Even so, another life will have been taken, murmured Poirot. What are the trains? I imagine train will be quicker than car.
Theres a midnight trainsleeping car to Newton Abbotgets there 6.08 a.m., and then Churston at 7.15.
That is from Paddington?
Paddington, yes.
We will take that, Hastings.
Youll hardly have time to get news before we start.
If we receive bad news tonight or tomorrow morning does it matter which?
Theres something in that.
I put a few things together in a suitcase while Poirot once more rang up Scotland Yard.
A few minutes later he came into the bedroom and demanded:
Mais quest ce que vous faites là?[172]
I was packing for you. I thought it would save time.
Vous éprouvez trop démotion[173], Hastings. It affects your hands and your wits. Is that a way to fold a coat? And regard what you have done to my pyjamas. If the hairwash breaks what will befall them?
Good heavens, Poirot, I cried, this is a matter of life and death. What does it matter what happens to our clothes?
You have no sense of proportion, Hastings. We cannot catch a train earlier than the time that it leaves, and to ruin ones clothes will not be the least helpful in preventing a murder.
Taking his suitcase from me firmly, he took the packing into his own hands.
He explained that we were to take the letter and envelope to Paddington with us. Someone from Scotland Yard would meet us there.
When we arrived on the platform the first person we saw was Inspector Crome.
He answered Poirots look of inquiry.
No news as yet. All men available are on the lookout. All persons whose name begins with C are being warned by phone when possible. Theres just a chance. Wheres the letter?
Poirot gave it to him.
He examined it, swearing softly under his breath.
Of all the damned luck. The stars in their courses fight for the fellow.
You dont think, I suggested, that it was done on purpose?
Crome shook his head.
No. Hes got his rulescrazy rulesand abides by them. Fair warning. He makes a point of that. Thats where his boastfulness comes in. I wonder nowId almost bet the chap drinks White Horse whisky.
Ah, cest ingénieux[174], çа! said Poirot, driven to admiration in spite of himself. He prints the letter and the bottle is in front of him.
Thats the way of it, said Crome. Weve all of us done much the same thing one time or another, unconsciously copied something thats just under the eye. He started off White and went on horse instead of haven
The inspector, we found, was also travelling by the train.
Even if by some unbelievable luck nothing happened, Churston is the place to be. Our murderer is there, or has been there today. One of my men is on the phone here up to the last minute in case anything comes through.