The Big Four by Agatha Christie Page B

of horror swept over me. Poirot! In another minute he would walk straight into the trap. And I was powerless to warn him. I could only pray that he had elected to leave the matter in my hands, and had remained in London. Surely, if he had been coming, he would have been here by now.
    With every minute that passed, my hopes rose.
    Suddenly they were dashed to pieces. I heard footsteps - cautious footsteps, but footsteps nevertheless. I writhed in impotent agony. They came down the path, paused, and then Poirot himself appeared, his head a little on one side, peering into the shadows. I heard the growl of satisfaction Ryland gave as he raised the big automatic and shouted “Hands up.”
    Deaves sprang forward as he did so, and took Poirot in the rear. The ambush was complete.
    “Please to meet you, Mr. Hercule Poirot,” said the American grimly.
    Poirot's self-possession was marvellous. He did not turn a hair. But I saw his eyes searching in the shadows.
    “My friend? He is here?”
    “Yes, you are both in the trap - the trap of the Big Four.”
    He laughed.
    “A trap?” queried Poirot.
    “Say, haven't you tumbled to it yet?”
    “I comprehend that there is a trap - yes,” said Poirot gently. “But you are in error, monsieur. It is you who are in it - not I and my friend.”
    “What?” Ryland raised the big automatic, but I saw his gaze falter.
    “If you fire, you commit murder watched by ten pairs of eyes, and you will be hanged for it. This place is surrounded - has been for the last hour - by Scotland Yard men. It is checkmate, Mr. Abe Ryland.”
    He uttered a curious whistle, and as though by magic, the place was alive with men. They seized Ryland and the valet and disarmed them. After speaking a few words to the officer in charge, Poirot took me by the arm, and led me away.
    Once clear of the quarry he embraced me with vigour.
    “You are alive - you are unhurt. It is magnificent. Often have I blamed myself for letting you go.”
    “I'm perfectly all right,” I said, disengaging myself. “But I'm just a big fogged. You tumbled to their little scheme, did you?”
    “But I was waiting for it! For what else did I permit you to go there? Your false name, your disguise, not for a moment was it intended to deceive!”
    “What?” I cried. “You never told me.”
    “As I have frequently told you, Hastings, you have a nature so beautiful and so honest that unless you are yourself deceived, it is impossible for you to deceive others. Good, then, you are spotted from the first, and they do what I had counted on their doing - a mathematical certainty to any one who uses his gray cells properly - use you as a decoy. They set the girl on - By the way, mon ami, as an interesting fact psychologically, has she got red hair?”
    “If you mean Miss Martin,” I said coldly. “Her hair is a delicate shade of auburn, but -”
    “They are epatant - these people? They have even studied your psychology. Oh! yes, my friend. Miss Martin was in the plot - very much so. She repeats the letter to you, together with her tale of Mr. Ryland's wrath, you write it down, you puzzle your brains - the cipher is nicely arranged, difficult, but not too difficult - you solve it, and you send for me.”
    “But what they do not know is that I am waiting for just this very thing to happen. I go post haste to Japp and arrange things. And so, as you see, all is triumph!”
    I was not particularly pleased with Poirot, and I told him so. We went back to London on a milk train in the early hours of the morning, and a most uncomfortable journey it was.
    I was just out of my bath and indulging in pleasurable thoughts of breakfast when I heard Japp's voice in the sitting-room. I threw on a bathrobe and hurried in.
    “A pretty mare's nest you've got us into this time,” Japp was saying. “It's too bad of you, M. Poirot. First time I've ever known you take a toss.”
    Poirot's face was a study. Japp went on.
    “There were we, taking all this