"Not in the least, monsieur. A man took refuge in my rooms. He was suffering badly from shock, but he

managed to tell us enough to interest us in this Li Chang Yen. He described four people--the Big Four--an

organisation hitherto undreamed of. Number One is Li

Chang Yen, Number Two is an unknown American,

Number Three an equally unknown Frenchwoman,

Number Four may be called the executive of the organisation--/Ae destroyer. My informant died. Tell me,

monsieur, is that phrase known to you at all? The Big

Four."

"Not in connection with Li Chang Yen. No, I can't

say it is. But I've heard it, or read it, just lately--and in some unusual connection too. Ah, I've got it."

He rose and went across to an inlaid lacquer cabinet

--an exquisite thing, as even I could see. He returned

with a letter in his hand.

"Here you are. Note from an old sea-faring man I ran 26 Agatha Christie

against once in Shanghai. Hoary old reprobate—maudlin

with drink by now, I should say. I took this to be the

ravings of alcoholism."

He read it aloud:—

"dear sir,—You may not remember me, but

you did me a good turn once in Shanghai. Do me

another now. I must have money to get out of the

country. I'm well hid here, I hope, but any day they

may get me. The Big Four, I mean. It's life or

death. I've plenty of money, but I daren't get at it,

for fear of putting them wise. Send me a couple of

hundred in notes. I'll repay it faithful—I swear to

that.—Your servant, sir,

"jonathan whalley .''

"Dated from Granite Bungalow, Hoppaton, Dartmoor.

I'm afraid I regarded it as rather a crude method

of relieving me of a couple of hundred which I can ill

spare. If it's any use to you—" He held it out.

"Je vous remercie, monsieur. I start for Hoppaton a I'heure memo."

"Dear me, this is very interesting. Supposing I came along too? Any objection?"

"I should be charmed to have your company, but we

must start at once. We shall not reach Dartmoor until

close on nightfall, as it is."

John Ingles did not delay us more than a couple of

minutes, and soon we were in the train moving out of

Paddington bound for the West Country. Hoppaton

was a small village clustering in a hollow right on the

fringe of the moorland. It was reached by a nine-mile

drive from Moretonhamstead. It was about eight

o'clock when we arrived; but as the month was July, the

daylight was still abundant.

THE BIG FOUR 27

We drove into the narrow street of the village and

then stopped to ask our way of an old rustic.

"Granite Bungalow," said the old man reflectively,

"it be Granite BungaW you do want? Eh?"

We assured him that this was what we did want.

The old man pointed to a small gray cottage at the

end of the street.