THE BIG FOUR 75

If Poirot was trying to frighten me, he was going the

wrong way to work, and so I told him. Becoming less incoherent, he unfolded his plan.

It seemed that Ryland was looking for an English

secretary, one with a good social manner and presence.

It was Poirot's suggestion that I should apply for the

post.

"I would do it, myself, mon ami," he explained apologetically. "But, see you, it is almost impossible for me to disguise myself in the needful manner. I speak the English very well--except when I am excited--but

hardly so as to deceive the ear; and even though I were

to sacrifice my moustaches, I doubt not but that I

should still be recognisable as Hercule Poirot."

I doubted it also, and declared myself ready and willing to take up the part and penetrate into Ryland's

household.

"Ten to one he won't engage me anyway," I remarked.

"Oh, yes, he will. I will arrange for you such testimonials as shall make him lick his lips. The Home

Secretary himself shall recommend you."

This seemed to be carrying things a bit far, but Poirot

waved aside my remonstrances.

"Oh, yes, he will do it. I investigated for him a little matter which might have caused a grave scandal. All

was solved with discretion and delicacy, and now, as

you would say, he perches upon my hand like the little

bird and pecks the crumbs."

Our first step was to engage the services of an artist in

"make-up." He was a little man, with a quaint birdlike turn of the head, not unlike Poirot's own. He considered me some time in silence, and then fell to work.

When I looked at myself in the glass half an hour afterwards, I was amazed. Special shoes caused me to stand

'6 Agatha Christie

at least two inches taller, and the coat I wore was arranged so as to give me a long, lank, weedy look. m}

eyebrows had been cunningly altered, giving a totally different expression to my face, I wore pads in m}

cheeks, and the deep tan of my face was a thing of the

past. My moustache had gone, and a gold tooth wa;

prominent on one side of my mouth.

"Your name," said Poirot, "is Arthur Neville. Goc guard you, my friend--for I fear that you go intc perilous places." It was with a beating heart that I presented myself a

the Savoy, at an hour named by Mr. Ryland, and askec

to see the great man.

After being kept waiting a minute or two, I was shown upstairs to his suite. Ryland was sitting at a table. Spread out in front o;

him was a letter which I could see out of the tail of m] eye was in the Home Secretary's handwriting. It was m;

first sight of the American millionaire, and, in spite o: myself, I was impressed. He was tall and lean, with < jutting out chin and slightly hooked nose. His eyes glit tered cold and gray behind penthouse brows. He hac thick grizzled hair, and a long black cigar (withou which, I learned later, he was never seen) protruded rak ishly from the corner of his mouth.