of overpowering force and personality, but I was coming

to believe that Poirot had made a mistake when he

associated him with that dread organisation. I even

heard him mention Poirot in a casual way at dinner one

night.

"Wonderful little man, they say. But he's a quitter. How do I know? I put him on a deal, and he turned me

down the last minute. I'm not taking any more of your

Monsieur Hercule Poirot."

It was at moments such as these that I felt my cheek

pads most wearisome!

And then Miss Martin told me a rather curious story.

Ryland had gone to London for the day, taking Appleby

with him. Miss Martin and I were strolling together

in the garden after tea. I liked the girl very much, she was so unaffected and so natural. I could see that there was something on her mind, and at last out it came.

"Do you know. Major Neville," she said, "I am really thinking of resigning my post here."

I looked somewhat astonished, and she went on hur

riedly.

"Oh! I know it's a wonderful job to have got, in a

way. I suppose most people would think me a fool to

throw it up. But I can't stand abuse. Major Neville. To

be sworn at like a trooper is more than I can bear. No

THE BIG FOUR 79

gentleman would do such a thing.''

"Has Ryland been swearing at you?"

She nodded.

"Of course, he's always rather irritable and shorttempered. That one expects. It's all in the day's work.

But to fly into such an absolute fury—over nothing at

all. He really looked as though he could have murdered

me! And, as I say, over nothing at all!"

"Tell me about it?" I said, keenly interested.

"As you know, I open all Mr. Ryland's letters. Some I hand on to Mr. Appleby, others I deal with myself, but I do all the preliminary sorting. Now there are certain

letters that come, written on blue paper, and with a tiny 4 marked on the corner—I beg your pardon, did you

speak?"

I had been unable to repress a stifled exclamation, but

I hurriedly shook my head, and begged her to continue.

"Well, as I was saying, these letters come, and there are strict orders that they are never to be opened, but to be handed over to Mr. Ryland intact. And, of course, I

always do so. But there was an unusually heavy mail

yesterday morning, and I was opening the letters in a

terrific hurry. By mistake I opened one of these letters. As soon as I saw what I had done, I took it to Mr.

Ryland and explained. To my utter amazement he flew

into the most awful rage. As I tell you, I was quite

frightened."

"What was there in the letter, I wonder, to upset him so?"

"Absolutely nothing—that's just the curious part of it. I had read it before I discovered my mistake. It was quite short. I can still remember it word for word, and