overhear what went on at the interview. If he liked to

leave it to me, well and good, but I gave him detailed instructions how to reach the quarry from the station in

case he should deem it wise to be present himself.

I took the letter down to the village and posted it

myself. I had been able to communicate with Poirot

throughout my stay, by the simple expedient of posting

my letters myself, but we had agreed that he should not

attempt to communicate with me in case my letters

should be tampered with.

I was in a glow of excitement the following evening.

No guests were staying in the house, and I was busy with Mr. Ryland in his study all the evening. I had foreseen

82 Agatha Christie

that this would be the case, which was why I had had no

hope of being able to meet Poirot at the station. I was, however, confident that I would be dismissed well before eleven o'clock.

Sure enough, just after-ten-thirty, Mr. Ryland

glanced at the clock, and announced that he was

"through." I took the hint and retired discreetly. I went upstairs as though going to bed, but slipped quietly

down a side staircase and let myself out into the garden, having taken the precaution to don a dark overcoat to

hide my white shirtfront.

I had gone some way down the garden when I

chanced to look over my shoulder. Mr. Ryland was just

stepping out from his study window into the garden. He was starting to keep the appointment. I redoubled my

pace, so as to get a clear start. I arrived at the quarry somewhat out of breath. There seemed no one about,

and I crawled into a thick tangle of bushes and awaited

developments.

Ten minutes later, just on the stroke of eleven,

Ryland stalked up, his hat over his eyes and the inevitable cigar in his mouth. He gave a quick look round,

and then plunged into the hollows of the quarry below.

Presently I heard a low murmur of voices come up to

me. Evidently the other man--or men--whoever they

were, had arrived first at the rendezvous. I crawled cautiously out of the bushes, and inch by inch, using the

utmost precaution against noise, I wormed myself down

the steep path. Only a boulder now separated me from

the talking men. Secure in the blackness, I peeped round the edge of it and found myself facing the muzzle of a

black, murderous-looking automatic!

"Hands up!" said Mr. Ryland succinctly. "I've been waiting for you."

He was seated in the shadow of the rock, so that I

THE BIG FOUR 83

could not see his face, but the menace in his voice was

unpleasant. Then I felt a ring of cold steel on the back of my neck, and Ryland lowered his own automatic.

"That's right, George," he drawled. "March him around here."

Raging inwardly, I was conducted to a spot in the