night might be merely a coincidence."

"But you don't think so? You prefer to believe

it--murder!"

THE BIG FOUR 93

"Don't you?"

"Mon ami, you and I do not reason in the same way.

I am not trying to make up my mind between two opposite

solutions--murder or accident--that will come

when we have solved the other problem--the mystery of

the 'Yellow Jasmine.' By the way, you have left out

something there."

"You mean the two lines at right angles to each other faintly indicated under the words? I did not think they

could be of any possible importance."

"What you think is always so important to yourself, Hastings. But let us pass from the mystery of the Yellow Jasmine to the Mystery of the Curry."

"I know. Who poisoned it? Why? There are a hundred

questions one can ask. Ah Ling, of course, prepared

it. But why should he wish to kill his master? Is he

a member of a long, or something like that? One reads

of such things. The long of the Yellow Jasmine, perhaps. Then there is Gerald Paynter."

I came to an abrupt pause.

"Yes," said Poirot, nodding his head. "There is Gerald Paynter, as you say. He is his uncle's heir. He

was dining out that night, though."

"He might have got at some of the ingredients of the curry," I suggested. "And he would take care to be out, so as not to have to partake of the dish."

I think my reasoning rather impressed Poirot. He

looked at me with a more respectful attention than he

had given me so far.

"He returns late," I mused, pursuing a hypothetical case. "Sees the light in his uncle's study, enters, and, finding his plan has failed, thrusts the old man down

into the fire."

"Mr. Paynter, who was a fairly hearty man of fifty

94 Agatha Christie

five, would not permit himself to be burnt to death

without a struggle, Hastings. Such a reconstruction is

not feasible."

"Well, Poirot," I cried, "we're nearly there, I fancy. Let us hear what you think?"

Poirot threw me a smile, swelled out his chest, and

began in a pompous manner.

"Assuming murder, the question at once arises, why

choose that particular method? I can think of only one

reason--to confuse identity, the face being charred

beyond recognition."

"What?" I cried. "You think--"

"A moment's patience, Hastings. I was going on to

say that I examine that theory. Is there any ground for

believing that the body is not that of Mr. Paynter? Is

there any one else whose body it possibly could be? I examine these two questions and finally I answer them

both in the negative."

"Oh!" I said, rather disappointed. "And then?" Poirot's eyes twinkled a little.

"And then I say to myself, 'since there is here something that I do not understand, it would be well that I

should investigate the matter. I must not permit myself

to be wholly engrossed by the Big Four.' Ah! we are just arriving. My little clothes brush, where does it hide