assuming that to kill a man is a thing to avoid, are you not? Number Four's mind, it does not act that way. I

put myself in his place, a thing impossible for you. I picture his thoughts. He enjoys himself as the professor at

that match. I doubt not he has visited the chess tourneys to study his part. He sits and frowns in thought; he gives the impression that he is thinking great plans, and all the time he laughs in himself. He is aware that two moves

are all that he knows--and all that he need know. Again, it would appeal to his mind to foresee the events

and to make the man his own executioner at the exact

time that suits Number Four. . . . Oh, yes, Hastings, I

begin to understand our friend and his psychology." I shrugged.

"Well, I suppose you're right, but I can't understand any one running a risk he could so easily avoid."

"Risk!" Poirot snorted. "Where then lay the risk?

Would Japp have solved the problem? No; if Number

Four.

It was mid-January--a typical English winter day in

London, damp and dirty. Poirot and I were sitting in

two chairs well drawn up to the fire. I was aware of my

friend looking at me with a quizzical smile, the meaning of which I could not fathom.

"A penny for your thoughts," I said lightly.

"I was thinking, my friend, that at midsummer, when you first arrived, you told me that you proposed to be in this country for a couple of months only."

"Did I say that?" I asked, rather awkwardly. "I don't remember."

Poirot's smile broadened.

"You did, mon ami. Since then, you have changed

your plan, is it not so?"

"Er--yes. I have."

"And why is that?"

"Dash it all, Poirot, you don't think I'm going to

leave you all alone when you're up against a thing like

the'Big Four,'do you?"

Poirot nodded gently.

"Just as I thought. You are a staunch friend, Hastings. It is to serve me that you remain on here. And your

wife--little Cinderella as you call her, what does she

say?"

"I haven't gone into details, of course, but she understands. She'd be the last one to wish me to turn my back

on a pal."

"Yes, yes, she, too, is a loyal friend. But it is going to be a long business, perhaps."

I nodded, rather discouraged.

"Six months already," I mused, "and where are we?

You know, Poirot, I can't help thinking that we ought

to--well, to do something."

"Always so energetic, Hastings! And what precisely

would you have me do?"

This was somewhat of a poser, but I was not going to

withdraw from my position.

"We ought to take the offensive," I urged. "What have we done all this time?"

"More than you think, my friend. After all, we have established the identity of Number Two and Number

Three, and we have learnt more than a little about the