His bed was broken --so were two of the

window panes in his room --thereby admitting

that night air which Hercule

Poirot distrusted so much. The hot water

brought him had been tepid and the meal

he had eaten was producing curious and

painful sensations in his inside.

There were five men in the bar and they

were all talking politics. For the most part

Hercule Poirot could not understand what

they said. In any case, he did not much

care.

Presently he found one of the men sitting

beside him. This was a man of slightly

different class to the others. He had the

stamp of the seedy townsman upon him.

He said with immense dignity:

"I tell you, sir. I tell you --Pegeen's

Pride hasn't got a chance, not a chance

. . . bound to finish right down the course

--right down the course. You take my

tip ... everybody ought to take my tip.

Know who I am, shir, do you know, I

shay ? Atlas, thatsh who I am --Atlas of

the Dublin Sun . . . been tipping winnersh

all the season. . . . Didn't I give Larry's

Girl ? Twenty-five to one --twenty-five

409

to one. Follow Atlas and you can't go

wrong."

Hercule Poirot regarded him with a

strange reverence. He said, and his voice

trembled:

"Mon Dieu, it is an omen!"

VI

It was some hours later. The moon showed

from time to time, peeping out coquettishly

from behind the clouds. Poirot and

his new friend had walked some miles.

The former was limping. The idea crossed

his mind that there were, after all, other

shoes --more suitable to country walking

than patent-leather. Actually George had

respectfully conveyed as much. "A nice

pair of brogues," was what George had

said.

Hercule Poirot had not cared for the

idea. He liked his feet to look neat and

well-shod. But now, tramping along this

stony path, he realised that there were other shoes. . . . His companion said suddenly:

"Is it the way the Priest would be after

me for this? I'll not have a mortal sin

upon my conscience."

410

Hercule Poirot said: "You are only

restoring to Caesar the things which are

Caesar's."

They had come to the wall of the

Convent. Atlas prepared to do his part.

A groan burst from him and he exclaimed

in low, poignant tones that he was

destroyed entirely!

Hercule Poirot spoke with authority.

"Be quiet. It is not the weight of the

world that you have to support --only the

weight of Hercule Poirot."

VII

Atlas was turning over two new five pound

notes.

He said hopefully:

"Maybe I'll not remember in the morning

the way I earned this. I'm after worrying

that Father O'Reilly will be after me."

"Forget everything, my friend. Tomorrow

the world is yours."

Atlas murmured:

"And what'll I put it on? There's

Working Lad, he's a grand horse, a lovely

horse he is! And there's Sheila Boyne.