Poirier, and if ever you come to Fountain

Springs you'll be sure of a welcome."

Poirot accepted the card, clapped his

hand to his own pocket, murmured:

"Alas, I have not a card on me at the

moment. ..."

145

That night, when he went to bed, Poirot

read through LementeuiFs letter carefully

before replacing it, neatly folded, in his wallet.

As he got into bed he said to himself:

"It is curious --I wonder if. . ."

Ill

Gustave the waiter brought Hercule Poirot

his breakfast of coffee and rolls. He was

apologetic over the coffee.

"Monsieur comprehends, does he not, that at this altitude it is impossible to have the coffee really hot ? Lamentably, it boils

too soon.33

Poirot murmured:

"One must accept these vagaries of

Nature's with fortitude."

Gustave murmured:

"Monsieur is a philosopher."

He went to the door, but instead of

leaving the room, he took one quick look

outside, then shut the door again and returned

to the bedside. He said:

"M. Hercule Poirot? I am Drouet, Inspector of Police."

"Ah," said Poirot, "I had already suspected as much."

Drouet lowered his voice.

146

"M. Poirot, something very grave has

occurred. There has been an accident to

the funicular!"

"An accident?" Poirot sat up. "What

kind of an accident ?"

"Nobody has been injured. It happened

in the night. It was occasioned, perhaps, by

natural causes --a small avalanche that

swept down boulders and rocks. But it is

possible that there was human agency at

work. One does not know. In any case the

result is that it will take many days to repair

and that in the meantime we are cut off up

here. So early in the season, when the snow

is still heavy, it is impossible to communicate

with the valley below."

Hercule Poirot sat up in bed. He said

softly:

"That is very interesting."

The inspector nodded.

"Yes," he said. "It shows that our commissaire's information was correct. Marrascaud

has a rendezvous here, and he has

made sure that that rendezvous shall not be

interrupted."

Hercule Poirot cried impatiently:

"But it is fantastic!"

"I agree." Inspector Drouet threw up

147

his hands. "It does not make the commonsense--but

there it is. This Marrascaud, you know, is a fantastic creature! Myself," he nodded, cc! think he is mad.39

Poirot said:

"A madman and a murderer!"

Drouet said dryly:

"It is not amusing. I agree."

Poirot said slowly:

"But if he has a rendezvous here, on this

ledge of snow high above the world, then

it also follows that Marrascaud himself is

here already, since communications are

now cut.3'

Drouet said quietly:

"I know."

Both men were silent for a minute or

two. Then Poirot asked:

"Dr. Lutz! Can he be Marrascaud?"

Drouet shook his head.

"I do not think so. There is a real Dr.

Lutz --I have seen his pictures in the

papers --a distinguished and well-known

man. This man resembles these photographs

closely."

Poirot murmured:

"If Marrascaud is an artist in disguise,