The Big Four

the same. As a matter of fact, I did think I caught sight of that soft-footed Chinese beggar, Ah Ling, just whisking round the corner of the hall, but I fancy I was mistaken.”

“When did you last see your uncle, Mr. Paynter? I mean before you came to live with him?”

“Oh! not since I was a kid of ten. He and his brother (my father) quarrelled, you know.”

“But he found you again with very little trouble, did he not? In spite of all the years that had passed?”

“Yes, it was quite a bit of luck my seeing the lawyer’s advertisement.”

Poirot asked no more questions.

Our next move was to visit Dr. Quentin. His story was substantially the same as he had told at the inquest, and he had little to add to it. He received us in his surgery, having just come to the end of his consulting patients. He seemed an intelligent man. A certain primness of manner went well with his pince-nez, but I fancied that he would be thoroughly modern in his methods.

“I wish I could remember about the window,” he said frankly. “But it’s dangerous to think back, one becomes quite positive about something that never existed. That’s psychology, isn’t it, M. Poirot? You see. I’ve read all about your methods, and I may say I’m an enormous admirer of yours. No, I suppose it’s pretty certain that the Chinaman put the powdered opium in the curry, but he’ll never admit it, and we shall never know why. But holding a man down in a fire⁠—that’s not in keeping with our Chinese friend’s character, it seems to me.”

I commented on this last point to Poirot as we walked down the main street of Market Handford.

“Do you think he let a confederate in?” I asked. “By the way, I suppose Japp can be trusted to keep an eye on him?” (The Inspector had passed into the police station on some business or other.) “The emissaries of the Big Four are pretty spry.”

“Japp is keeping an eye on both of them,” said Poirot grimly. “They have been closely shadowed ever since the body was discovered.”

“Well, at any rate we know that Gerald Paynter had nothing to do with it.”

“You always know so much more than I do, Hastings, that it becomes quite fatiguing.”

“You old fox,” I laughed. “You never will commit yourself.”

“To be honest, Hastings, the case is now quite clear to me⁠—all but the words, Yellow Jasmine⁠—and I am coming to agree with you that they have no bearing on the crime. In a case of this kind, you have got to make up your mind who is lying. I have done that. And yet⁠—”

He suddenly darted from my side and entered an adjacent bookshop. He emerged a few minutes later, hugging a parcel. Then Japp rejoined us, and we all sought quarters at the inn.

I slept late the next morning. When I descended to the sitting room reserved for us, I found Poirot already there, pacing up and down, his face contorted with agony.

“Do not converse with me,” he cried, waving an agitated hand. “Not until I know that all is well⁠—that the arrest is made. Ah! but my psychology has been weak. Hastings, if a man writes a dying message, it is because it is important. Everyone has said⁠—‘Yellow Jasmine? There is yellow jasmine growing up the house⁠—it means nothing.’

“Well, what does it mean? Just what it says. Listen.” He held up a little book he was holding.

“My friend, it struck me that it would be well to inquire into the subject. What exactly is yellow jasmine? This little book has told me. Listen.”

He read.

“Gelsemini radix. Yellow Jasmine. Composition: Alkaloids gelseminine C₂₂H₂₆N₂O₃, a potent poison acting like coniine; gelsemine C₁₂H₁₄NO₂, acting like strychnine; gelsemic acid, etc. Gelsemium is a powerful depressant to the central nervous system. At a late stage in its action it paralyses the motor nerve endings, and in large doses causes giddiness and loss of muscular power. Death is due to paralysis of the respiratory centre.’

“You see, Hastings? At the beginning I had an inkling of the truth when Japp made his remark about a live man being forced into the fire. I realized then that it was a dead man who was burned.”

“But why? What was the point?”

“My friend, if you were to shoot a man, or stab a man after he were dead, or even knock him on the head, it would be apparent that the injuries were inflicted after death. But with his head charred to a cinder, no one is going to hunt about for obscure causes of death, and a man who has apparently just escaped being poisoned at dinner is not likely to be poisoned just afterwards. Who is lying, that is always the question? I decided to believe Ah Ling⁠—”

“What!” I exclaimed.

“You are surprised, Hastings? Ah Ling knew of the existence of the Big Four, that was evident⁠—so evident that it was clear he knew nothing of their association with the crime until that moment. Had he been the murderer, he would have been able to retain his impassive face perfectly. So I decided then, to believe Ah Ling, and I fixed my suspicions on Gerald Paynter. It seemed to me that Number Four would have found an impersonation of a long-lost nephew very easy.”

“What!” I cried. “Number Four?”

“No, Hastings, not Number Four. As soon as I had read up the subject of yellow jasmine, I saw the truth. In fact, it leapt to the eye.”

“As always,” I said coldly, “it doesn’t leap to mine.”

“Because you will not use your little grey cells. Who had a chance to tamper with the curry?”

“Ah Ling. No one else.”

“No one else? What about the doctor?”

“But that was afterwards.”

“Of course it was afterwards. There was no trace of powdered opium in the curry served to Mr. Paynter, but acting in obedience to the suspicions Dr. Quentin had aroused, the old man eats none of it, and preserves