Chapter 21 Chapter Twenty

I reported to Baker as soon as I arrived in London. He waved to me with a cigar in hand. "That stupid half-moon alley you're talking about might be a bit odd," he admitted. "Have I finally dug up something?" "It's too early to say, so I can only say 'probably'. That construction engineer, Mr. Ramsay of 62 Wilbraham Lane, is not quite what he looks like. He's taken on some very strange jobs lately. The companies are all real, but they don’t have a deep historical background, and some of them are very strange. About five weeks ago, he received short notice and went to Romania.”

"That's not what his wife said." "Maybe it's different, but that's where he went, and he's still there. I've got to get to know him better. So, you can go right away. I've got all the visas for you, and a This is a brand new passport, this time you use the name Nigger Tianqi. Review the rare plants in the Balkan Peninsula, your identity is a botanist." "Are there any special instructions?" "No. We'll tell you who the contact person is when you pick up your papers. Try to find Mr. Ramsay." He stared at me sharply. "You don't seem very excited." He peered through the smoke. with me.

"As long as my premonition comes true, I will be very happy." I said to him left and right. "Same alley, but with the wrong number. No. 61 is an immaculate builder. Poor old Bailey got the number wrong, but luckily he wasn't too wrong." "Have you checked anything else? Or is it just Ramsay?" "Diana's boarding house seems to be as pure as Diana's. She has a long history of adopting cats. Mr. Mark Norton seems a bit interesting. He is a retired professor, you know, who teaches mathematics. Seems very smart. Suddenly He resigned from his lectures on the grounds of ill health. Perhaps it was true—but he seemed very fit and in good spirits. It seemed odd that he no longer saw any of his old friends."

"The problem," I said, "is that we have to be skeptical of everything that everybody does." "You might gain something by going there," said Colonel Baker. My plane leaves at ten o'clock in the evening.I went first to see Hercule Poirot.This time he was drinking black grape syrup.He asked me to eat some too.I refused.George brought me a glass of whiskey, and everything was as it had been. "You look listless!" said Poirot. "Wherever it is, I'm going abroad." He looked at me and I nodded. "Is that so?" "Yes, that's it."

"I wish you success." "Thanks. And you? Poirot, how are you doing with your lessons?" "Sorry." "Crowding Clock Murders - Did you close your eyes, lean back in your chair, and wake up with an 'answer'." "I have read carefully what you have left," he said. "Nothing found? I told you, it's useless—" "On the contrary. Among these people, the words of at least two people are thought-provoking." "Which two? What did they say?" Poirot said to me excitedly that I should read my notes again. "You'll see it for yourself—the thing to do now is talk to some neighbors."

"No more" "There must be some. Someone must have seen something. If someone doesn't know it, it's a theorem." "It's a theorem, but not in this case. I have other news for you. Someone else has been murdered." "Really? So fast? Interesting, tell me." I told him.He asked me many questions until he had grasped every detail.I also told Hardcastle about the postcard I had given him. "Remember—four, one, three—or four and thirteen," he repeated, "yes—it's the same pattern." "What do you mean by that?" Poirot closed his eyes.

"The only thing missing from that postcard is a bloody fingerprint." I looked at him puzzled. "You see what's going on here?" "It's gradually becoming clear that there's no escape from the murderer." "Who is the murderer?" Poirot made no reply slyly. "Will you allow me to do some research when you go abroad?" "Like what?" "To-morrow I will have Miss Lemon write to an old friend of mine, Mr Enderby. Besides, I want her to go to Somerset to check a marriage record, and to make some overseas telegrams for me."

"I don't think that's the right thing to do," I objected. "You're not just sitting around thinking about it." "That's exactly what I'm doing, Miss Lemon, just confirming the answers I've got. I'm not seeking information, I'm seeking confirmation." "I don't believe it, Poirot! You're putting on airs. Ah, no one knows who the dead man is—" "I know." "What's his name?" "I don't know. His name doesn't matter, if you understand, I don't know his name, but who he is."

"Blackmailer?" Poirot closed his eyes. Poirot the Private Eye opened his eyes. "I'll quote a paragraph to you, as I did last time, only this paragraph, and nothing else." He preached with the most serious expression: "Marvelous, marvelous, marvelous—to come all the way to die."