Chapter 2 Chapter Two The Man From the Sanitarium

Fortunately, the place where the train stopped was not far from the station. We arrived at the parking lot after a short walk and borrowed a car.Half an hour later, we were heading back to London at lightning speed.Only then, and only then, did Poirot graciously satisfy my curiosity. "You don't understand? I didn't understand at first, but now I do, Hastings. I've been tricked into turning the tiger away." "what!" "Yes, the ruse was cleverly contrived. The place and method were well chosen. They were afraid of me." "Who are they?" "Those four gangsters of geniuses on the loose. A Chinese, an American, a Frenchwoman and—an unknown. Hope we don't get back too late, Hastings."

"You think our visitor is in danger?" "That's right." We were greeted by Mrs. Pearson when we arrived.Ignoring the surprised look she gave Poirot, we inquired about the news.Her words reassure us.No one ever came, and nothing happened to our visitors.We breathed a sigh of relief and went upstairs.Dialuo walked through the outer room into the inner room.Then he called me in a very strange and anxious voice. "Hastings, he's dead." I ran to him.The man was in the same prone position as we left him, but he was dead, and had been dead for some time.I dashed out to the doctor, knowing that Ridgway must not be back.Fortunately, I immediately found another doctor and brought him back.

"He's dead, poor fellow. Is it a bum you looked after?" "Well, almost," said Poirot hesitantly. "Why did he die, doctor?" "Hard to say. Died of a convulsion perhaps. He looked asphyxiated. There's no gas here, is there?" "No, nothing but lights." "Also, both windows are wide open. I think he's been dead for about two hours. Will you notify the relevant personnel?" He left, and Poirot made several related calls.Finally, to my surprise, he called our old friend, Inspector Japp, and asked if he could come over and take a look.

When these matters were settled, Mrs. Pearson arrived, her eyes as wide as pots. "There's a man from Hanway—a sanatorium man, do you know him? Would you like him to come up?" We agreed, and a tall, stocky man in uniform was ushered in. "Good morning, gentlemen," he said cheerfully. "I believe we have a patient with you. He escaped last night." "He was here," said Poirot quietly. "Could it be that he ran away again?" the administrator asked with concern. "he died." The man seemed much more relaxed. "Did I hear you right? Well, I dare say, it's good for both of us."

"Is he dangerous? Oh no. He's unarmed. He's suffering from paranoid attacks. His mind is full of secret organizations from China holding him captive. These guys are all the same." I shivered. "How long has he been sent?" "Almost two years." "Oh," said Poirot calmly. "Is it possible that he was—sane?" The administrator laughed. "If he's sane, what's he doing in a mental institution? You know, every single one of them says he's sane." Poirot said no more.He took the man to see the body, and the man recognized it right away.

"It's him—that's right," said the caretaker grimly. "Looks like an ass, doesn't he? Well, gentlemen, I'd better go out and arrange everything under the circumstances. We won't leave the dead body Been here too long. If there's an autopsy, maybe you'll have to be there. Good morning, gentlemen." He gave a very clumsy salute, and then swaggered out. Japp arrived a few minutes later.The Scotland Yard Inspector was as brisk and neat as ever. "Here I am, M. Poirot. Is there anything I can do for you? I suppose you have some difficulty today?"

"My good Japp, I thought you knew if you had seen this man before?" He led Japp into the bedroom.The Inspector looked down at the figure on the bed with a puzzled expression. "Let me see--he looks familiar--my memory is pretty good. Ah! I remember, it's Merlin!" "Merlin—what's it for?" "Intellectuals—not in our line of business. I went to Russia five years ago, and I haven't heard of him since then. I always thought that the Russian Communist Party had ended his life." "What he says makes sense," said Poirot, after Japp had taken his leave, "except that he seemed to have died of natural causes."

Frowning in dissatisfaction, he looked down at the stiff corpse / A gust of wind blew the curtains up, and he looked up piercingly. "Did you open the window when you put him in bed, Hastings?" "No, I didn't." I replied. "In my mind, the windows were closed." Poirot looked up suddenly. "Closed—now they're open. How do you explain that?" "Someone's been in there," I suggested. "Possibly," agreed Poirot, but he was speaking absent-mindedly and incredulously.After a minute or two, he spoke again. "That's not what I'm thinking about now, Hastings. I wouldn't be so interested if only one window was open. Having both windows open makes me curious."

He rushed into another room. "The parlor window was open, too. It was closed when we left. Ah!" He turned the dead man around, carefully examined the corners of his mouth, and then suddenly looked up at me. "Someone else gagged him once, Hastings. Then, poisoned him." "God!" I exclaimed, petrified. "I think, at the post-mortem, we can send out the truth." "We found nothing. He died by inhaling cyanic acid. The murderer stuffed the poison up his nostrils. Then, opening all the windows, he fled. The cyanic acid is easy to recover, whatever, and has a very pungent bitter almond Smell. Afterwards, there is no smell, and if someone does not suspect fraud, it is easy for the doctor to think it was a natural death. This man used to work in the intelligence agency, Hastings. Besides, he went to Russia five years ago."

"He's been in a nursing home for the past two years," I said. "But what was he doing three years before he came to the nursing home?" Poirot shook his head, and then suddenly took my hand. "Clock, Hastings, look at that clock." I followed his gaze on the mantelpiece.The clock stopped at four o'clock. "My friend, someone has tampered with it there. Do you know that this is a clock that goes eight days? It should go three days." "But what are they doing it for? Are they trying to pretend it happened at four o'clock?" "No, no, reorient your thinking, my friend! Use your little gray cells! Imagine you are Merlin, maybe, you hear something—you know you're doomed. You're just enough Leave a signal for the time. Four o'clock, Hastings, number four, the killer. Ah! This is an association of a concept."

He rushed into another room, switched the phone, and asked to call the Hanway Psychiatric Asylum. "Sanatorium? I know a patient escaped from your place today. What did you say? Wait a minute, please, and say it again? Ah! That's great." He hung up the phone and turned to me. "Did you hear that, Hastings, no patients escaped from there." "But that man—the administrator?" I said. "I doubt—very much." "what do you mean--?" "Number Four—The Slayer." I stared at Poirot dumbfoundedly for a minute or two, then calmed down a bit.I say: "We'll recognize him wherever he is. That's an important point. He's easy to spot." "Really? My friend. I don't think so. When we saw the man, he was thick, blunt, ruddy, with a big beard and a hoarse voice. Now, all these characteristics of him will be gone. Besides, his The eyes are featureless, and neither are his ears, plus he's got a nice set of dentures. Recognizing people isn't as easy as you think. Next time—" "You think there's a next time?" I interjected. Poirot's face became serious. "This is a battle to the death, my friend. We are on one side, and the Four Great Devils are on the other. Their first plot has succeeded, but their plan to send me away has failed. In the future, They will settle accounts with Hercule Poirot."