Eight

THE KIDNAPPED PRIME MINISTER

Now that war and the problems of war are things of the past, I think I may safely venture to revealto the world the part which my friend Poirot played in a moment of national crisis. The secret hasbeen well-guarded. Not a whisper of it reached the Press. But, now that the need for secrecy¹ hasgone by, I feel it is only just that England should know the debt it owes to my quaint² little friend,whose marvellous brain so ably averted⁴ a greatcatastrophe.

One evening after dinner—I will not particularize the date; it suffices to say that it was at thetime when “Peace by negotiation” was the parrot cry of England’s enemies—my friend and I weresitting in his rooms. After being invalided⁵ out of the Army I had been given a recruiting job, and ithad become my custom to drop in on Poirot in the evenings after dinner and talk with him of anycases of interest that he might have had on hand.

I was attempting to discuss with him the sensational⁶ news of the day—no less than anattempted assassination⁷ of Mr.?David MacAdam, England’s Prime Minister. The account in thepapers had evidently been carefully censored⁸. No details were given, save that the Prime Ministerhad had a marvellous escape, the bullet just grazing his cheek.

I considered that our police must have been shamefully⁹ careless for such an outrage¹⁰ to bepossible. I could well understand that the German agents in England would be willing to risk muchfor such an achievement. “Fighting Mac,” as his own party had nicknamed him, had strenuouslyand unequivocally combated the Pacifist influence which was becoming so prevalent.

He was more than England’s Prime Minister—he was England; and to have removed himfrom his sphere of influence would have been a crushing and paralysing blow to Britain.

Poirot was busy mopping a grey suit with a minute sponge. Never was there a dandy such asHercule Poirot. Neatness and order were his passion. Now, with the odour of benzene filling theair, he was quite unable to give me his full attention.

“In a little minute I am with you, my friend. I have all but finished. The spot of grease—he isnot good—I remove him—so!” He waved his sponge.

I smiled as I lit another cigarette.

“Anything interesting on?” I inquired, after a minute or two.

“I assist a—how do you call it?—‘charlady’ to find her husband. A difficult affair, needingthe tact¹¹. For I have a little idea that when he is found he will not be pleased. What would you? Formy part, I sympathize with him. He was a man of discrimination to lose himself.”

I laughed.

“At last! The spot of grease, he is gone! I am at your disposal.”

“I was asking you what you thought of this attempt to assassinate¹² MacAdam?”

“Enfantillage!” replied Poirot promptly¹³. “One can hardly take it seriously. To fire with therifle—never does it succeed. It is a device of the past.”

“It was very near succeeding this time,” I reminded him.

Poirot shook his head impatiently. He was about to reply when the landlady¹⁴ thrust her headround the door and informed him that there were two gentlemen below who wanted to see him.

“They won’t give their names, sir, but they says as it’s very important.”

“Let them mount,” said Poirot, carefully folding his grey trousers.

In a few minutes the two visitors were ushered¹⁵ in, and my heart gave a leap as in the foremostI recognized no less a personage than Lord Estair, Leader of the House of Commons; whilst hiscompanion, Mr.?Bernard Dodge¹⁶, was also a member of the War Cabinet, and, as I knew, a closepersonal friend of the Prime

Minister.

“Monsieur Poirot?” said Lord Estair interrogatively. My friend bowed. The great man lookedat me and hesitated. “My business is private.”

“You may speak freely before Captain Hastings,” said my friend, nodding to me to remain.

“He has not all the gifts, no! But I answer for his discretion¹⁷.”

Lord Estair still hesitated, but Mr.?Dodge broke in abruptly¹⁸:

“Oh, come on—don’t let’s beat about the bush! As far as I can see, the whole of England willknow the hole we’re in soon enough. Time’s everything.”

“Pray be seated, messieurs,” said Poirot politely. “Will you take the big chair, milord?”

Lord Estair started slightly. “You know me?”

Poirot smiled. “Certainly. I read the little papers with the pictures. How should I not knowyou?”

“Monsieur Poirot, I have come to consult you upon a matter of the most vital urgency. I mustask for absolute secrecy.”

“You have the word of Hercule Poirot—I can say no more!” said my friend grandiloquently¹⁹.

“It concerns the Prime Minister. We are in grave trouble.”

“We’re up a tree!” interposed Mr.?Dodge.

“The injury is serious then?” I asked.

“What injury?”

“The bullet wound.”

“Oh, that!” cried Mr.?Dodge contemptuously. “That’s old history.”

“As my colleague says,” continued Lord Estair, “that affair is over and done with. Luckily, itfailed. I wish I could say as much for the second attempt.”

“There has been a second attempt, then?”

“Yes, though not of the same nature, Monsieur Poirot, the Prime Minister has disappeared.”

“What?”

“He has been kidnapped!”

“Impossible!” I cried, stupefied.

Poirot threw a withering²⁰ glance at me, which I knew enjoined²¹ me to keep my mouth shut.

“Unfortunately, impossible as it seems, it is only too true,” continued his lordship.

Poirot looked at Mr.?Dodge. “You said just now, monsieur, that time was everything. Whatdid you mean by that?”

The two men exchanged glances, and then Lord Estair said:

“You have heard, Monsieur Poirot, of the approaching Allied²² Conference?”

“My friend nodded.

“For obvious reasons, no details have been given of when and where it is to take place. But,although it has been kept out of the newspapers, the date is, of course, widely known in diplomaticcircles. The Conference is to be held tomorrow—Thursday—evening at Versailles. Now youperceive the terrible gravity of the situation. I will not conceal²³ from you that the Prime Minister’spresence at the Conference is a vital necessity. The Pacifist propaganda, started and maintained bythe German agents in our midst, has been very active. It is the universal opinion that the turningpoint of the Conference will be the strong personality of the Prime Minister. His absence mayhave the most serious results—possibly a premature²⁴ and disastrous²⁵ peace. And we have no onewho can be sent in his place. He alone can represent England.”

Poirot’s face had grown very grave. “Then you regard the kidnapping of the Prime Ministeras a direct attempt to prevent his being present at the Conference?”

“Most certainly I do. He was actually on his way to France at the time.”

“And the Conference is to be held?”

“At nine o’clock tomorrow night.”

Poirot drew an enormous watch from his pocket.

“It is now a quarter to nine.”

“Twenty-four hours,” said Mr.?Dodge thoughtfully.

“And a quarter,” amended²⁶ Poirot. “Do not forget the quarter, monsieur—it may come inuseful. Now for the details—the abduction, did it take place in England or in France?”

“In France. Mr.?MacAdam crossed to France this morning. He was to stay tonight as theguest of the Commander-in-Chief, proceeding²⁷ tomorrow to Paris. He was conveyed across theChannel by destroyer. At Boulogne he was met by a car from General Headquarters and one of theCommander-in-Chief’s ADCs.”

“Eh bien?”

“Well, they started from Boulogne—but they never arrived.”

“What?”

“Monsieur Poirot, it was a bogus car and a bogus ADC. The real car was found in a side road,with the chauffeur²⁸ and the ADC neatly²⁹ gagged and bound.”

“And the bogus car?”

“Is still at large.”

Poirot made a gesture of impatience³⁰. “Incredible! Surely it cannot escape attention for long?”

“So we thought. It seemed merely a question of searching thoroughly³¹. That part of France isunder Military Law. We were convinced that the car could not go long unnoticed. The Frenchpolice and our own Scotland Yard men and the military are straining every nerve. It is, as you say,incredible—but nothing has been discovered!”

At that moment a tap came at the door, and a young officer entered with a heavily sealedenvelope which he handed to Lord Estair.

“Just through from France, sir. I brought it on here, as you directed.”

The Minister tore it open eagerly, and uttered an exclamation³². The officer withdrew.

“Here is news at last! This telegram has just been decoded³³. They have found the second car,also the secretary, Daniels, chloroformed, gagged, and bound, in an abandoned farm near C—. Heremembers nothing, except something being pressed against his mouth and nose from behind, andstruggling to free himself. The police are satisfied as to the genuineness of his statement.”

“And they have found nothing else?”

“No.”

“Not the Prime Minister’s dead body? Then, there is hope. But it is strange. Why, after tryingto shoot him this morning, are they now taking so much trouble to keep him alive?”

Dodge shook his head. “One thing’s quite certain. They’re determined³⁴ at all costs to preventhis attending the Conference.”

“If it is humanly possible, the Prime Minister shall be there. God grant it is not too late. Now,messieurs, recount to me everything—from the beginning. I must know about this shooting affairas well.”

“Last night, the Prime Minister, accompanied by one of his secretaries, Captain Daniels—”

“The same who accompanied him to France?”

“Yes. As I was saying, they motored down to Windsor, where the Prime Minister was grantedan Audience. Early this morning he returned to town, and it was on the way that the attemptedassassination took place.”

“One moment, if you please. Who is this Captain Daniels? You have his dossier?”

Lord Estair smiled. “I thought you would ask me that. We do not know very much of him. Heis of no particular family. He has served in the English Army, and is an extremely able secretary,being an exceptionally fine linguist³⁵. I believe he speaks seven languages. It is for that reason thatthe Prime Minister chose him to accompany him to France.”

“Has he any relatives in England?”

“Two aunts. A Mrs.?Everard, who lives at Hampstead, and a Miss?Daniels, who lives nearAscot.”

“Ascot? That is near to Windsor, is it not?”

“That point has not been overlooked. But it has led to nothing.”

“You regard the Capitaine Daniels, then, as above suspicion?”

A shade of bitterness crept into Lord Estair’s voice, as he replied:

“No, Monsieur Poirot. In these days, I should hesitate before I pronounced anyone abovesuspicion.”

“Très bien. Now I understand, milord, that the Prime Minister would, as a matter of course,be under vigilant³⁶ police protection, which ought to render any assault upon him an impossibility?”

Lord Estair bowed his head. “That is so. The Prime Minister’s car was closely followed byanother car containing detectives in plain clothes. Mr.?MacAdam knew nothing of theseprecautions. He is personally a most fearless man, and would be inclined to sweep them awayarbitrarily. But, naturally, the police make their own arrangements. In fact, the Premier³⁷’schauffeur, O’Murphy, is a CID man.”

“O’Murphy? That is a name of Ireland, is it not so?”

“Yes, he is an Irishman.”

“From what part of Ireland?”

“County Clare, I believe.”

“Tiens! But proceed, milord.”

“The Premier started for London. The car was a closed one. He and Captain Daniels satinside. The second car followed as usual. But, unluckily, for some unknown reason, the PrimeMinister’s car deviated³⁸ from the main road—”

“At a point where the road curves?” interrupted Poirot.

“Yes—but how did you know?”

“Oh, c’est évident! Continue!”

“For some unknown reason,” continued Lord Estair, “the Premier’s car left the main road.

The police car, unaware³⁹ of the deviation⁴⁰, continued to keep to the high road. At a short distancedown the unfrequented lane, the Prime Minister’s car was suddenly held up by a band of maskedmen. The chauffeur—”

“That brave O’Murphy!” murmured Poirot thoughtfully.

“The chauffeur, momentarily taken aback, jammed on the brakes. The Prime Minister put hishead out of the window. Instantly a shot rang out—then another. The first one grazed his cheek,the second, fortunately, went wide. The chauffeur, now realizing the danger, instantly forgedstraight ahead, scattering⁴¹ the band of men.”

“A near escape,” I ejaculated, with a shiver.

“Mr.?MacAdam refused to make any fuss over the slight wound he had received. He declaredit was only a scratch. He stopped at a local cottage hospital, where it was dressed and bound up—he did not, of course, reveal his identity. He then drove, as per schedule, straight to Charing⁴² Cross,where a special train for Dover was awaiting him, and, after a brief account of what had happenedhad been given to the anxious police by Captain Daniels, he duly departed for France. At Dover,he went on board the waiting destroyer. At Boulogne, as you know, the bogus car was waiting forhim, carrying the Union Jack⁴³, and correct in every detail.”

“That is all you have to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“There is no other circumstance that you have omitted, milord?”

“Well, there is one rather peculiar⁴⁴ thing.”

“Yes?”

“The Prime Minister’s car did not return home after leaving the Prime Minister at CharingCross. The police were anxious to interview O’Murphy, so a search was instituted at once. The carwas discovered standing⁴⁵ outside a certain unsavoury little restaurant in Soho, which is well knownas a meeting place of German agents.”

“And the chauffeur?”

“The chauffeur was nowhere to be found. He, too, had disappeared.”

“So,” said Poirot thoughtfully, “there are two disappearances⁴⁶: the Prime Minister in France,and O’Murphy in London.”

He looked keenly at Lord Estair, who made a gesture of despair.

“I can only tell you, Monsieur Poirot, that, if anyone had suggested to me yesterday thatO’Murphy was a traitor⁴⁷, I should have laughed in his face.”

“And today?”

“Today I do not know what to think.”

Poirot nodded gravely. He looked at his turnip⁴⁸ of a watch again.

“I understand that I have carte blanche, messieurs—in every way, I mean? I must be able togo where I choose, and how I choose.”

“Perfectly⁴⁹. There is a special train leaving for Dover in an hour’s time, with a furthercontingent from Scotland Yard. You shall be accompanied by a Military officer and a CID man,who will hold themselves at your disposal in every way. Is that satisfactory?”

“Quite. One more question before you leave, messieurs. What made you come to me? I amunknown, obscure in this great London of yours.”

“We sought you out on the express recommendation and wish of a very great man of yourown country.”

“Comment? My old friend the Préfet—?”

Lord Estair shook his head.

“One higher than the Préfet. One whose word was once law in Belgium—and shall be again!

That England has sworn!”

Poirot’s hand flew swiftly to a dramatic salute⁵⁰. “Amen to that! Ah, but my Master does notforget .?.?. Messieurs, I, Hercule Poirot, will serve you faithfully. Heaven only send that it will bein time. But this is dark—dark .?.?. I cannot see.”

“Well, Poirot,” I cried impatiently, as the door closed behind the Ministers, “what do youthink?”

My friend was busy packing a minute suitcase, with quick, deft⁵¹ movements. He shook hishead thoughtfully.

“I don’t know what to think. My brains desert me.”

“Why, as you said, kidnap him, when a knock on the head would do as well?” I mused⁵².

“Pardon me, mon ami, but I did not quite say that. It is undoubtedly⁵³ far more their affair tokidnap him.”

“But why?”

“Because uncertainty⁵⁴ creates panic. That is one reason. Were the Prime Minister dead, itwould be a terrible calamity⁵⁵, but the situation would have to be faced. But now you have paralysis⁵⁶.

Will the Prime Minister reappear, or will he not? Is he dead or alive? Nobody knows, and untilthey know nothing definite can be done. And, as I tell you, uncertainty breeds panic, which is whatles Boches are playing for. Then, again, if the kidnappers⁵⁷ are holding him secretly somewhere,they have the advantage of being able to make terms with both sides. The German Government isnot a liberal paymaster, as a rule, but no doubt they can be made to disgorge substantialremittances in such a case as this. Thirdly, they run no risk of the hangman’s rope. Oh, decidedly,kidnapping is their affair.”

“Then, if that is so, why should they first try to shoot him?”

Poirot made a gesture of anger. “Ah, that is just what I do not understand! It is inexplicable—stupid! They have all their arrangements made (and very good arrangements too!) for theabduction, and yet they imperil the whole affair by a melodramatic attack, worthy⁵⁸ of a cinema, andquite as unreal. It is almost impossible to believe in it, with its band of masked men, not twentymiles from London!”

“Perhaps they were two quite separate attempts which happened irrespective of each other,” Isuggested.

“Ah, no, that would be too much of a coincidence! Then, further—who is the traitor? Theremust have been a traitor—in the first affair, anyway. But who was it—Daniels or O’Murphy? Itmust have been one of the two, or why did the car leave the main road? We cannot suppose thatthe Prime Minister connived⁵⁹ at his own assassination! Did O’Murphy take that turning of his ownaccord, or was it Daniels who told him to do so?”

“Surely it must have been O’Murphy’s doing.”

“Yes, because if it was Daniels’ the Prime Minister would have heard the order, and wouldhave asked the reason. But there are altogether too many ‘whys’ in this affair, and they contradicteach other. If O’Murphy is an honest man, why did he leave the main road? But if he was adishonest man, why did he start the car again when only two shots had been fired—thereby, in allprobability, saving the Prime Minister’s life? And, again, if he was honest, why did he,immediately on leaving Charing Cross, drive to a well-known rendezvous⁶⁰ of German spies?”

“It looks bad,” I said.

“Let us look at the case with method. What have we for and against these two men? TakeO’Murphy first. Against: that his conduct in leaving the main road was suspicious; that he is anIrishman from County Clare; that he has disappeared in a highly suggestive manner. For: that hispromptness in restarting the car saved the Premier’s life; that he is a Scotland Yard man, and,obviously, from the post allotted⁶¹ to him, a trusted detective. Now for Daniels. There is not muchagainst him, except the fact that nothing is known of his antecedents, and that he speaks too manylanguages for a good Englishman! (Pardon me, mon ami, but, as linguists⁶², you are deplorable!)Now for him, we have the fact that he was found gagged, bound, and chloroformed—which doesnot look as though he had anything to do with the matter.”

“He might have gagged and bound himself, to divert suspicion.”

Poirot shook his head. “The French police would make no mistake of that kind. Besides, oncehe had attained⁶³ his object, and the Prime Minister was safely abducted⁶⁴, there would not be muchpoint in his remaining behind. His accomplices⁶⁵ could have gagged and chloroformed him, ofcourse, but I fail to see what object they hoped to accomplish by it. He can be of little use to themnow, for, until the circumstances concerning the Prime Minister have been cleared up, he is boundto be closely watched.”

“Perhaps he hoped to start the police on a false scent⁶⁶?”

“Then why did he not do so? He merely says that something was pressed over his nose andmouth, and that he remembers nothing more. There is no false scent there. It sounds remarkablylike the truth.”

“Well,” I said, glancing at the clock, “I suppose we’d better start for the station. You mayfind more clues in France.”

“Possibly, mon ami, but I doubt it. It is still incredible to me that the Prime Minister has notbeen discovered in that limited area, where the difficulty of concealing⁶⁷ him must be tremendous. Ifthe military and the police of two countries have not found him, how shall I?”

At Charing Cross we were met by Mr.?Dodge.

“This is Detective Barnes, of Scotland Yard, and Major Norman. They will hold themselvesentirely at your disposal. Good luck to you. It’s a bad business, but I’ve not given up hope. Mustbe off now.” And the Minister strode rapidly away.

We chatted in a desultory⁶⁸ fashion with Major Norman. In the centre of the little group of menon the platform I recognized a little ferret-faced fellow talking to a tall, fair man. He was an oldacquaintance of Poirot’s — Detective- Inspector⁶⁹ Japp, supposed to be one of the smartest ofScotland Yard’s officers. He came over and greeted my friend cheerfully.

“I heard you were on this job too. Smart bit of work. So far they’ve got away with the goodsall right. But I can’t believe they can keep him hidden long. Our people are going through Francewith a toothcomb. So are the French. I can’t help feeling it’s only a matter of hours now.”

“That is, if he’s still alive,” remarked the tall detective gloomily.

Japp’s face fell. “Yes .?.?. but somehow I’ve got the feeling he’s still alive all right.”

Poirot nodded. “Yes, yes; he’s alive. But can he be found in time? I, like you, did not believehe could be hidden so long.”

The whistle blew, and we all trooped up into the Pullman car. Then, with a slow, unwillingjerk, the train drew out of the station.

It was a curious journey. The Scotland Yard men crowded together. Maps of Northern Francewere spread out, and eager forefingers⁷¹ traced the lines of roads and villages. Each man had hisown pet theory. Poirot showed none of his usual loquacity⁷³, but sat staring in front of him, with anexpression on his face that reminded me of a puzzled child. I talked to Norman, whom I foundquite an amusing fellow. On arriving at Dover Poirot’s behaviour moved me to intenseamusement. The little man, as he went on board the boat, clutched desperately⁷⁴ at my arm. Thewind was blowing lustily.

“Mon Dieu!” he murmured. “This is terrible!”

“Have courage, Poirot,” I cried. “You will succeed. You will find him. I am sure of it.”

“Ah, mon ami, you mistake my emotion. It is this villainous sea that troubles me! The mal demer—it is horrible suffering!”

“Oh!” I said, rather taken aback.

The first throb⁷⁵ of the engines was felt, and Poirot groaned⁷⁶ and closed his eyes.

“Major Norman has a map of Northern France if you would like to study it?”

Poirot shook his head impatiently.

“But no, but no! Leave me, my friend. See you, to think, the stomach and the brain must be inharmony. Laverguier has a method most excellent for averting⁷⁷ the mal de mer. You breathe in—and out—slowly, so—turning the head from left to right and counting six between each breath.”

I left him to his gymnastic endeavours, and went on deck.

As we came slowly into Boulogne Harbour Poirot appeared, neat and smiling, and announcedto me in a whisper that Laverguier’s system had succeeded “to a marvel³!”

Japp’s forefinger⁷⁰ was still tracing imaginary routes on his map. “Nonsense! The car startedfrom Boulogne—here they branched off. Now, my idea is that they transferred the Prime Ministerto another car. See?”

“Well,” said the tall detective, “I shall make for the seaports⁷⁸. Ten to one, they’ve smuggledhim on board a ship.”

Japp shook his head. “Too obvious. The order went out at once to close all the ports.”

The day was just breaking as we landed. Major Norman touched Poirot on the arm. “There’sa military car here waiting for you, sir.”

“Thank you, monsieur. But, for the moment, I do not propose to leave Boulogne.”

“What?”

“No, we will enter this hotel here, by the quay⁸⁰.”

He suited the action to the word, demanded and was accorded a private room. We threefollowed him, puzzled and uncomprehending.

He shot a quick glance at us. “It is not so that the good detective should act, eh? I perceiveyour thought. He must be full of energy. He must rush to and fro. He should prostrate⁸¹ himself onthe dusty road and seek the marks of tyres through a little glass. He must gather up the cigaretteend, the fallen match? That is your idea, is it not?”

His eyes challenged us. “But I—Hercule Poirot—tell you that it is not so! The true clues arewithin—here!?” He tapped his forehead. “See you, I need not have left London. It would havebeen sufficient for me to sit quietly in my rooms there. All that matters is the little grey cellswithin. Secretly and silently they do their part, until suddenly I call for a map, and I lay my fingeron a spot—so—and I say: the Prime Minister is there! And it is so! With method and logic⁸² onecan accomplish anything! This frantic⁸³ rushing to France was a mistake—it is playing a child’sgame of hide-and-seek. But now, though it may be too late, I will set to work the right way, fromwithin. Silence, my friends, I beg of you.”

And for five long hours the little man sat motionless, blinking his eyelids⁸⁴ like a cat, his greeneyes flickering⁸⁵ and becoming steadily⁸⁶ greener and greener. The Scotland Yard man was obviouslycontemptuous, Major Norman was bored and impatient, and I myself found the time passed withwearisome slowness.

Finally, I got up, and strolled as noiselessly as I could to the window. The matter wasbecoming a farce⁸⁷. I was secretly concerned for my friend. If he failed, I would have preferred himto fail in a less ridiculous manner. Out of the window I idly watched the daily leave boat, belchingforth columns of smoke, as she lay alongside the quay.

Suddenly I was aroused by Poirot’s voice close to my elbow.

“Mes amis, let us start!”

I turned. An extraordinary transformation⁸⁸ had come over my friend. His eyes were flickeringwith excitement, his chest was swelled⁸⁹ to the uttermost.

“I have been an imbecile, my friends! But I see daylight atlast.”

Major Norman moved hastily to the door. “I’ll order the car.”

“There is no need. I shall not use it. Thank Heaven the wind has fallen.”

“Do you mean you are going to walk, sir?”

“No, my young friend. I am no St.?Peter. I prefer to cross the sea by boat.”

“To cross the sea?”

“Yes. To work with method, one must begin from the beginning. And the beginning of thisaffair was in England. Therefore, we return to England.”

II

At three o’clock, we stood once more upon Charing Cross platform. To all our expostulations,Poirot turned a deaf ear, and reiterated⁹⁰ again and again that to start at the beginning was not awaste of time, but the only way. On the way over, he had conferred with Norman in a low voice,and the latter had despatched a sheaf of telegrams from Dover.

Owing to the special passes held by Norman, we got through everywhere in record time. InLondon, a large police car was waiting for us, with some plainclothesmen, one of whom handed atypewritten sheet of paper to my friend. He answered my inquiring glance.

“A list of the cottage hospitals within a certain radius⁹¹ west of London. I wired for it fromDover.”

We were whirled rapidly through the London streets. We were on the Bath Road. On wewent, through Hammersmith, Chiswick and Brentford. I began to see our objective. ThroughWindsor and so on to Ascot. My heart gave a leap. Ascot was where Daniels had an aunt living.

We were after him, then, not O’Murphy.

We duly stopped at the gate of a trim villa⁷². Poirot jumped out and rang the bell. I saw aperplexed frown dimming the radiance of his face. Plainly, he was not satisfied. The bell wasanswered. He was ushered inside. In a few moments he reappeared, and climbed into the car witha short, sharp shake of his head. My hopes began to die down. It was past four now. Even if hefound certain evidence incriminating Daniels, what would be the good of it, unless he could wringfrom someone the exact spot in France where they were holding the Prime Minister?

Our return progress towards London was an interrupted one. We deviated from the main roadmore than once, and occasionally stopped at a small building, which I had no difficulty inrecognizing as a cottage hospital. Poirot only spent a few minutes at each, but at every halt hisradiant assurance was more and more restored.

He whispered something to Norman, to which the latter replied:

“Yes, if you turn off to the left, you will find them waiting by the bridge.”

We turned up a side road, and in the failing light I discerned a second car, waiting by the sideof the road. It contained two men in plainclothes. Poirot got down and spoke⁹² to them, and then westarted off in a northerly direction, the other car following close behind.

We drove for some time, our objective being obviously one of the northern suburbs ofLondon. Finally, we drove up to the front door of a tall house, standing a little back from the roadin its own grounds.

Norman and I were left in the car. Poirot and one of the detectives went up to the door andrang. A neat parlourmaid opened it. The detective spoke.

“I am a police officer, and I have a warrant to search this house.”

The girl gave a little scream, and a tall, handsome woman of middle age appeared behind herin the hall.

“Shut the door, Edith. They are burglars, I expect.”

But Poirot swiftly inserted his foot in the door, and at the same moment blew a whistle.

Instantly the other detectives ran up, and poured into the house, shutting the door behind them.

Norman and I spent about five minutes cursing our forced inactivity. Finally the doorreopened, and the men emerged, escorting three prisoners—a woman and two men. The woman,and one of the men, were taken to the second car. The other man was placed in our car by Poirothimself.

“I must go with the others, my friend. But have great care of this gentleman. You do notknow him, no? Eh bien, let me present to you, Monsieur O’Murphy!”

O’Murphy! I gaped⁹³ at him open-mouthed as we started again. He was not handcuffed, but Idid not fancy he would try to escape. He sat there staring in front of him as though dazed.

Anyway, Norman and I would be more than a match for him.

To my surprise, we still kept a northerly route. We were not returning to London, then! I wasmuch puzzled. Suddenly, as the car slowed down, I recognized that we were close to HendonAerodrome. Immediately I grasped Poirot’s idea. He proposed to reach France by aeroplane.

It was a sporting idea, but, on the face of it, impracticable. A telegram would be far quicker.

Time was everything. He must leave the personal glory of rescuing the Prime Minister to others.

As we drew up, Major Norman jumped out, and a plainclothesman took his place. Heconferred with Poirot for a few minutes, and then went off briskly.

I, too, jumped out, and caught Poirot by the arm.

“I congratulate you, old fellow! They have told you the hiding place? But, look here, youmust wire to France at once. You’ll be too late if you go yourself.”

Poirot looked at me curiously⁹⁴ for a minute or two.

“Unfortunately, my friend, there are some things that cannot be sent by telegram.”

III

At that moment Major Norman returned, accompanied by a young officer in the uniform of theFlying Corps⁹⁵.

“This is Captain Lyall, who will fly you over to France. He can start at once.”

“Wrap up warmly, sir,” said the young pilot. “I can lend you a coat, if you like.”

Poirot was consulting his enormous watch. He murmured to himself: “Yes, there is time—just time.” Then he looked up and bowed politely to the young officer. “I thank you, monsieur. Butit is not I who am your passenger. It is this gentleman here.”

He moved a little aside as he spoke, and a figure came forward out of the darkness. It was thesecond male prisoner who had gone in the other car, and as the light fell on his face, I gave a startof surprise.

It was the Prime Minister!

IV

“For Heaven’s sake, tell me all about it,” I cried impatiently, as Poirot, Norman and I motoredback to London. “How in the world did they manage to smuggle⁷⁹ him back to England?”

“There was no need to smuggle him back,” replied Poirot dryly. “The Prime Minister hasnever left England. He was kidnapped on his way from Windsor to London.”

“What?”

“I will make all clear. The Prime Minister was in his car, his secretary beside him. Suddenly apad of chloroform is clapped on his face—”

“But by whom?”

“By the clever linguistic⁹⁶ Captain Daniels. As soon as the Prime Minister is unconscious,Daniels picks up the speaking tube, and directs O’Murphy to turn to the right, which the chauffeur,quite unsuspicious, does. A few yards down that unfrequented road a large car is standing,apparently broken down. Its driver signals to O’Murphy to stop. O’Murphy slows up. The strangerapproaches. Daniels leans out of the window, and, probably with the aid of an instantaneousanaesthetic, such as ethylchloride, the chloroform trick is repeated. In a few seconds, the twohelpless men are dragged out and transferred to the other car, and a pair of substitutes take theirplaces.”

“Impossible!”

“Pas du tout⁹⁷! Have you not seen music hall turns imitating celebrities⁹⁸ with marvellousaccuracy? Nothing is easier than to personate a public character. The Prime Minister of England isfar easier to understudy than Mr.?John Smith of Clapham, say. As for O’Murphy’s ‘double,’ noone was going to take much notice of him until after the departure of the Prime Minister, and bythen he would have made himself scarce. He drives straight from Charing Cross to the meetingplace of his friends. He goes in as O’Murphy, he emerges as someone quite different. O’Murphyhas disappeared, leaving a conveniently suspicious trail behind him.”

“But the man who personated the Prime Minister was seen by everyone!”

“He was not seen by anyone who knew him privately⁹⁹ or intimately. And Daniels shieldedhim from contact with anyone as much as possible. Moreover, his face was bandaged up, andanything unusual in his manner would be put down to the fact that he was suffering from shock asa result of the attempt upon his life. Mr.?MacAdam has a weak throat, and always spares his voiceas much as possible before any great speech. The deception¹⁰⁰ was perfectly easy to keep up as far asFrance. There it would be impracticable and impossible—so the Prime Minister disappears. Thepolice of this country hurry across the Channel, and no one bothers to go into the details of the firstattack. To sustain the illusion that the abduction has taken place in France, Daniels is gagged andchloroformed in a convincing manner.”

“And the man who has enacted¹⁰¹ the part of the Prime Minister?”

“Rids himself of his disguise. He and the bogus chauffeur may be arrested as suspiciouscharacters, but no one will dream of suspecting their real part in the drama, and they willeventually be released for lack of evidence.”

“And the real Prime Minister?”

“He and O’Murphy were driven straight to the house of ‘Mrs.?Everard,’ at Hampstead,Daniels’ so-called ‘aunt.’ In reality, she is Frau Bertha Ebenthal, and the police have been lookingfor her for some time. It is a valuable little present that I have made them—to say nothing ofDaniels! Ah, it was a clever plan, but he did not reckon on the cleverness of Hercule Poirot!”

I think my friend might well be excused his moment of vanity.

“When did you first begin to suspect the truth of the matter?”

“When I began to work the right way—from within! I could not make that shooting affair fitin—but when I saw that the net result of it was that the Prime Minister went to France with hisface bound up I began to comprehend! And when I visited all the cottage hospitals betweenWindsor and London, and found that no one answering to my description had had his face boundup and dressed that morning, I was sure! After that, it was child’s play for a mind like mine!”

The following morning, Poirot showed me a telegram he had just received. It had no place oforigin, and was unsigned. It ran:

“In time.”

Later in the day the evening papers published an account of the Allied Conference. They laidparticular stress on the magnificent ovation¹⁰² accorded to Mr.?David MacAdam, whose inspiringspeech had produced a deep and lasting¹⁰³ impression.

 

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