The Big Four

The Man from the Asylum (#ud95f1b2c-81fa-527c-9c50-348340aebb34)

Fortunately the train had stopped near a station. A short walk brought us to a garage where we were able to obtain a car, and half an hour later we were spinning rapidly back to London. Then, and not till then, did Poirot deign to satisfy my curiosity.

‘You do not see? No more did I. But I see now. Hastings, I was being got out of the way.’

‘What?’

‘Yes. Very cleverly. Both the place and the method were chosen with great knowledge and acumen. They were afraid of me.’

‘Who were?’

‘Those four geniuses who have banded themselves together to work outside the law. A Chinaman, an American, a Frenchwoman, and—another. Pray the good God we arrive back in time, Hastings.’

‘You think there is danger to our visitor?’

‘I am sure of it.’

Mrs Pearson greeted us on arrival. Brushing aside her ecstasies of astonishment on beholding Poirot, we asked for information. It was reassuring. No one had called and our guest had not made any sign.

With a sigh of relief we went up to the rooms. Poirot crossed the outer one and went through to the inner one. Then he called me, his voice strangely agitated.

‘Hastings, he’s dead.’

I came running to join him. The man was lying as we had left him, but he was dead, and had been dead some time. I rushed out for a doctor. Ridgeway, I knew, would not have returned yet. I found one almost immediately, and brought him back with me.

‘He’s dead right enough, poor chap. Tramp you’ve been befriending, eh?’

‘Something of the kind,’ said Poirot evasively. ‘What was the cause of death, doctor?’

‘Hard to say. Might have been some kind of fit. There are signs of asphyxiation. No gas laid on is there?’

‘No, electric light—nothing else.’

‘And both windows wide open, too. Been dead about two hours, I should say. You’ll notify the proper people, won’t you?’

He took his departure. Poirot did some necessary telephoning. Finally, somewhat to my surprise, he rang up our old friend Inspector Japp, and asked him if he could possibly come round.

No sooner were these proceedings completed than Mrs Pearson appeared, her eyes as round as saucers.

‘There’s a man here from ’Anwell—from the ’sylum. Did you ever? Shall I show him up?’

We signified assent, and a big, burly man in uniform was ushered in.

‘’Morning, gentlemen,’ he said cheerily. ‘I’ve got reason to believe you’ve got one of my birds here. Escaped last night, he did.’

‘He was here,’ said Poirot quietly.

‘Not got away again, has he?’ asked the keeper, with some concern.

‘He is dead.’

The man looked more relieved than otherwise.

‘You don’t say so. Well, I daresay it’s best for all parties.’

‘Was he—dangerous?’

‘’Omicidal, d’you mean? Oh, no. ’Armless enough. Persecution mania very acute. Full of secret societies from China that had got him shut up. They’re all the same.’

I shuddered.

‘How long had he been shut up?’ asked Poirot.

‘A matter of two years now.’

‘I see,’ said Poirot quietly. ‘It never occurred to anybody that he might—be sane?’

The keeper permitted himself to laugh.

‘If he was sane, what would he be doing in a lunatic asylum? They all say they’re sane, you know.’

Poirot said no more. He took the man in to see the body. The identification came immediately.

‘That’s ’im, right enough,’ said the keeper callously; ‘funny sort of bloke, ain’t he? Well, gentlemen, I had best go off now and make arrangements under the circumstances. We won’t trouble you with the corpse much longer. If there’s a hinquest, you will have to appear at it, I dare say. Good morning, sir.’

With a rather uncouth bow he shambled out of the room.

A few minutes later Japp arrived. The Scotland Yard inspector was jaunty and dapper as usual.

‘Here I am, Moosior Poirot. What can I do for you? Thought you were off to the coral strands of somewhere or other today?’

‘My good Japp, I want to know if you have ever seen this man before.’

He led Japp into the bedroom. The inspector stared down at the figure on the bed with a puzzled face.

‘Let me see now—he seems sort of familiar—and I pride myself on my memory, too. Why, God bless my soul, it’s Mayerling!’

‘And who is—or was—Mayerling?’

‘Secret Service chap—not one of our people. Went to Russia five years ago. Never heard of again. Always thought the Bolshies had done him in.’

‘It all fits in,’ said Poirot, when Japp had taken his leave, ‘except for the fact that he seems to have died a natural death.’

‘He stood looking down on the motionless figure with a dissatisfied frown. A puff of wind set the window-curtains flying out, and he looked up sharply.

‘I suppose you opened the windows when you laid him down on the bed, Hastings?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ I replied. ‘As far as I remember, they were shut.’