"That will be very useful if any one should call with a bomb under his arm," said Poirot dryly.
"You're getting interested, Moosier Poirot," said Japp, with a twinkle. "Care to come round to the mortuary and see Wilson's body before the doctors start on it? Who knows, his tie-pin may be askew, and that may give you a valuable clue that will solve the mystery."
"My dear Japp, all through dinner my fingers have been itching to rearrange your own tie-pin. You permit, yes? Ah! that is much more pleasing to the eye. Yes, by all means, let us go to the mortuary."
I could see that Poirot's attention was completely captivated by this new problem. It was so long since he had shown any interest over any outside case that I was quite rejoiced to see him back in his old form. For my own part, I felt a deep pity as I looked down upon the motionless form and convulsed face of the hapless young American who had come by his death in such a strange way. Poirot examined the body attentively.
There was no mark on it anywhere, except a small scar on the left hand.
"And the doctor says that's a burn, not a cut," explained Japp.
Poirot's attention shifted to the contents of the dead man's pockets which a constable spread out for our inspection. There was nothing much - a handkerchief, keys, note-case filled with notes, and some unimportant letters. But one object standing by itself filled Poirot with interest.
"A chessman!" he exclaimed. "A white bishop. Was that in his pocket?"
"No, clasped in his hand. We had quite a difficulty to get it out of his fingers. It must be returned to Dr. Savaronoff sometime. It's part of a very beautiful set of carved ivory chessmen."
"Permit me to return it to him. It will make an excuse for my going there."
"Aha!" cried Japp. "So you want to come in on this case?"
"I admit it. So skilfully have you aroused my interest."
"That's fine. Got you away from your brooding. Captain Hastings is pleased, too, I can see."
"Quite right," I said, laughing.
Poirot turned back towards the body.
"No other little detail you can tell me about - him?" he asked.
"I don't think so."
"Not even - that he was left-handed?"
"You're a wizard, Moosior Poirot. How did you know that? He was left-handed. Not that it's anything to do with the case."
"Nothing whatever," agreed Poirot hastily, seeing that Japp was slightly ruffled. "My little joke - that was all. I like to play you the trick, see you."
We went out upon an amicable understanding.
The following morning saw us wending our way to Dr. Savaronoff's flat in Westminster.
"Sonia Daviloff," I mused. "It's a pretty name."
Poirot stopped, and threw me a look of despair.
"Always looking for romance! You are incorrigible. It would serve you right if Sonia Daviloff turned out to be our friend and enemy the Countess Vera Rossakoff."
At the mention of the countess, my face clouded over.
"Surely, Poirot, you don't suspect -"
"But, no, no. It was a joke! I have not the Big Four on the brain to that extent, whatever Japp may say."
The door of the flat was opened to us by a man-servant with a peculiarly wooden face. It seemed impossible to believe that that impassive countenance could ever display emotion.
Poirot presented a card on which Japp had scribbled a few words of introduction, and we were shown into a low, long room furnished with rich hangings and curios. One or two wonderful ikons hung upon the walls, and exquisite Persian rugs lay upon the floor. A samovar stood upon a table.
I was examining one of the ikons which I judged to be of considerable value, and turned to see Poirot prone upon the floor. Beautiful as the rug was, it hardly seemed to be to necessitate such close attention.
"Is it such a very wonderful specimen?" I asked.
"Eh? Oh! the rug? But no, it was not the rug I was remarking. But it is a beautiful specimen, far too beautiful to have a large nail wantonly driven through the middle of it. No, Hastings," as I came forward, "the nail is not there now. But the hole remains."
A sudden sound behind us made me spin round, and Poirot spring nimbly to his feet. A girl was standing in the doorway. Her eyes, fell upon us, were dark with suspicion. She was of medium height, with a beautiful, rather sullen face, dark blue eyes, and very black hair which was cut short. Her voice, when she spoke, was rich and sonorous, and completely un-English.
"I fear my uncle will be unable to see you. He is a great invalid."
"That is a pity, but perhaps you will kindly help me instead. You are Mademoiselle Daviloff, are you not?"
"Yes, I am Sonia Daviloff. What is it you want to know?"
"I am making some inquiries about that sad affair the night before last - the death of M. Gilmour Wilson. What can you tell me about it?"
The girl's eyes opened wide.
"He died of heart failure - as he was playing chess."
"The police are not so sure that it was - heart failure, mademoiselle."
The girl gave a terrified gesture.
"It was true then," she cried. "Ivan was right."
"Who is Ivan, and why do you say he was right?"
"It was Ivan who opened the door to you - and he has already said to me that in his opinion Gilmour Wilson did not die a natural death - that he was poisoned by mistake."
"By mistake."
"Yes, the poison was meant for my uncle."
She had quite forgotten her first distrust now, and was speaking eagerly.
"Why do you say that, mademoiselle. Who should wish to poison Dr. Savaronoff?"
She shook her head.
"I do not know. I am all in the dark. And my uncle, he will not trust me. It is natural, perhaps. You see, he hardly knows me. He saw me as a child, and not since till I came to live with him here in London. But this much I do know, he is in fear of something. We have many secret societies in Russia, and one day I overheard something which made me think it was of just such a society he went in fear. Tell me, monsieur -" she came a step nearer, and dropped her voice - "have you ever heard of a society called the 'Big Four'?"
Poirot jumped nearly out of his skin. His eyes positively bulged with astonishment.
"Why do you - what do you know of the Big Four, mademoiselle?"
"There is such an association, then! I overheard a reference to them, and asked my uncle about it afterwards. Never have I seen a man so afraid. He turned all white and shaking. He was in fear of them, monsieur, in great fear, I am sure of it. And, by mistake, they killed the American, Wilson."
"The Big Four," murmured Poirot. "Always the Big Four! An astonishing coincidence, mademoiselle, your uncle is still in danger. I must save him. Now recount to me exactly the events of that fatal evening. Show me the chess-board, the table, how the two men sat - everything."
She went to the side of the room and brought out a small table. The top of it was exquisite, inlaid with squares of silver and black to represent a chessboard.
"This was sent to my uncle a few weeks ago as a present, with the request that he would use it in the next match he played. It was in the middle of the room - so."
Poirot examined the table with what seemed to me quite unnecessary attention. He was not conducting the inquiry at all as I would have done. Many of his questions seemed to me pointless, and upon really vital matters he seemed to have no questions to ask. I concluded that the unexpected mention of the Big Four had thrown him completely off his balance.
After a minute examination of the table and the exact position it had occupied, he asked to see the chessmen.
Sonia Daviloff brought them to him in a box. He examined one or two of them in a perfunctory manner.
"An exquisite set," he murmured absentmindedly.
Still not a question as to what refreshments there had been, or what people had been present.
I cleared my throat significantly.
"Don't you think, Poirot, that -"
He interrupted me peremptorily.
"Do not think, my friend. Leave all to me. Mademoiselle, is it quite impossible that I should see your uncle?"
A faint smile showed itself on her face.
"He will see you, yes. You understand, it is my part to interview all strangers first."
She disappeared. I heard a murmur of voices in the next room, and a minute later she came back and motioned us to pass into the adjoining room.
The man who lay there on a couch was an imposing figure. Tall, gaunt, with huge bushy eyebrows and white beard, and a face haggard as the result of starvation and hardships. Dr. Savaronoff was a distinct personality. I noted the peculiar formation of his head, its unusual height. A great chess player must have a great brain, I knew. I could easily understand Dr. Savaronoff being the second greatest player in the world.
Poirot bowed.
"M. le Docteur, may I speak to you alone?"
Savaronoff turned to his niece.
"Leave us, Sonia."
She disappeared obediently.
"Now, sir, what is it?"
"Dr. Savaronoff, you have recently come into an enormous fortune. If you should - die unexpectedly, who inherits it?"
"I have made a will leaving everything to my niece, Sonia Daviloff. You do not suggest -"
"I suggest nothing, but you have not seen your niece since she was a child. It would have been easy for any one to impersonate her."
Savaronoff seemed thunderstruck by the suggestion.
Poirot went on easily.
"Enough as to that. I give you the word of warning, that is all. What I want you to do now is to describe to me the game of chess the other evening."
"How do you mean - describe it?"
"Well, I do not play the chess myself, but I understand that there are various regular ways of beginning - the gambit, do they not call it?"
Dr. Savaronoff smiled a little.
"Ah! I comprehend you now. Wilson opened Ruy Lopez - one of the soundest openings there is, and one frequently adopted in tournaments and matches."
"And how long had you been playing when the tragedy happened?"
"It must have been about the third or fourth move when Wilson suddenly fell toward over the table, stone dead."
Poirot rose to depart. He flung out his last question as though it was of absolutely no importance, but I knew better.
"Had he had anything to eat or drink?"
"A whisky and soda, I think."
"Thank you, Dr. Savaronoff. I will disturb you no longer."
Ivan was in the hall to show us out. Poirot lingered on the threshold.
"The flat below this, do you know who lives there?"
"Sir Charles Kingwell, a member of Parliament, sir. It has been let furnished lately, though."
"Thank you."
We went out into the bright winter sunlight.
"Well, really, Poirot," I burst out. "I don't think you've distinguished yourself this time. Surely your questions were very inadequate."
"You think so, Hastings?" Poirot looked at me appealingly. "I was bouleversй, yes. What would you have asked?"
I considered the question carefully, and then outlined my scheme to Poirot. He listened with what seemed to be close interest. My monologue lasted until we had nearly reached home.
"Very excellent, very searching, Hastings," said Poirot, as he inserted his key in the door and preceded me up the stairs. "But quite unnecessary."
"Unnecessary!" I cried, amazed. "If the man was poisoned -"
"Aha," cried Poirot, pouncing upon a note which lay on the table. "From Japp. Just as I thought." He flung it over to me. It was brief and to the point. No traces of poison had been found, and there was nothing to show how the man came by his death.
"You see," said Poirot, "our questions would have been quite unnecessary."
"You guessed this beforehand?"
"'Forecast the probable result of the deal,'" quoted Poirot from a recent Bridge problem on which I had spent much time. "Mon ami, when you do that successfully, you do not call it guessing."
"Don't let's split hairs," I said impatiently. "You foresaw this?"
"I did."
"Why?"
Poirot put his hand into his pocket and pulled out - a white bishop,
"Why," I cried, "you forgot to give it back to Dr. Savaronoff."
"You are in error, my friend. That bishop still reposes in my left-hand pocket. I took its fellow from the box of chessmen Mademoiselle Daviloff kindly permitted me to examine. The plural of one bishop is two bishops."
He sounded the final "s" with a great hiss. I was completely mystified.
"But why did you take it?"
"Parbleu, I wanted to see if they were exactly alike."
He stood them on the table side by side.
"Well, they are, of course," I said. "exactly alike."
Poirot looked at them with his head on one side.
"They seem so, I admit. But one should take no fact for granted until it is proved. Bring me, I pray you, my little scales."
With infinite care he weighed the two chessmen, then turned to me with a face alight with triumph.
"I was right. See you, I was right. Impossible to deceive Hercule Poirot!"
He rushed to the telephone - waited impatiently.
"Is that Japp? Ah! Japp, it is you. Hercule Poirot speaks. Watch the man-servant, Ivan. On no account let him slip through your fingers. Yes, yes, it is as I say."
He dashed down the receiver and turned to me.
"You see it not, Hastings? I will explain. Wilson was not poisoned, he was electrocuted. A thin metal rod passes up the middle of one of those chessmen. The table was prepared beforehand and set upon a certain spot on the floor. When the bishop was placed upon one of the silver squares, the current passed through Wilson's body, killing him instantly. The only mark was the electric burn upon his hand - his left hand, because he was left-handed. The 'special table' was an extremely cunning piece of mechanism. The table I examined was a duplicate, perfectly innocent. It was substituted for the other immediately after the murder. The thing was worked from the flat below, which, if you remember, was let furnished. But one accomplice at least was in Savaronoff's flat. The girl is an agent of the Big Four, working to inherit Savaronoff's money."
