Page:The Big Four (Christie).pdf/126

 I started forthwith, endeavouring to be as orderly and lucid as I could.

“We start,” I said, “with Mr. Paynter. A man of fifty-five, rich, cultured, and somewhat of a globe-trotter. For the last twelve years he has been little in England, but suddenly tiring of incessant travelling, he bought a small place in Worcestershire, near Market Handforth, and prepared to settle down. His first action was to write to his only relative, a nephew, Gerald Paynter, the son of his younger brother, and to suggest to him that he should come and make his home at Croftlands (as the place is called) with his uncle. Gerald Paynter, who is an impecunious young artist, was glad enough to fall in with the arrangement, and had been living with his uncle for about seven months when the tragedy occurred.”

“Your narrative style is masterly,” murmured Poirot. “I say to myself, it is a book that talks, not my friend Hastings.”

Paying no attention to Poirot, I went on, warming to the story.

“Mr. Paynter kept up a fair staff at Croftlands—six servants as well as his own Chinese body servant—Ah Ling.”

“His Chinese servant, Ah Ling,” murmured Poirot.