Page:The Big Four (Christie).pdf/29

Rh 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.”

Poirot lifted his head suddenly.

“Shut—and now they are open. What can that mean?”

“Somebody came in that way,” I suggested.

“Possibly,” agreed Poirot, but he spoke absently and without conviction. After a minute or two he said.