it was in june of 1935 that i came home from my ranch in south americafor a stay of about six months. it had been a difficult time for usoutthere. like every one else, we had suffered from world depression. ihad various affairs to see to in england that i felt could only besuccessfulif a personal touch was introduced. my wife remained to managethe ranch.

i need hardly say that one of my first actions on reaching englandwas to look up my old friend, hercule poirot.

i found him installed in one of the newest type of service flats inlondon. i accused him (and he admitted the fact) of having chosen thisparticular building entirely on account of its strictly geometricalpearance and proportions.

"but yes, my friend, it is of a most pleasing symmetry, do you notfind it so?"i said that i thought there could be too much squareness and, alludingto an old j oke, i asked if in this super-modern hostelry they managedto induce hens to lay square eggs?

poirot laughed heartily.

"ah, you remember that? alas! no--science has not yet induced thehens to conform to modern tastes, they still lay eggs of different sizesand colours! "i examined my old friend with an affectionate eye. he was lookingwonderfully well--hardly a day older than when i had last seen him.

"you' re looking in fine fettle, poirot, " i said. "you' ve hardly agedat all. in fact, if it were possible, i should say that you had fewergreyhairs than when i saw you last. "

poirot beamed on me.

"and why is that not possible? it is quite true. ""do you mean your hair is turning from grey to black instead offrom black to grey?""precisely. "

"but surely that' s a scientific impossibility! ""not at all. ""but that' s very extraordinary. it seems against nature. ""as usual, hastings, you have the beautiful and unsuspicious mind.

years do not change that in you! you perceive a fact and mention thesolution of it in the same breath without noticing that you are doingso! "i stared at him puzzled.

without a word he walked into his bedroom and returned with a bot-tlein his hand which he handed to me.

i took it, for the moment uncomprehending.

it bore the words:

revlvlt. --to bring back the natural tone of the hair. revlvit is· not a dye. in five shades, ash, chestnut, 7tian, brown, black.

"poirot, " i cried. "you have dyed your hair! ""ah, the comprehension comes to you! ""so thatwhy your hair looks so much blacker than it did last timei was back. ""exactly. "

"dear me, " i said, recovering from the shock. "i suppose next time icome home i shall find you wearing false moustaches---or are youdoing so now?"poirot winced. his moustaches had always been his sensitive point.

he was inordinately proud of them. my words touched him on the raw.

"no, no, indeed, mort ami. that day, i pray the good god, is still faroff. the false moustaches! quelle horreur?'

he tugged at them vigorously to assure me of their genuine charac-ter.

"well, they are very luxuriant still, " i said.

"n' est-ce pas? never, in the whole of london, have i seen a pair ofmoustaches to equal mine. "the a. b. c. murders

a good j ob too, i thought privately. but i would not for the worldhave hurt poirot' s feelings by saying so.

instead i asked if he still practiced his profession on occasions.

"i know, " i said, "that you actually retired years agog""c' est vrai. to grow the vegetable marrows! and immediately amurder occurs--and i send the vegetable marrows to promenadethemselves to the devil. and since then--i know very well what youwill say--i am like the prima donna who makes positively the farewellperformance! that farewell performance, it repeats itself an indefinitenumber of times! "i laughed.

"in truth, it has been very like that. each time i say: this is theend.

but no, something else arises! and i will admit it, my friend, theretirementi care for it not at all. if the little grey cells are not exercised,theygrow the rust. "

"i see, " i said. "you exercise them in moderation. ""precisely. i pick and choose. for hercule poirot nowadays only thecream of crime. ""has there been much cream about?"

"pas mai. not long ago i had a narrow escape. ""of failure?""no, no. " poirot looked shocked. "but i--l, hercule poirot, wasnearly exterminated. "i whistled.

"an enterprising murderer! "

"not so much enterprising as careless, " said poirot. "preciselythat---careless. but let us not talk of it. you know, hastings, in manyways i regard you as my mascot. ""indeed?" i said. "in what ways?"

poirot did not answer my question directly. he went on:

"as soon as i heard you were coming over i said to myself: somethingwill arise. as in former days we will hunt together, we two. but ifso it must be no common affair. it must be something"--he waved hishands excitedly--"something recherchd--delicate--fine. . . " he gavethe last untranslatable word its full fiavour.

"upon my word, poirot, " i said. "any one would think you were orderinga dinner at the ritz. ""whereas one cannot command a crime to order? very true. " hesighed. "but i believe in luck--in destiny, if you will. it is yourdestinyto stand beside me and prevent me from committing the unforgivableerror. "4agatha christie

"what do you call the unforgivable error?

"overlooking the obvious. "

i turned this over in my mind without quite seeing the point.

"well, " i said presently, smiling, "has this super crime turned upyet?""pas encore. at least--that

he paused. a frown of perplexity creased his forehead. his handsautomatically straightened an obj ect or two that i had inadvertentlypushed awry.

"i am not sure, " he said slowly.

there was something so odd about his tone that i looked at him insurprise.

the frown still iingered.

suddenly with a brief decisive nod of the head he crossed the roomto a desk near the window. its contents' , i need hardly say, were allneatly docketed and pigeon-holed so that he was able at once to layhishand upon the paper he wanted.

he came slowly across to me, an open letter in his hand. he read itthrough himself, then passed it to me.

"tell me, rnon ami, " he said. "what do you make of thist'

i took it from him with some interest.

it was written on thickish white notepaper in printed characters:

mr. hercule poirot--you fancy yourself, don' t you, at solvingmysteries that are too dicult for our poor thick-headed british po-lice? let us see, mr. clever poirot, j ust how clever you can be. per-hapsyou ' ll find this nut too hard to craclc look out for andover onthe 21st of the month.

yours, etc. ,

a. b. c.

i glanced at the envelope. that also was printed.

"postmarked w. c. 1, " said poirot as i turned my attention to thepostmark. "well, what is your opinion. ' ?"i shrugged my shoulders as i handed it back to him.

"some madman or other, i suppose. "

"that is all you have to say. ' ?"

"well--doesn' t it sound like a madman to yout'

"yes, my friend, it does. "

his tone was grave. i looked at him curiously.

"you take this very seriously, poirot. "

"a madman, mon ami, is to be taken seriously. a madman is a verydangerous thing. ""yes, of course, that is true . . . . i hadn' t considered that point . . . .

but what i meant was, it sounds more like a rather idiotic kind of hoax.

perhaps some convivial idiot who had had one over the eight. " "comment?

nine7 nine what?

"nothing--j ust an expression. i meant a fellow who was tight. no,damn it, a fellow who had had a spot too much to drink. ""merci, hastings--the expression ' tight' i am acquainted with it. asyou say, there may be nothing more to it than that . . . . ""but you think there ist" i asked, struck by the dissatisfaction ofhistone.

poirot shook his head doubtfully, but he did not speak.

"what have you done about it. ' ?" i inquired.

"what can one do. ' ? i showed it to japp. he was of the same opinionas you--a stupid hoax--that was the expression he used. they getthese things every day at scotland yard. i, too, have had my share'

"but

you take this one seriously?

poirot

replied slowly.

"there

is something about that letter, hastings, that i do not like. . . . "in

spite of myself, his tone impressed me.

"you

think--what?"

he

shook his head, and picking up the letter, put it away again in thedesk.

"if

you really take it seriously, can' t you do something?" i asked. "asalways, the man of action! but what is there to do? the county policehave seen the letter but they, too, do not take it seriously. thereareno fingerprints on it. there are no local clues as to the possiblewriter. ""in

fact there is only your own instinct. ' ?"

"not

instinct, hastings. instinct is a bad word. it is my knowledge--myexperience--that tells me that something about that letteris wrong--"he

gesticulated as words failed him, then shook his head again.

"i

may be making the mountain out of the anthill. in any case there isnothing to be done but wait. ""well,the 21 st is friday. if a whacking great robbery takes place near andover then--""ah,what a comfort that would be i "

"a comfort. ' ?" i stared. the word seemed to be a very extra ordinary one to use.

"a robbery may be a thrill but it can hardly be a comfort! " i pro-tested.

poirot shook his head energetically.

"you are in error, my friend. you do not understand my meaning. arobbery would be a relief since it would dispossess my mind of the fear of something else. ""of what?"

"murder, " said hercule poirot.