"Yes. The man is a marvellous character actor. He can assume any part he pleases."
I thought back over past adventures, the lunatic asylum keeper, the butcher's young man, the suave doctor, all the same man, and all totally unlike each other.
"It's amazing," I said at last. "Everything fits in. Savaronoff had an inkling of the plot, and that's why he was so averse to playing the match."
Poirot looked at me without speaking. Then he turned abruptly away, and began pacing up and down.
"Have you a book on chess by any chance, mon ami?" he asked suddenly.
"I believe I have somewhere."
It took me some time to ferret it out, but I found it at last, and brought it to Poirot, who sank down in a chair and started reading it with the greatest attention.
In about a quarter of an hour the telephone rang. I answered it. It was Japp. Ivan had left the flat, carrying a large bundle. He had sprung into a waiting taxi, and the chase had begun. He was evidently trying to lose his pursuers. In the end he seemed to fancy that he had done so, and had then driven to a big empty house at Hampstead. The house was surrounded.
I recounted all this to Poirot. He merely stared at me as though he scarcely took in what I was saying. He held out the chess book.
"Listen to this, my friend. This is the Ruy Lopez Opening. 1 P-K4, P-K4; 2 Kt-KB3, Kt-QB3; 3B-Kt5;? Then there comes a question as to Black's best third move. He has the choice of various defences. It was White's third move that killed Gilmour Wilson, 3B-Kt5. Only the third move—does that say nothing to you?"