"Yes, that was a Japanese trick, I fancy. Do not distress yourself, mon ami. All went according to plan—his plan. That is what I wanted."
"What's this?" I cried, pouncing on a brown object that lay on the floor.
It was a slim pocket-book of brown leather, and had evidently fallen from our visitor's pocket during his struggle with me. It contained two receipted bills in the name of M. Felix Laon, and a folded-up piece of paper which made my heart beat faster. It was a half sheet of note-paper on which a few words were scrawled in pencil but they were words of supreme importance.
"The next meeting of the council will be on Friday at 34 Rue des Echelles at 11 a.m."
It was signed with a big figure 4.
And to-day was Friday, and the clock on the mantelpiece showed the hour to be 10:30.
"My God, what a chance!" I cried. "Fate is playing into our hands. We must start at once—though. What stupendous luck."
"So that was why he came," murmured Poirot. "I see it all now."
"See what? Come on, Poirot, don't stay daydreaming there."
Poirot looked at me, and slowly shook his head, smiling as he did so.