laughed apologetically. "But, of course," he said, "I have no proofs, and you, like the others, will merely tell me that I have a bee in my bonnet." "On the contrary," said Poirot quietly, "we have every reason to believe your story. We ourselves are more than a little interested in Li Chang Yen." "Very odd your knowing about him. Didn't fancy a soul in England had ever heard of him. I'd rather like to know how you did come to hear of him--if it's not indiscreet." "Not in the least, monsieur. A man took refuge in my rooms. He was suffering badly from shock, but he managed to tell us enough to interest us in this Li Chang Yen. He described four people--the Big Four--an organization hitherto undreamed of. Number One is Li Chang Yen, Number Two is an unknown American, Number Three an equally unknown Frenchwoman, Number Four may be called the executive of the organization--the destroyer. My informant died. Tell me, monsieur, is that phrase known to you at all? The Big Four." "Not in connection with Li Chang Yen. No, I can't say it is. But I've heard it, or read it, just lately--and in some unusual connection too. Ah, I've got it." He rose and went across to an inlaid lacquer cabinet--an exquisite thing, as even I could see. He returned with a letter in his hand. "Here you are. Note from an old sea-faring man I ran against once in Shanghai. Hoary old reprobate--maudlin with drink by now, I should say. I took this to be the ravings of alcoholism." He read it aloud:-- "DEAR SIR,--You may not remember me, but you did me a good turn once in Shanghai. Do me another now. I must have money to get out of the country. I'm well hid here, I hope, but any day they may get me. The Big Four, I mean. It's life or death. I've plenty of money, but I daren't get at it, for fear of putting them wise. Send me a couple of hundred in notes. I'll repay it faithful--I swear to that.--Your servant, sir, "JONATHAN WHALLEY." "Dated from Granite Bungalow, Hoppaton, Dartmoor. I'm afraid I regarded it as rather a crude method of relieving me of a couple of hundred which I can ill spare. If it's any use to you--" He held it out. "Je vous remercie, monsieur. I start for Hoppaton à l'heure même." "Dear me, this is very interesting. Supposing I come along too? Any objection?" "I should be charmed to have your company, but we must start at once. We shall not reach Dartmoor until close on nightfall, as it is." John Ingles did not delay us more than a couple of minutes, and soon we were in the train moving out of Paddington bound for the West Country. Hoppaton was a small village clustering in a hollow right on the fringe of the moorland. It was reached by a nine-mile drive from Moretonhamstead. It was about eight o'clock when we arrived; but as the month was July, the daylight was still 

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