not die with me. And I have made one or two converts. Pas si mal!”
“I’m with you, as you know,” said Ingles. “By the way, I’m going out to China as soon as I can get off.”
“Is that wise?”
“No,” said Ingles dryly. “But it’s necessary. One must do what one can.”
“Ah, you are a brave man!” cried Poirot with emotion. “If we were not in the street, I would embrace you.”
I fancied that Ingles looked rather relieved.
“I don’t suppose that I shall be in any more danger in China than you are in London,” he growled.
“That is possibly true enough,” admitted Poirot. “I hope that they will not succeed in massacring Hastings also, that is all. That would annoy me greatly.”
I interrupted this cheerful conversation to remark that I had no intention of letting myself be massacred, and shortly afterwards Ingles parted from us.
For some time we went along in silence, which Poirot at length broke by uttering a totally unexpected remark.
“I think—I really think—that I shall have bring my brother into this.”
