The Best Murder Mysteries in One Edition. Эдгар Аллан По

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      "M. Poirot, it was a bogus car and a bogus A.D.C. The real car was found in a side road, with the chauffeur and the A.D.C. neatly gagged and bound."

      "And the bogus car?"

      "Is still at large."

      Poirot made a gesture of impatience. "Incredible! Surely it cannot escape attention for long?"

      "So we thought. It seemed merely a question of searching thoroughly. That part of France is under Military Law. We were convinced that the car could not go long unnoticed. The French police, our own Scotland Yard men, and the Military are straining every nerve. It is, as you say, incredible—but nothing has been discovered!"

      At that moment a tap came at the door, and a young officer entered with a heavily sealed envelope which he handed to Lord Estair.

      "Just through from France, Sir. I brought it on here, as you directed."

      The Minister tore it open eagerly, and uttered an exclamation. The officer withdrew.

      "Here is news at last! This telegram has just been decoded. They have found the second car, also the secretary, Daniels, chloroformed, gagged, and bound, in an abandoned farm near C——. He remembers nothing, except something being pressed against his mouth and nose from behind, and struggling to free himself. The police are satisfied as to the genuineness of his statement."

      "And they have found nothing else?"

      "No."

      "Not the Prime Minister's dead body? Then there is hope. But it is strange. Why, after trying to shoot him this morning, are they now taking so much trouble to keep him alive?"

      Dodge shook his head. "One thing's quite certain. They're determined at all costs to prevent his attending the Conference."

      "If it is humanly possible, the Prime Minister shall be there. God grant it is not too late. Now, Messieurs, recount to me everything—from the beginning. I must know about this shooting affair as well."

      "Last night, the Prime Minister, accompanied by one of his secretaries, Captain Daniels——"

      "The same who accompanied him to France?"

      "Yes. As I was saying, they motored down to Windsor, where the Prime Minister was granted an Audience. Early this morning, he returned to town, and it was on the way that the attempted assassination took place."

      "One moment, if you please. Who is this Captain Daniels? You have his dossier?"

      Lord Estair smiled. "I thought you would ask me that. We do not know very much of him. He is of no particular family. He has served in the English Army, and is an extremely able secretary, being an exceptionally fine linguist. I believe he speaks seven languages. It is for that reason that the Prime Minister chose him to accompany him to France."

      "Has he any relatives in England."

      "Two aunts. A Mrs. Everard, who lives at Hampstead, and a Miss Daniels, who lives near Ascot."

      "Ascot? That is near to Windsor, is it not?"

      "That point has not been overlooked. But it has led to nothing."

      "You regard the Capitaine Daniels, then, as above suspicion?"

      A shade of bitterness crept into Lord Estair's voice, as he replied: "No, M. Poirot. In these days, I should hesitate before I pronounced anyone above suspicion."

      "Très bien. Now I understand, milor, that the Prime Minister would, as a matter of course, be under vigilant police protection, which ought to render any assault upon him an impossibility?"

      Lord Estair bowed his head. "That is so. The Prime Minister's car was closely followed by another car containing detectives in plain clothes. Mr. MacAdam knew nothing of these precautions. He is personally a most fearless man, and would be inclined to sweep them away arbitrarily. But, naturally, the police make their own arrangements. In fact, the Premier's chauffeur, O'Murphy, is a C.I.D. man."

      "O'Murphy? That is a name of Ireland, is it not so?"

      "Yes, he is an Irishman."

      "From what part of Ireland?"

      "County Clare, I believe."

      "Tiens! But proceed, Milor."

      "The Premier started for London. The car was a closed one. He and Captain Daniels sat inside. The second car followed as usual. But, unluckily, for some unknown reason, the Prime Minister's car deviated from the main road——"

      "At a point where the road curves?" interrupted Poirot.

      "Yes—but how did you know?"

      "Oh! C'est évident! Continue!"

      "For some unknown reason," continued Lord Estair, "the Premier's car left the main road. The police car, unaware of the deviation, continued to keep to the high road. At a short distance down the unfrequented lane, the Prime Minister's car was suddenly held up by a band of masked men. The chauffeur——"

      "That brave O'Murphy!" murmured Poirot thoughtfully.

      "The chauffeur, momentarily taken aback, jammed on the brakes. The Prime Minister put his head out of the window. Instantly a shot rang out—then another. The first one grazed his cheek, the second, fortunately, went wide. The chauffeur, now realising the danger, instantly forged straight ahead, scattering the band of men."

      "A near escape," I ejaculated, with a shiver.

      "Mr. MacAdam refused to make any fuss over the slight wound he had received. He declared it was only a scratch. He stopped at a local cottage hospital, where it was dressed and bound up—he did not, of course reveal his identity. He then drove, as per schedule, straight to Charing Cross, where a special train for Dover was awaiting him, and after a brief account of what had happened had been given to the anxious police by Captain Daniels, he duly departed for France. At Dover, he went on board the waiting destroyer. At Boulogne, as you know, the bogus car was waiting for him, carrying the Union Jack, and correct in every detail."

      "That is all you have to tell me?"

      "Yes."

      "There is no other circumstance that you have omitted, milor?"

      "Well, there is one rather peculiar thing."

      "Yes?"

      "The Prime Minister's car did not return home after leaving the Prime Minister at Charing Cross. The police were anxious to interview O'Murphy, so a search was instituted at once. The car was discovered standing outside a certain unsavoury little restaurant in Soho, which is well known as a meeting-place of German agents."

      "And the chauffeur?"

      "The chauffeur was nowhere to be found. He, too, had disappeared."

      "So," said Poirot thoughtfully. "There are two disappearances: the Prime Minister in France, and O'Murphy in London."

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