spector had more than once introduced us to an interesting case.
“He merely thanks me (in his fashion) for a little point in the Aberystwyth Case on which I was able to set him right. I am delighted to have been of service to him.”
“How does he thank you?” I asked curiously, for I knew my Japp.
“He is kind enough to say that I am a wonderful sport for my age, and that he was glad to have had the chance of letting me in on the case.”
This was so typical of Japp, that I could not forbear a chuckle. Poirot continued to read his correspondence placidly.
“A suggestion that I should give a lecture to our local boy scouts. The Countess of Forfanock will be obliged if I will call and see her. Another lap-dog without doubt! And now for the last. Ah—”
I looked up, quick to notice the change of tone. Poirot was reading attentively. In a minute he tossed the sheet over to me.
“This is out of the ordinary, mon ami. Read for yourself.”
The letter was written on a foreign type of paper, in a bold characteristic hand:
“Villa Geneviève
Merlinville-sur-Mer
France
“Dear Sir,
“I am in need of the services of a detective and, for reasons which I will give you later, do not wish to call in the official police. I have heard of you from several quarters, and all reports go to show that you are not only a man of decided ability, but one who also knows how to be discreet. I do not wish to trust details to the post, but, on account of a secret I possess, I go in daily fear of my life. I am convinced that the danger is imminent, and there-
