By driving to the station at once, we were just able to catch a train to London, though not the principal express. Poirot was sad and dissatisfied. For my part, I was tired and dozed in a corner. Suddenly, as we were just moving out of Taunton, Poirot uttered a piercing squeal.
"Vite, Hastings! Awake and jump! But jump I say!"
Before I knew where I was we were standing on the platform, bareheaded and minus our valises, whilst the train disappeared into the night. I was furious. But Poirot paid no attention.
"Imbecile that I have been!" he cried. "Triple imbecile! Not again will I vaunt my little grey cells!"
"That's a good job at any rate," I said grumpily. "But what is this all about?"
As usual, when following out his own ideas, Poirot paid absolutely no attention to me.
"The tradesmen's books—I have left them entirely out of account! Yes, but where? Where? Never mind, I cannot be mistaken. We must return at once."
