“What’s the matter?” I asked, still bewildered and not fully awake. “Is there anything wrong with the ship?”
“I expect you know what’s the matter better than I do,” he replied dryly. “Special instructions from the Admiralty. There’s a destroyer waiting to take you off.”
“What?” I cried. “In mid-ocean?”
“It seems a most mysterious affair, but that’s not my business. They’ve sent a young fellow aboard who is to take your place, and we are all sworn to secrecy. Will you get up and dress?”
Utterly unable to conceal my amazement I did as I was told. A boat was lowered, and I was conveyed aboard the destroyer. There I was received courteously, but got no further information. The commander’s instructions were to land me at a certain spot on the Belgian coast. There his knowledge and responsibility ended.
The whole thing was like a dream. The one idea I held to firmly was that all this must be part of Poirot’s plan. I must simply go forward blindly, trusting in my dead friend.
I was duly landed at the spot indicated. There a motor was waiting, and soon I was rapidly whirling along across the flat Flemish plains. I slept that night at a small hotel in Brussels. The
