Assuring you once more that the matter is urgent.

Yours faithfully, 

P. T. RENAULD.

Below the signature was a hastily scrawled line, almost illegible:

'For God's sake, come!'

I handed the letter back with quickened pulses.

'At last!' I said. 'Here is something distinctly out of the ordinary.'

'Yes, indeed,' said Poirot meditatively.

'You will go of course,' I continued.

Poirot nodded. He was thinking deeply. Finally he seemed to make up his mind, and glanced up at the clock. His face was very grave.

'See you, my friend, there is no time to lose. The Continental express leaves Victoria at six o'clock. Do not agitate yourself. There is plenty of time. We can allow ten minutes for discussion. You accompany me n'est-ce pas? Well? You told me yourself that your employer needed you not for the next few weeks.'

'Oh, that's all right. But this Mr. Renauld hints strongly that his business is private.'

'Ta-ta-ta I will manage M. Renauld. By the way, seem to know the name?'

'There's a well-known South American millionaire fellow. His name's Renauld. I don't know whether it could be the same.'

'But without doubt. That explains the mention of Santiago. Santiago is in Chile. And Chile it is in South America! Ah; but we progress finely! You remarked the postscript? How did it strike you?'

I considered.

'Clearly he wrote the letter keeping himself well in hand, but at the end his self-control snapped and on the impulse of the moment, he scrawled those four desperate words.'

But my friend shook his head energetically.

'You are in error. See you not that while the ink of the signature is nearly black, that of the postscript is quite pale?'