'The boys will enjoy it,' she murmured in her faded way, 'though I hope they will behave nicely, and not damage the flower-beds, or go near the bees -' Poirot paused in the very act of drinking. He looked like a man who has seen a ghost.

'Bees?' he demanded in a voice of thunder.

'Yes,]VI. Poirot, bees. Three hives. Lady Claygate is very proud of her bees ' 'Bees?' cried Poirot again. Then he sprang from the table and walked up and down the terrace with his hands to his head. I could not imagine why the little man should be so agitated at the mere mention of bees.

At that moment we heard the car returning. Poirot was on the doorstep a the party alighted.

'Ronaid's been stung,' cried Gerald excitedly.

'It's nothing,' said Mrs Lemesuricr. '!t hasn't even swollen.

We put ammonia on it.' 'Let me see, my little man,' said Poirot. 'Where wa it?' 'Here, on the side of my neck,' said Ronald importantly. 'But it doesn't hurt. Father said: "Keep still - there's a bee on you." And I kept still, and he took it off, but it stung me first, though it didn't really hurt, only like a pin, and I didn't cry, because I'm so big and going to school next year.' Poirot examined the child's neck, then drew away again. He took me by the arm and murmured: 'Tonight, moa ami, tonight we have a little affair onl Say nothing - to anyone.' He refused to be more communicative, and I went through the evening devoured by curiosity. He retired early and I followed his example. As we went upstairs, he caught me by the arm and delivered his instructions: 'Do not undress. Wait a sufficient time, extinguish your light and join me here.' I obeyed, and found him waiting for me when the time came.

He enjoined silence on me with a gesture, and we crept quietly along the nursery wing. Ronald occupied a small room of his own. We entered it and took up our position in the darkest corner. The child's breathing sounded heavy and undisturbed.

'Surely he is sleeping very heavily?' I whispered.

Poirot nodded.

'Drugged,' he murmured.

'Why?' 'So that he should not cry out at - ' 'At what?' I asked, as Poirot paused.

'At the prick of the hypodermic needle, mon ami! Hush, let us speak no more - not that I expect anything to happen for some time.'

But in this Poirot was wrong. Hardly ten minutes had elapsed before the door opened softly, and someone entered the room. I heard a sound of quick hurried breathing. Footsteps moved to the bed, and then there was a sudden click. The light of a little electric lantern fell on the sleeping child - the holder of it was still invisible in the shadow. The figure laid down the lantern. With the right hand it brought forth a syringe; with the left it touched the boy's neck - Poirot and I sprang at the same minute. The lantern rolled to the floor, and we struggled with the intruder in the dark. His strength was extraordinary. At last we overcame him.

'The light, Hastings, I must see his face - though I fear I know only too well whose face it will be.' So did I, I thought as I groped for the lantern. For a moment I had suspected the secretary, egged on by my secret dislike of the man, but I felt assured by now that the man who stood to gain by the death of his two childish cousins was the monster we were tracking.

My foot struck against the lantern. I picked it up and switched on the light. It shone full on the face of- Hugo Lemesurier, the boy's fatherl The lantern almost dropped from my hand.

'Impossible,' I murmured hoarsely. 'Impossiblel'

Lemesurier was unconscious. Poirot nd I between us carried hi to his room and laid him on the Ied. Poirot bent and gentl extricated something from his right Band. He showed it to me. was a hypodermic syringe. I shuddefed.

'What is in it? Poison?' 'Formic acid, I fancy.' 'Formic acid?' 'Yes. Probably obtained by distilling ants. He was a chemis you remember. Death would have been attributed to the bee sting 'My God,' I muttered. 'His own soul And you expected thisi Poirot nodded gravely.

'Yes. He is insane, of course. I iraagine that the family histor has become a mania with him. His itatense longing to succeed the estate led him to commit the loOg series of crimes. Possibl the idea occurred to him first wheo travelling north that nlgl with Vincent. He couldn't bear the prediction to be falsifie Ronald's son was already dead, and Ronald himself was a dyin man - they are a weakly lot. He arrataged the accident to the gut and - which I did not suspect until fow - contrived the death? his brother John by this same meod of injecting formic aci. into the jugular vein. His ambitiota was realized then, and h became the master of the family acreS. But his triumph was short lived - he found that he was sufferifg from an incurable diseas And he had the madman's fixed idea -' the eldest son of a Lemesur ier could not inherit. I suspect that the bathing accident was du to him - he encouraged the child to go out too far. That failing he sawed through the ivy, and afterwards poisoned the child' food.' 'Diabolical!' I murmured with shiver. 'And so cleverl planned!' 'Yes, raon ami, there is nothing m°re amazing than the extrg ordinary sanity of the insane! UnleSS it is the extraordinar eccentricity of the sanel I imagine that it is only lately daat he ha completely gone over the borderline, there was method in hi madness to begin with.'

'And to think that I suspected Roger - that splendid fellow.' 'It was the natural assumption, mon ami. We knew that he also travelled north with Vincent that night. We knew, too, that he was the next heir after Hugo and Hugo's children. But our assumption was not borne out by the facts. The ivy was sawn through when only little Ronald was at home - but it would be to Roger's interest that both children should perish. In the same way, it was only Ronald's food that was poisoned. And today when they came home and I found that there was only his father's word for it that Ronald had been stung, I remembered the other death from a wasp sting - and I knewl'

Hugo Lemesurier died a few months later in the private asylum to which he was removed. His widow was remarried a year later to Mr John Gardiner, the auburn-haired secretary. Ronald inherited the broad acres' of his father, and continues to flourish.

'Well, well,' I remarked to Poirot. 'Another illusion gone. You have disposed very successfully of the curse of the Lemesuriers.' 'I wonder,' said Poirot very thoughtfully. 'I wonder very much indeed.' 'What do you mean?' 'Mon am/, I will answer you with one significant word - redl' 'Blood?' I queried, dropping my voice to an awestricken whisper.

'Always you have the imagination melodramatic, Hastingsl I refer to something much more prosaic - the colour of little Ronald Lemesurier's hair.'

Chapter VIII. The Lost Mine

I laid down my bank book with a sigh.

'It is a curious thing,' I observed, 'but my overdraft never seems to grow any less.'

'And it perturbs you not? Me, if I had an overdraft, never should I close my eyes all night,' declared Poirot.

'You deal in comfortable balances, I suppose!' I retorted.

'Four hundred and forty-four pounds, four and fourpence,' said Poirot with some complacency. 'A neat figure, is it not?'

'It must be tact on the part of your bank manager. He is evidently acquainted with your passion for symmetrical details. What about investing, say three hundred of it, in the Porcupine oil-fields?

Their prospectus, which is advertised in the papers today, saya that they will pay one hundred per cent in dividends next year.'

'Not for me,' said Poirot, shaking his head. 'I like not the sensational. For me the safe, the prudent investment - les rentes, the consols, the - how do you call it? - the conversion.'

'Have you never made a speculative investment?'