Then, as we sipped our coffee, Poirot smiled affectionately across the table at me.
‘My good friend,’ he said. ‘I depend upon you more than you know.’
I was confused and delighted by these unexpected words. He had never said anything of the kind to me before. Sometimes, secretly, I had felt slightly hurt. He seemed almost to go out of his way to disparage my mental powers.
Although I did not think his own powers were flagging, I did realize suddenly that perhaps he had come to depend on my aid more than he knew.
‘Yes,’ he said dreamily. ‘You may not always comprehend just how it is so—but you do often, and often point the way.’
I could hardly believe my ears.
‘Really, Poirot,’ I stammered. ‘I’m awfully glad, I suppose I’ve learnt a good deal from you one way or another—’
He shook his head.
‘Mais non, ce n’est pas ça. You have learnt nothing.’
‘Oh!’ I said, rather taken aback.
‘That is as it should be. No human being should learn from another. Each individual should develop his own powers to the uttermost, not try to imitate those of someone else. I do not wish you to be a second and inferior Poirot. I wish you to be the supreme Hastings. And you are the supreme Hastings. In you, Hastings, I find the normal mind almost perfectly illustrated.’
‘I’m not abnormal, I hope,’ I said.
‘No, no. You are beautifully and perfectly balanced. In you sanity is personified. Do you realize what that means to me? When the criminal sets out to do a crime his first effort is to deceive. Who does he seek to deceive? The image in his mind is that of the normal man. There is probably no such thing actually—it is a mathematical abstraction. But you come as near to realizing it as is possible. There are moments when you have flashes of brilliance when you rise above the average, moments (I hope you will pardon me) when you descend to curious depths of obtuseness, but take it all for all, you are amazingly normal. Eh bien, how does this profit me? Simply in this way. As in a mirror I see reflected in your mind exactly what the criminal wishes me to believe. That is terrifically helpful and suggestive.’
I did not quite understand. It seemed to me that what Poirot was saying was hardly complimentary. However, he quickly disabused me of that impression.
‘I have expressed myself badly,’ he said quickly. ‘You have an insight into the criminal mind, which I myself lack. You show me what the criminal wishes me to believe. It is a great gift.’
‘Insight,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘Yes, perhaps I have got insight.’
I looked across the table at him. He was smoking his tiny cigarettes and regarding me with great kindliness.
‘Ce cher Hastings,’ he murmured. ‘I have indeed much affection for you.’
I was pleased but embarrassed and hastened to change the subject.
‘Come,’ I said in a business-like manner. ‘Let us discuss the case.’
‘Eh bien.’ Poirot threw his head back, his eyes narrowed. He slowly puffed out smoke.
‘Je me pose des questions,’ he said.
‘Yes?’ I said eagerly.
‘You, too, doubtless?’
‘Certainly,’ I said. And also leaning back and narrowing my own eyes I threw out:
‘Who killed Lord Edgware?’
Poirot immediately sat up and shook his head vigorously.
‘No, no. Not at all. Is it a question, that? You are like someone who reads the detective story and who starts guessing each of the characters in turn without rhyme or reason. Once, I agree, I had to do that myself. It was a very exceptional case. I will tell you about it one of these days. It was a feather in my cap. But of what were we speaking?’
‘Of the questions you were “posing” to yourself,’ I replied dryly. It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest that my real use to Poirot was to provide him with a companion to whom he could boast, but I controlled myself. If he wished to instruct then let him.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s hear them.’
That was all that the vanity of the man wanted. He leaned back again and resumed his former attitude.