‘Absolutely true,’ replied my friend.

‘At any rate such a man cannot escape detection long,’ said Clarke thoughtfully.

‘Vous croyez? Ah, but they are cunning—ces gens là! And you must remember such a type has usually all the outer signs of insignificance—he belongs to the class of person who is usually passed over and ignored or even laughed at!’

‘Will you let me have a few facts, please, Mr Clarke,’ said Crome, breaking in on the conversation.

‘Certainly.’

‘Your brother, I take it, was in his usual health and spirits yesterday? He received no unexpected letters? Nothing to upset him?’

‘No. I should say he was quite his usual self.’

‘Not upset and worried in any way.’

‘Excuse me, inspector. I didn’t say that. To be upset and worried was my poor brother’s normal condition.’

‘Why was that?’

‘You may not know that my sister-in-law, Lady Clarke, is in very bad health. Frankly, between ourselves, she is suffering from an incurable cancer, and cannot live very much longer. Her illness has preyed terribly on my brother’s mind. I myself returned from the East not long ago and I was shocked at the change in him.’

Poirot interpolated a question.

‘Supposing, Mr Clarke, that your brother had been found shot at the foot of a cliff—or shot with a revolver beside him. What would have been your first thought?’

‘Quite frankly, I should have jumped to the conclusion that it was suicide,’ said Clarke.

‘Encore!’ said Poirot.

‘What is that?’

‘A fact that repeats itself. It is of no matter.’

‘Anyway, it wasn’t suicide,’ said Crome with a touch of curtness. ‘Now I believe, Mr Clarke, that it was your brother’s habit to go for a stroll every evening?’

‘Quite right. He always did.’

‘Every night?’

‘Well, not if it was pouring with rain, naturally.’

‘And everyone in the house knew of this habit?’

‘Of course.’

‘And outside?’

‘I don’t quite know what you mean by outside. The gardener may have been aware of it or not, I don’t know.’

‘And in the village?’

‘Strictly speaking, we haven’t got a village. There’s a post office and cottages at Churston Ferrers—but there’s no village or shops.’

‘I suppose a stranger hanging round the place would be fairly easily noticed?’

‘On the contrary. In August all this part of the world is a seething mass of strangers. They come over every day from Brixham and Torquay and Paignton in cars and buses and on foot. Broadsands, which is down there (he pointed), is a very popular beach and so is Elbury Cove—it’s a well-known beauty spot and people come there and picnic. I wish they didn’t! You’ve no idea how beautiful and peaceful this part of the world is in June and the beginning of July.’

‘So you don’t think a stranger would be noticed?’

‘Not unless he looked—well, off his head.’

‘This man doesn’t look off his head,’ said Crome with certainty. ‘You see what I’m getting at, Mr Clarke. This man must have been spying out the land before hand and discovered your brother’s habit of taking an evening stroll. I suppose, by the way, that no strange man came up to the house and asked to see Sir Carmichael yesterday?’