‘Poirot!’

My friend looked at me dispassionately.

‘But, yes, Hastings, I think it is almost certain there will be another. A lot depends on la chance. So far our inconnu has been lucky. This time the luck may turn against him. But in any case, after another crime, we shall know infinitely more. Crime is terribly revealing. Try and vary your methods as you will, your tastes, your habits, your attitude of mind, and your soul is revealed by your actions. There are confusing indications—sometimes it is as though there were two intelligences at work—but soon the outline will clear itself, I shall know.’

‘Who it is?’

‘No, Hastings, I shall not know his name and address! I shall know what kind of a man he is…’

‘And then?…’

‘Et alors, je vais àlapêche.’

As I looked rather bewildered, he went on:

‘You comprehend, Hastings, an expert fisherman knows exactly what flies to offer to what fish. I shall offer the right kind of fly.’

‘And then?’

‘And then? And then? You are as bad as the superior Crome with his eternal “Oh, yes?” Eh bien, and then he will take the bait and the hook and we will reel in the line…’

‘In the meantime people are dying right and left.’

‘Three people. And there are, what is it—about 120—road deaths every week?’

‘That is entirely different.’

‘It is probably exactly the same to those who die. For the others, the relations, the friends—yes, there is a difference, but one thing at least rejoices me in this case.’

‘By all means let us hear anything in the nature of rejoicing.’

‘Inutile to be so sarcastic. It rejoices me that there is here no shadow of guilt to distress the innocent.’

‘Isn’t this worse?’

‘No, no, a thousand times no! There is nothing so terrible as to live in an atmosphere of suspicion—to see eyes watching you and the love in them changing to fear—nothing so terrible as to suspect those near and dear to you—It is poisonous—a miasma. No, the poisoning of life for the innocent, that, at least, we cannot lay at A B C’s door.’

‘You’ll soon be making excuses for the man!’ I said bitterly.

‘Why not? He may believe himself fully justified. We may, perhaps, end by having sympathy with his point of view.’

‘Really, Poirot!’

‘Alas! I have shocked you. First my inertia—and then my views.’

I shook my head without replying.

‘All the same,’ said Poirot after a minute or two. ‘I have one project that will please you—since it is active and not passive. Also, it will entail a lot of conversation and practically no thought.’

I did not quite like his tone.

‘What is it?’ I asked cautiously.

‘The extraction from the friends, relations and servants of the victims of all they know.’

‘Do you suspect them of keeping things back, then?’

‘Not intentionally. But telling everything you know always implies selection. If I were to say to you, recount me your day yesterday, you would perhaps reply: “I rose at nine, I breakfasted at half-past, I had eggs and bacon and coffee, I went to my club, etc.” You would not include: “I tore my nail and had to cut it. I rang for shaving water. I spilt a little coffee on the tablecloth. I brushed my hat and put it on.” One cannot tell everything. Therefore one selects. At the time of a murder people select what they think is important. But quite frequently they think wrong!’