‘Yes, of course, that’s possible,’ admitted Clarke. ‘What it comes to is that a murderer’s got to take a chance.’

‘Precisely. A murderer is always a gambler. And, like many gamblers, a murderer often does not know when to stop. With each crime his opinion of his own abilities is strengthened. His sense of proportion is warped. He does not say “I have been clever and lucky!” No, he says only “I have been clever!” And his opinion of his cleverness grows and then, mes amis, the ball spins, and the run of colour is over—it drops into a new number and the croupier calls out “Rouge.”’

‘You think that will happen in this case?’ asked Megan, drawing her brows together in a frown.

‘It must happen sooner or later! So far the luck has been with the criminal—sooner or later it must turn and be with us. I believe that it has turned! The clue of the stockings is the beginning. Now, instead of everything going right for him, everything will go wrong for him! And he, too, will begin to make mistakes…’

‘I will say you’re heartening,’ said Franklin Clarke.

‘We all need a bit of comfort. I’ve had a paralysing feeling of helplessness ever since I woke up.’

‘It seems to me highly problematical that we can accomplish anything of practical value,’ said Donald Fraser.

Megan rapped out:

‘Don’t be a defeatist, Don.’

Mary Drower, flushing up a little, said:

‘What I say is, you never know. That wicked fiend’s in this place, and so are we—and after all, you do run up against people in the funniest way sometimes.’

I fumed:

‘If only we could do something more.’

‘You must remember, Hastings, that the police are doing everything reasonably possible. Special constables have been enrolled. The good Inspector Crome may have the irritating manner, but he is a very able police officer, and Colonel Anderson, the Chief Constable, is a man of action. They have taken the fullest measures for watching and patrolling the town and the race-course. There will be plain-clothes men everywhere. There is also the press campaign. The public is fully warned.’

Donald Fraser shook his head.

‘He’ll never attempt it, I’m thinking,’ he said more hopefully. ‘The man would just be mad!’

‘Unfortunately,’ said Clarke dryly, ‘he is mad! What do you think, M. Poirot? Will he give it up or will he try to carry it through?’

‘In my opinion the strength of his obsession is such that he must attempt to carry out his promise! Not to do so would be to admit failure, and that his insane egoism would never allow. That, I may say, is also Dr Thompson’s opinion. Our hope is that he may be caught in the attempt.’

Donald shook his head again.

‘He’ll be very cunning.’

Poirot glanced at his watch. We took the hint. It had been agreed that we were to make an all-day session of it, patrolling as many streets as possible in the morning, and later, stationing ourselves at various likely points on the race-course.