‘Will you be away long, Mr Cust?’ called Mrs Marbury as he ran up the stairs.

‘Oh, no—two or three days—that’s all.’

He disappeared into his bedroom. Mrs Marbury retired into the kitchen, thinking sentimentally of ‘the dear little mite’.

Her conscience gave her a sudden twinge.

Last night Tom and Lily and all the hunting back over dates! Trying to make out that Mr Cust was that dreadful monster, A B C. Just because of his initials and because of a few coincidences.

‘I don’t suppose they meant it seriously,’ she thought comfortably. ‘And now I hope they’ll be ashamed of themselves.’

In some obscure way that she could not have explained, Mr Cust’s statement that his sister had had a baby had effectually removed any doubts Mrs Marbury might have had of her lodger’s bona fides.

‘I hope she didn’t have too hard a time of it, poor dear,’ thought Mrs Marbury, testing an iron against her cheek before beginning to iron out Lily’s silk slip.

Her mind ran comfortably on a well-worn obstetric track.

Mr Cust came quietly down the stairs, a bag in his hand. His eyes rested a minute on the telephone.

That brief conversation re-echoed in his brain.

‘Is that you, Mr Cust? I thought you might like to know there’s an inspector from Scotland Yard may be coming to see you…’

What had he said? He couldn’t remember.

‘Thank you—thank you, my dear…very kind of you…’

Something like that.

Why had she telephoned to him? Could she possibly have guessed? Or did she just want to make sure he would stay in for the inspector’s visit?

But how did she know the inspector was coming?

And her voice—she’d disguised her voice from her mother…

It looked—it looked—as though she knew…

But surely if she knew, she wouldn’t…

She might, though. Women were very queer. Unexpectedly cruel and unexpectedly kind. He’d seen Lily once letting a mouse out of a mouse-trap.

A kind girl…

A kind, pretty girl…

He paused by the hall stand with its load of umbrellas and coats.

Should he…?

A slight noise from the kitchen decided him…

No, there wasn’t time…

Mrs Marbury might come out…

He opened the front door, passed through and closed it behind him…

Where…?

Chapter 29

At Scotland Yard

Conference again.

The Assistant Commissioner, Inspector Crome, Poirot and myself.

The AC was saying:

‘A good tip that of yours, M. Poirot, about checking a large sale of stockings.’

Poirot spread out his hands.

‘It was indicated. This man could not be a regular agent. He sold outright instead of touting for orders.’

‘Got everything clear so far, inspector?’

‘I think so, sir.’ Crome consulted a file. ‘Shall I run over the position to date?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘I’ve checked up with Churston, Paignton and Torquay. Got a list of people where he went and offered stockings. I must say he did the thing thoroughly. Stayed at the Pitt, small hotel near Torre Station. Returned to the hotel at 10.30 on the night of the murder. Could have taken a train from Churston at 9.57, getting to Torre at 10.20. No one answering to his description noticed on train or at station, but that Friday was Dartmouth Regatta and the trains back from Kingswear were pretty full.