‘And afterwards?’ asked Poirot.

‘I got a place as a clerk. Of course there was good money to be got just then. And I didn’t do so badly after the war. Of course, a smaller salary…And—I didn’t seem to get on. I was always being passed over for promotion. I wasn’t go-ahead enough. It grew very difficult—really very difficult…. Especially when the slump came. To tell you the truth, I’d got hardly enough to keep body and soul together (and you’ve got to look presentable as a clerk) when I got the offer of this stocking job. A salary and commission!’

Poirot said gently:

‘But you are aware, are you not, that the firm whom you say employed you deny the fact?’

Mr Cust got excited again.

‘That’s because they’re in the conspiracy—they must be in the conspiracy.’

He went on:

‘I’ve got written evidence—written evidence. I’ve got their letters to me, giving me instructions as to what places to go to and a list of people to call on.’

‘Not written evidence exactly—typewritten evidence.’

‘It’s the same thing. Naturally a big firm of wholesale manufacturers typewrite their letters.’

‘Don’t you know, Mr Cust, that a typewriter can be identified? All those letters were typed by one particular machine.’

‘What of it?’

‘And that machine was your own—the one found in your room.’

‘It was sent me by the firm at the beginning of my job.’

‘Yes, but these letters were received afterwards. So it looks, does it not, as though you typed them yourself and posted them to yourself?’

‘No, no! It’s all part of the plot against me!’

He added suddenly:

‘Besides, their letters would be written on the same kind of machine.’

‘The same kind, but not the same actual machine.’

Mr Cust repeated obstinately:

‘It’s a plot!’

‘And the A B C’s that were found in the cupboard?’

‘I know nothing about them. I thought they were all stockings.’

‘Why did you tick off the name of Mrs Ascher in that first list of people in Andover?’

‘Because I decided to start with her. One must begin somewhere.’

‘Yes, that is true. One must begin somewhere.’

‘I don’t mean that!’ said Mr Cust. ‘I don’t mean what you mean!’

‘But you know what I meant?’

Mr Cust said nothing. He was trembling.

‘I didn’t do it!’ he said. ‘I’m perfectly innocent! It’s all a mistake. Why, look at that second crime—that Bexhill one. I was playing dominoes at Eastbourne. You’ve got to admit that!’

His voice was triumphant.

‘Yes,’ said Poirot. His voice was meditative—silky. ‘But it’s so easy, isn’t it, to make a mistake of one day? And if you’re an obstinate, positive man, like Mr Strange, you’ll never consider the possibility of having been mistaken. What you’ve said you’ll stick to…He’s that kind of man. And the hotel register—it’s very easy to put down the wrong date when you’re signing it—probably no one will notice it at the time.’

‘I was playing dominoes that evening!’