It suggested, very faintly, sinister possibilities. Did Norton usually lock his door at night? I wondered. Had Poirot warned him to do so? I remembered with sudden uneasiness how Poirot's door key had mysteriously disappeared. I lay in bed and my uneasiness grew while the storm overhead added to my feeling of nerviness. I got up at last and locked my own door. Then I went back to bed and slept.

II

I went in to Poirot before going down to breakfast.

He was in bed and I was struck again by how ill he looked. Deep lines of weariness and fatigue were on his face.

"How are you, old boy?"

He smiled patiently at me.

"I exist, my friend. I still exist."

"Not in pain?"

"No - just tired," he sighed, "very tired." I nodded.

"What about last night? Did Norton tell you what he saw that day?"

"He told me, yes."

"What was it?"

Poirot looked at me long and thoughtfully before he replied:

"I am not sure, Hastings, that I had better tell you. You might misunderstand."

"What are you talking about?"

"Norton," said Poirot, "tells me he saw two people - "

"Judith and Allerton," I cried. "I thought so at the time."

"Eh bien, non. Not Judith and Allerton. Did I not tell you you would misunderstand? You are a man of one idea!"

"Sorry," I said, a little abashed. "Tell me."

"I will tell you tomorrow. I have much on which I wish to reflect."

"Does it - does it help with the case?"

Poirot nodded. He closed his eyes, leaning back in his pillows.

"The case is ended. Yes, it is ended. There are only some loose ends to be tied. Go down to breakfast, my friend. And as you go, send Curtiss to me." I did so and went downstairs. I wanted to see Norton. I was deeply curious to know what it was that he had told Poirot.

Subconsciously I was still not happy. The lack of elation in Poirot's manner struck me disagreeably. Why this persistent secrecy? Why that deep inexplicable sadness?

What was the truth of all this?

Norton was not at breakfast.

I strolled out into the garden afterwards. The air was fresh and cool after the storm. I noticed that it had rained heavily. Boyd Carrington was on the lawn. I felt pleased to see him and wished that I could take him into my confidence. I had wanted to all along. I was very tempted to do so now. Poirot was really unfit to carry on by himself.

This morning Boyd Carrington looked so vital, so sure of himself, that I felt a wave of warmth and reassurance.

"You're late up this morning," he said.

I nodded.

"I slept late."

"Bit of a thunderstorm last night. Hear it?"

I remembered now that I had been conscious of the rolling of thunder through my sleep.

"I felt a bit under the weather last night," said Boyd Carrington. "I feel a lot better today." He stretched his arms out and yawned.