‘We don’t know the facts,’ said Bland stubbornly. ‘You know yourself, sir, how once one knows who did a thing, one can look for evidence and find it.’

‘H’m. We’ve made inquiries about De Sousa – discreetly – through the usual channels – and got nowhere.’

‘That’s just why, sir, this funny old Belgian boy might have stumbled on something. He was in the house – that’s the important thing. Lady Stubbs talked to him. Some of the random things she said may have come together in his mind and made sense. However that may be, he’s been down in Nassecombe most of today.’

‘And he rang you up to ask what kind of a yacht Etienne de Sousa had?’

‘When he rang up the first time, yes. The second time was to ask me to arrange this meeting.’

‘Well,’ the chief constable looked at his watch, ‘if he doesn’t come within five minutes…’

But it was at that very moment that Hercule Poirot was shown in.

His appearance was not as immaculate as usual. His moustache was limp, affected by the damp Devon air, his patent-leather shoes were heavily coated with mud, he limped, and his hair was ruffled.

‘Well, so here you are, M. Poirot.’ The chief constable shook hands. ‘We’re all keyed up, on our toes, waiting to hear what you have to tell us.’

The words were faintly ironic, but Hercule Poirot, however damp physically, was in no mood to be damped mentally.

‘I cannot imagine,’ he said, ‘how it was I did not see the truth before.’

The chief constable received this rather coldly.

‘Are we to understand that you do see the truth now?’

‘Yes, there are details – but the outline is clear.’

‘We want more than an outline,’ said the chief constable dryly. ‘We want evidence. Have you got evidence, M. Poirot?’

‘I can tell you where to find the evidence.’

Inspector Bland spoke. ‘Such as?’

Poirot turned to him and asked a question.

‘Etienne de Sousa has, I suppose, left the country?’

‘Two weeks ago.’ Bland added bitterly, ‘It won’t be easy to get him back.’

‘He might be persuaded.’

‘Persuaded? There’s not sufficient evidence to warrant an extradition order, then?’

‘It is not a question of an extradition order. If the facts are put to him –’

‘But what facts, M. Poirot?’ The chief constable spoke with some irritation. ‘What are these facts you talk about so glibly?’