‘So that’s why you’re down here? It wasn’t a question of “giving away the prizes.” I might have known better.’ He turned towards Poirot. His face was haggard and unhappy. ‘I know what it must seem like,’ he said. ‘I know what the whole thing looks like. But it isn’t as you think it is. I’m being victimized. I tell you that once you get into these people’s clutches, it isn’t so easy to get out of them. And I want to get out of them. That’s the point. I want to get out of them. You get desperate, you know. You feel like taking desperate measures. You feel you’re caught like a rat in a trap and there’s nothing you can do. Oh, well, what’s the good of talking! You know what you want to know now, I suppose. You’ve got your evidence.’

He got up, stumbled a little as though he could hardly see his way, then rushed off energetically without a backward look.

Hercule Poirot remained behind with his eyes very wide open and his eyebrows rising.

‘All this is very curious,’ he murmured. ‘Curious and interesting. I have the evidence I need, have I? Evidence of what? Murder?’

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

I

Inspector Bland sat in Helmmouth Police Station. Superintendent Baldwin, a large comfortable-looking man, sat on the other side of the table. Between the two men, on the table, was a black sodden mass. Inspector Bland poked at it with a cautious forefinger.

‘That’s her hat all right,’ he said. ‘I’m sure of it, though I don’t suppose I could swear to it. She fancied that shape, it seems. So her maid told me. She’d got one or two of them. A pale pink and a sort of puce colour, but yesterday she was wearing the black one. Yes, this is it. And you fished it out of the river? That makes it look as though it’s the way we think it is.’

‘No certainty yet,’ said Baldwin. ‘After all,’ he added, ‘anyone could throw a hat into the river.’

‘Yes,’ said Bland, ‘they could throw it in from the boathouse, or they could throw it in off a yacht.’

‘The yacht’s sewed up, all right,’ said Baldwin. ‘If she’s there, alive or dead, she’s still there.’

‘He hasn’t been ashore today?’

‘Not so far. He’s on board. He’s been sitting out in a deck-chair smoking a cigar.’

Inspector Bland glanced at the clock.

‘Almost time to go aboard,’ he said.

‘Think you’ll find her?’ asked Baldwin.

‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ said Bland. ‘I’ve got the feeling, you know, that he’s a clever devil.’ He was lost in thought for a moment, poking again at the hat. Then he said, ‘What about the body – if there was a body? Any ideas about that?’