"Eh bien," said Hercule Poirot. "A fine evening for the chase, is it not?"

Chapter 15

Of the two startled young people, it was Norman Gale who recovered himself first.

"Of course," he said. "It's Monsieur - Monsieur Poirot. Are you still trying to clear your character, M. Poirot?"

"Ah, you remember our little conversation? And it is the poor Mr Clancy you suspect?"

"So do you," said Jane acutely, "or you wouldn't be here."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment.

"Have you ever thought about murder, mademoiselle? Thought about it, I mean, in the abstract - cold-bloodedly and dispassionately?"

"I don't think I've ever thought about it at all until just lately," said Jane.

Hercule Poirot nodded.

"Yes, you think about it now because a murder has touched you personally. But me, I have dealt with crime for many years now. I have my own way of regarding things. What should you say the most important thing was to bear in mind when you are trying to solve a murder?"

"Finding the murderer," said Jane.

Norman Gale said: "Justice."

Poirot shook his head.

"There are more important things than finding the murderer. And justice is a fine word, but it is sometimes difficult to say exactly what one means by it. In my opinion, the important thing is to clear the innocent."

"Oh, naturally," said Jane. "That goes without saying. If anyone is falsely accused -"

"Not even that. There may be no accusation. But until one person is proved guilty beyond any possible doubt, everyone else who is associated with the crime is liable to suffer in varying degrees."

Norman Gale said with emphasis:

"How true that is."

Jane said:

"Don't we know it!"

Poirot looked from one to the other.

"I see. Already you have been finding that out for yourselves."

He became suddenly brisk:

"Come now, I have affairs to see to. Since our aims are the same, we three, let us combine together? I am about to call upon our ingenious friend, Mr Clancy. I would suggest that mademoiselle accompanies me in the guise of my secretary. Here, mademoiselle, is a notebook and a pencil for the shorthand."

"I can't write shorthand," gasped Jane.

"But naturally not. But you have the quick wits, the intelligence. You can make plausible signs in pencil in the book, can you not? Good. As for Mr Gale, I suggest that he meets us in, say, an hour's time. Shall we say upstairs at Monseigneur's? Bon! We will compare notes then."

And forthwith he advanced to the bell and pressed it.

Slightly dazed, Jane followed him, clutching the notebook.

Gale opened his mouth as though to protest, then seemed to think better of it.

"Right," he said. "In an hour. At Monseigneur's."

The door was opened by a rather forbidding-looking elderly woman attired in severe black.

Poirot said. "Mr Clancy?"

She drew back and Poirot and Jane entered.

"What name, sir?"

"Mr Hercule Poirot."