"Do you really believe the Frenchman did it?"

"Well, frankly, I don't. As I look at it, an archaeologist is a poor kind of fish. Always burrowing in the ground and talking through his hat about what happened thousands of years ago, and how do they know, I should like to know? Who's to contradict them? They say some rotten string of beads is five thousand three hundred and twenty-two years old, and who's to say it isn't? Well, there they are, liars perhaps - though they seem to believe it themselves - but harmless. I had an old chap in here the other day who'd had a scarab pinched. Terrible state he was in - nice old boy, but helpless as a baby in arms. No, between you and me, I don't think for a minute that pair of French archaeologists did it."

"Who do you think did it?"

"Well, there's Clancy, of course. He's in a queer way. Goes about muttering to himself. He's got something on his mind."

"The plot of a new book, perhaps."

"It may be that - and it may be something else. But try as I may, I can't get a line on motive. I still think CL 52 in the black book is Lady Horbury, but I can't get anything out of her. She's pretty hardboiled, I can tell you."

Poirot smiled to himself. Japp went on:

"The stewards - well, I can't find a thing to connect them with Giselle."

"Doctor Bryant?"

"I think I'm on to something there. Rumors about him and a patient. Pretty woman - nasty husband - takes drugs or something. If he's not careful he'll be struck off by the medical council. That fits in with RT

362 well enough, and I don't mind telling you that I've got a pretty shrewd idea where he could have got the snake venom from. I went to see him and he gave himself away rather badly over that. Still, so far it is all surmise, no facts. Facts aren't any too easy to get at in this case. Ryder seems all square and aboveboard; says he went to raise a loan in Paris and couldn't get it, gave names and addresses, all checked up. I've found out that the firm was nearly in Queer Street about a week or two ago, but they seem to be just pulling through. There you are again, unsatisfactory. The whole thing is a muddle."

"There is no such thing as muddle - obscurity, yes, but muddle can exist only in a disorderly brain."

"Use any word you choose. The result's the same. Fournier's stumped too. I suppose you've got it all taped out, but you'd rather not tell!"

"You mock yourself at me. I have not got it all taped out. I proceed, a step at a time, with order and method, but there is still far to go."

"I can't help feeling glad to hear that. Let's hear about these orderly steps."