‘I should hope that a man in my position might be exempt.’

Japp merely waited.

‘I was—now let me see…Ah, yes. I was at the House. Left at half-past ten. Went for a walk along the Embankment. Watched some of the fireworks.’

‘Nice to think there aren’t any plots of that kind nowadays,’ said Japp cheerily.

Laverton-West gave him a fish-like stare.

‘Then I—er—walked home.’

‘Reaching home—your London address is Onslow Square, I think—at what time?’

‘I hardly know exactly.’

‘Eleven? Half-past?’

‘Somewhere about then.’

‘Perhaps someone let you in.’

‘No, I have my key.’

‘Meet anybody whilst you were walking?’

‘No—er—really, Chief Inspector, I resent these questions very much!’

‘I assure you, it’s just a matter of routine, Mr Laverton-West. They aren’t personal, you know.’

The reply seemed to soothe the irate M.P.

‘If that is all—’

‘That is all for the present, Mr Laverton-West.’

‘You will keep me informed—’

‘Naturally, sir. By the way, let me introduce M. Hercule Poirot. You may have heard of him.’

Mr Laverton-West’s eye fastened itself interestedly on the little Belgian.

‘Yes—yes—I have heard the name.’

‘Monsieur,’ said Poirot, his manner suddenly very foreign. ‘Believe me, my heart bleeds for you. Such a loss! Such agony as you must be enduring! Ah, but I will say no more. How magnificently the English hide their emotions.’ He whipped out his cigarette case. ‘Permit me—Ah, it is empty. Japp?’

Japp slapped his pockets and shook his head.

Laverton-West produced his own cigarette case, murmured, ‘Er—have one of mine, M. Poirot.’

‘Thank you—thank you.’ The little man helped himself.

‘As you say, M. Poirot,’ resumed the other, ‘we English do not parade our emotions. A stiff upper lip—that is our motto.’

He bowed to the two men and went out.

‘Bit of a stuffed fish,’ said Japp disgustedly. ‘And a boiled owl! The Plenderleith girl was quite right about him. Yet he’s a good-looking sort of chap—might go down well with some woman who had no sense of humour. What about that cigarette?’

Poirot handed it over, shaking his head.

‘Egyptian. An expensive variety.’

‘No, that’s no good. A pity, for I’ve never heard a weaker alibi! In fact, it wasn’t an alibi at all…You know, Poirot, it’s a pity the boot wasn’t on the other leg. If she’d been blackmailing him…He’s a lovely type for blackmail—would pay out like a lamb! Anything to avoid a scandal.’

‘My friend, it is very pretty to reconstruct the case as you would like it to be, but that is not strictly our affair.’

‘No, Eustace is our affair. I’ve got a few lines on him. Definitely a nasty fellow.’

‘By the way, did you do as I suggested about Miss Plenderleith?’

‘Yes. Wait a sec, I’ll ring through and get the latest.’

He picked up the telephone receiver and spoke through it.

After a brief interchange he replaced it and looked up at Poirot.

‘Pretty heartless piece of goods. Gone off to play golf. That’s a nice thing to do when your friend’s been murdered only the day before.’