‘I am Hercule Poirot,’ said the little man with dignity.

‘I don’t care if you are the Achilles statue. As I say, Barbara and I parted quite amicably. I drove straight to the Far East Club. Got there at five and twenty to eleven and went straight up to the card-room. Stayed there playing bridge until one-thirty. Now then, put that in your pipe and smoke it.’

‘I do not smoke the pipe,’ said Poirot. ‘It is a pretty alibi you have there.’

‘It should be a pretty cast iron one anyway! Now then, sir,’ he looked at Japp. ‘Are you satisfied?’

‘You remained in the sitting-room throughout your visit?’

‘Yes.’

‘You did not go upstairs to Mrs Allen’s own boudoir?’

‘No, I tell you. We stayed in the one room and didn’t leave it.’

Japp looked at him thoughtfully for a minute or two. Then he said:

‘How many sets of cuff links have you?’

‘Cuff links? Cuff links? What’s that got to do with it?’

‘You are not bound to answer the question, of course.’

‘Answer it? I don’t mind answering it. I’ve got nothing to hide. And I shall demand an apology. There are these…’ he stretched out his arms.

Japp noted the gold and platinum with a nod.

‘And I’ve got these.’

He rose, opened a drawer and taking out a case, he opened it and shoved it rudely almost under Japp’s nose.

‘Very nice design,’ said the chief inspector. ‘I see one is broken—bit of enamel chipped off.’

‘What of it?’

‘You don’t remember when that happened, I suppose?’

‘A day or two ago, not longer.’

‘Would you be surprised to hear that it happened when you were visiting Mrs Allen?’

‘Why shouldn’t it? I’ve not denied that I was there.’ The major spoke haughtily. He continued to bluster, to act the part of the justly indignant man, but his hands were trembling.

Japp leaned forward and said with emphasis:

‘Yes, but that bit of cuff link wasn’t found in the sitting-room. It was found upstairs in Mrs Allen’s boudoir—there in the room where she was killed, and where a man sat smoking the same kind of cigarettes as you smoke.’

The shot told. Eustace fell back into his chair. His eyes went from side to side. The collapse of the bully and the appearance of the craven was not a pretty sight.

‘You’ve got nothing on me.’ His voice was almost a whine. ‘You’re trying to frame me…But you can’t do it. I’ve got an alibi…I never came near the house again that night…’

Poirot in his turn, spoke.

‘No, you did not come near the house again…You did not need to…For perhaps Mrs Allen was already dead when you left it.’

‘That’s impossible—impossible—She was just inside the door—she spoke to me—People must have heard her—seen her…’

Poirot said softly:

‘They heard you speaking to her…and pretending to wait for her answer and then speaking again…It is an old trick that…People may have assumed she was there, but they did not see her, because they could not even say whether she was wearing evening dress or not—not even mention what colour she was wearing…’