‘He’s not even a Frenchman, he’s a Belgian,’ said Sir George in a rather shamefaced manner.

‘Well, have your Belgian down. Let him try his wits on this business. I’ll bet he can’t make more of it than we can.’

Without replying, Sir George stretched a hand to the telephone.

Chapter 4

Blinking a little, Hercule Poirot turned his head from one man to the other. Very delicately he smothered a yawn.

It was half-past two in the morning. He had been roused from sleep and rushed down through the darkness in a big Rolls Royce. Now he had just finished hearing what the two men had to tell him.

‘Those are the facts, M. Poirot,’ said Lord Mayfield.

He leaned back in his chair, and slowly fixed his monocle in one eye. Through it a shrewd, pale-blue eye watched Poirot attentively. Besides being shrewd the eye was definitely sceptical. Poirot cast a swift glance at Sir George Carrington.

That gentleman was leaning forward with an expression of almost childlike hopefulness on his face.

Poirot said slowly:

‘I have the facts, yes. The maid screams, the secretary goes out, the nameless watcher comes in, the plans are there on top of the desk, he snatches them up and goes. The facts—they are all very convenient.’

Something in the way he uttered the last phrase seemed to attract Lord Mayfield’s attention. He sat up a little straighter, his monocle dropped. It was as though a new alertness came to him.

‘I beg your pardon, M. Poirot?’

‘I said, Lord Mayfield, that the facts were all very convenient—for the thief. By the way, you are sure it was a man you saw?’

Lord Mayfield shook his head.

‘That I couldn’t say. It was just a—shadow. In fact, I was almost doubtful if I had seen anyone.’

Poirot transferred his gaze to the Air Marshal.

‘And you, Sir George? Could you say if it was a man or a woman?’

‘I didn’t see anyone myself.’

Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Then he skipped suddenly to his feet and went over to the writing-table.

‘I can assure you that the plans are not there,’ said Lord Mayfield. ‘We have all three been through those papers half a dozen times.’

‘All three? You mean, your secretary also?’

‘Yes, Carlile.’

Poirot turned suddenly.

‘Tell me, Lord Mayfield, which paper was on top when you went over to the desk?’

Mayfield frowned a little in the effort of remembrance.

‘Let me see—yes, it was a rough memorandum of some sort of our air defence positions.’

Deftly, Poirot nipped out a paper and brought it over.

‘Is this the one, Lord Mayfield?’

Lord Mayfield took it and glanced over it.

‘Yes, that’s the one.’

Poirot took it over to Carrington.

‘Did you notice this paper on the desk?’

Sir George took it, held it away from him, then slipped on his pince-nez.

‘Yes, that’s right. I looked through them too, with Carlile and Mayfield. This was on top.’

Poirot nodded thoughtfully. He replaced the paper on the desk. Mayfield looked at him in a slightly puzzled manner.