“She reckons on paying her debts that way. But she’s been having a run of bad luck lately, so I’ve heard. She looked last night as though she had something on her mind. The evils of gambling, M. Poirot, are only slightly less than the evils caused by drink. If I had my way this country should be purified—”

Poirot was forced to listen to a somewhat lengthy discussion on the purification of England’s morals. Then he closed the conversation adroitly and sent for Reggie Carrington.

He summed the young man up carefully as he entered the room, the weak mouth camouflaged by the rather charming smile, the indecisive chin, the eyes set far apart, the rather narrow head. He thought that he knew Reggie Carrington’s type fairly well.

“Mr. Reggie Carrington?”

“Yes. Anything I can do?”

“Just tell me what you can about last night?”

“Well, let me see, we played bridge—in the drawing room. After that I went up to bed.”

“That was at what time?”

“Just before eleven. I suppose the robbery took place after that?”

“Yes, after that. You did not hear or see anything?”

Reggie shook his head regretfully.

“I’m afraid not. I went straight to bed and I sleep pretty soundly.”

“You went straight up from the drawing room to your bedroom and remained there until the morning?”

“That’s right.”

“Curious,” said Poirot.

Reggie said sharply:

“What do you mean, curious?”

“You did not, for instance, hear a scream?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Ah, very curious.”

“Look here, I don’t know what you mean.”

“You are, perhaps, slightly deaf?”

“Certainly not.”

Poirot’s lips moved. It was possible that he was repeating the word curious for the third time. Then he said:

“Well, thank you, Mr. Carrington, that is all.”

Reggie got up and stood rather irresolutely.

“You know,” he said, “now you come to mention it, I believe I did hear something of the kind.”

“Ah, you did hear something?”

“Yes, but you see, I was reading a book—a detective story as a matter of fact—and I—well, I didn’t really quite take it in.”

“Ah,” said Poirot, “a most satisfying explanation.”

His face was quite impassive.

Reggie still hesitated, then he turned and walked slowly to the door. There he paused and asked:

“I say, what was stolen?”

“Something of great value, Mr. Carrington. That is all I am at liberty to say.”

“Oh,” said Reggie rather blankly.

He went out.

Poirot nodded his head.

“It fits,” he murmured. “It fits very nicely.”

He touched a bell and inquired courteously if Mrs. Vanderlyn was up yet.

VII

Mrs. Vanderlyn swept into the room looking very handsome. She was wearing an artfully-cut russet sports suit that showed up the warm lights of her hair. She swept to a chair and smiled in a dazzling fashion at the little man in front of her.