But so simple that they are very difficult to see clearly.'
The legal gentleman looked sceptical.
'We shall have one piece of definite evidence very soon now,' said Inspector Raglan. 'Of course, if there has been a mistake on that point?'
'Ding dong dell, no pussy in the well?' said Hercule Poirot. 'That is what you mean?'
'Well, you must agree it is only a surmise on your part.'
'The evidence pointed to it all along. When a girl disappears, there are not many reasons. The first is that she has gone away with a man. The second is that she is dead.
Anything else is very far-fetched and practically never happens.'
'There are no other special points that you can bring to our attention.
Monsieur Poirot?'
'Yes. I have been in touch with a well known firm of estate agents.
Friends of mine, who specialise in real estate in the West Indies, the Aegean, the Adriatic, the Mediterranean and other places. They specialise in sunshine and their clients are usually wealthy. Here is a recent purchase that might interest you.'
He handed over a folded paper.
'You think this ties up?'
'I'm sure it does.'
'I thought the sale of islands was prohibited by that particular government?'
'Money can usually find a way.'
'There is nothing else that you would care to dwell upon?'
'It is possible that within twenty-four hours I shall have for you something that will more or less clinch matters.'
'And what is that?'
'An eyewitness.'
'You mean-?'
'An eye-witness to a crime.'
The legal man looked at Poirot with mounting disbelief.
'Where is this eye-witness now?'
'On the way to London, I hope and trust.'
'You sound-disturbed.'
'That is true. I have done what I can to take care of things, but I will admit to you that I am frightened. Yes, I am frightened in spite of the protective measures I have taken. Because, you see, we are-how shall I describe it?-we are up against ruthlessness, quick reactions, greed pushed beyond an expectable human limit and perhaps-I am not sure but I think it possible-a touch, shall we say, of madness? Not there originally, but cultivated.
A seed that took root and grows fast. And now perhaps has taken charge, inspiring an inhuman rather than a human attitude to life.'
'We'll have to have a few extra opinions on this,' said the legal man.
'We can't rush into things. Of course, a lot depends on the-er-forestry business. If that's positive, we can go ahead, but if it's negative, we'd have to think again.'
Hercule Poirot rose to his feet.
'I will take my leave. I have told you all that I know and all that I fear and envisage as possible. I shall remain in touch with you.'
He shook hands all round with foreign precision, and went out.
'The man's a bit of a mountebank,' said the legal man.
'You don't think he's a bit touched, do you? Touched in the head himself, I mean? Anyway, he's a pretty good age. I don't know that one can rely on the faculties of a man of that age.'
'I think you can rely upon him,' said the Chief Constable. 'At least, that is my impression. Spence, I've known you a good many years. You're a friend of his. Do you think he's become a little senile?'
'No, I don't,' said Superintendent Spence.
'What's your opinion, Raglan?'
'I've only met him recently, sir. At first I thought his well, his way of talking, his ideas, might be fantastic. But on the whole I'm converted. I think he's going to be proved right.'
MRS. OLIVER had ensconced herself at a table in the window of The Black Boy. It was still fairly early, so the dining-room was not very full. Presently, Judith Butler returned from powdering her nose and sat down opposite her and examined the menu.
'What does Miranda like?' asked Mrs. Oliver.
'We might as well order for her as well. I suppose she'll be back in a minute.'
'She likes roast chicken.'
'Well, that's easy then. What about you?'
'I'll have the same.'
'Three roast chickens,' Mrs. Oliver ordered.
She leaned back, studying her friend.
'Why are you staring at me in that way?'
'I was thinking,' said Mrs. Oliver.
'Thinking what?'
'Thinking really how very little I knew about you.'
'Well, that's the same with everybody, isn't it?'
'You mean, one never knows all about anyone.'
'I shouldn't think so.'
'Perhaps you're right,' said Mrs. Oliver.
Both women were silent for some time.
'They're rather slow serving things here.'
'It's coming now, I think,' said Mrs. Oliver.
A waitress arrived with a tray full of dishes.
'Miranda's a long time. Does she know where the dining-room is?'
'Yes, of course she does. We looked in on the way.' Judith got up impatiently.
'I'll have to go and fetch her.'
'I wonder if perhaps she gets car sick.'
'She used to when she was younger.'
She returned some four or five minutes later.
'She's not in the Ladies',' she said.
'There's a door outside it into the garden.
Perhaps she went out that way to look at a bird or something. She's like that.'
'No time to look at bird's to-day,' said Mrs. Oliver.
'Go and call her or something.
We want to get on.'
Elspeth McKay pricked some sausages with a fork, laid them on a baking dish, put it in the Frigidaire and started to peel potatoes.
The telephone rang.
'Mrs. McKay? Sergeant Goodwin here.
Is your brother there?'
'No. He's in London today.'
'I've rung him there-he's left. When he gets back, tell him we've had a positive
