quick. But I should know the man anywhere. His face is burnt in on my brain.’
‘Just one more question, mademoiselle. The curtains of the other window, the one giving on the drive, were they drawn?’
For the first time a puzzled expression crept over the dancer’s face. She seemed to be trying to remember.
‘Eh bien, mademoiselle?’
‘I think – I am almost sure – yes, quite sure! They were not drawn.’
‘That is curious, since the other ones were. No matter. It is, I dare say, of no great importance. You are remaining here long, mademoiselle?’
‘The doctor thinks I shall be fit to return to town tomorrow.’ She looked round the room. Miss Oglander had gone out. ‘These people, they are very kind – but they are not of my world. I shock them! And to me – well, I am not fond of the bourgeoisie!’
A faint note of bitterness underlay her words.
Poirot nodded. ‘I understand. I hope I have not fatigued you unduly with my questions?’
‘Not at all, monsieur. I am only too anxious Paul should know all as soon as possible.’
‘Then I will wish you good day, mademoiselle.’
As Poirot was leaving the room, he paused, and pounced on a pair of patent-leather slippers. ‘Yours, mademoiselle?’
‘Yes, monsieur. They have just been cleaned and brought up.’
‘Ah!’ said Poirot, as we descended the stairs. ‘It seems that the domestics are not too excited to clean shoes, though they forget a grate. Well, mon ami, at first there appeared to be one or two points of interest, but I fear, I very much fear, that we must regard the case as finished. It all seems straightforward enough.’
‘And the murderer?’
‘Hercule Poirot does not hunt down tramps,’ replied my friend grandiloquently.
Miss Oglander met us in the hall. ‘If you will wait in the drawing-room a minute, Mamma would like to speak to you.’
The room was still untouched, and Poirot idly gathered up the cards, shuffling them with his tiny, fastidiously groomed hands.
‘Do you know what I think, my friend?’
‘No?’ I said eagerly.
‘I think that Miss Oglander made a mistake in going one no trump. She should have gone three spades.’
‘Poirot! You are the limit.’
‘Mon Dieu, I cannot always be talking blood and thunder!’
Suddenly he stiffened: ‘Hastings – Hastings. See! The king of clubs is missing from the pack!’
‘Zara!’ I cried.
‘Eh?’ He did not seem to understand my allusion. Mechanically he stacked the cards and put them away in their cases. His face was very grave.
‘Hastings,’ he said at last, ‘I, Hercule Poirot, have come near to making a big mistake – a very big mistake.’
I gazed at him, impressed, but utterly uncomprehending.
‘We must begin again, Hastings. Yes, we must begin again. But this time we shall not err.’
He was interrupted by the entrance of a handsome middle-aged lady. She carried some household books in her hand. Poirot bowed to her.
‘Do I understand, sir, that you are a friend of – er – Miss Saintclair’s?’
‘I come from a friend of hers, madame.’
‘Oh, I see. I thought perhaps –’
Poirot suddenly waved brusquely at the window.
‘Your blinds were not pulled down last night?’
‘No – I suppose that is why Miss Saintclair saw the light so plainly.’
‘There was moonlight last night. I wonder that you did not see Mademoiselle Saintclair from your seat here facing the windows?’
‘I suppose we were engrossed with our game. Nothing like this has ever happened before to us.’
‘I can quite believe that, madame. And I will put your mind at rest. Mademoiselle Saintclair is leaving tomorrow.’
‘Oh!’ The good lady’s face cleared.
‘And I will wish you good morning, madame.’
A servant was cleaning the steps as we went out of the front door. Poirot addressed her.
‘Was it you who cleaned the shoes of the young lady upstairs?’
The maid shook her head. ‘No, sir. I don’t think they’ve been cleaned.’
‘Who cleaned them, then?’ I inquired of Poirot, as we walked down the road.
‘Nobody. They did not need cleaning.’
‘I grant that walking on the road or path on a fine night would not soil them. But surely after going through the long grass of the garden, they would have been soiled and stained.’
‘Yes,’ said Poirot with a curious smile. ‘In that case, I agree, they would have been stained.’
‘But –’
‘Have patience a little half-hour, my friend. We are going back to Mon Désir.’
The butler looked surprised at our reappearance, but offered no objection to our returning to the library.
‘Hi, that’s the wrong window, Poirot,’ I cried as he made for the one overlooking the carriage-drive.
‘I think not, my friend. See here.’ He pointed to the marble lion’s head. On it was a faint discoloured smear. He shifted his finger and pointed to a similar stain on the polished floor.
‘Someone struck Reedburn a blow with his clenched fist between the eyes. He fell backward on this projecting bit of marble, then slipped to the floor. Afterwards, he was dragged across the floor to the other window, and laid there instead, but not quite at the same angle, as the Doctor’s evidence told us.’
‘But why? It seems utterly unnecessary.’
‘On the contrary, it was essential. Also, it is the key to the murderer’s identity – though, by the way, he had no intention of killing Reedburn, and so it is hardly permissible to call him a murderer. He must be a very strong man!’
‘Because of having dragged the body across the floor?’
‘Not altogether. It has been an interesting case. I nearly made an imbecile of myself, though.’
‘Do you mean to say it is over, that you know everything?’
‘Yes.’
A remembrance smote me. ‘No,’ I cried. ‘There is one thing you do not know!’
‘And that?’
‘You do not know where the missing king of clubs is!’
‘Eh? Oh, that is droll! That is very droll, my friend.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it is in my pocket!’ He drew it forth with a flourish.
‘Oh!’ I said, rather crestfallen. ‘Where did you find it? Here?’
‘There was nothing sensational about it. It had simply not been taken out with the other cards. It was in the box.’
‘H’m! All the same, it gave you an idea, didn’t it?’
‘Yes, my friend. I present my respects to His Majesty.’
‘And