“All the truth.”

 

“Then I accept,” said the little man quietly. “And I hope you will not regret

those words. Now, tell me all the circumstances.”

 

“Dr. Sheppard had better tell you,” said Flora. “He knows more than I do.”

 

Thus enjoined, I plunged into a careful narrative, embodying all the facts I

have previously set down. Poirot listened carefully, inserting a question here

and there, but for the most part sitting in silence, his eyes on the ceiling.

 

I brought my story to a close with the departure of the inspector and myself

from Fernly Park the previous night.

 

“And now,” said Flora, as I finished, “tell him all about Ralph.”

 

I hesitated, but her imperious glance drove me on.

 

“You went to this inn—this Three Boars—last night on your way home?” asked

Poirot, as I brought my tale to a close. “Now exactly why was that?”

 

I paused a moment to choose my words carefully.

 

“I thought some one ought to inform the young man of his uncle’s death.