scheme.”

 

I sympathized, and narrated my own similar trouble.

 

Then the gong pealed out, and we all went in to lunch. Poirot drew me back a

little.

 

“_Eh! bien?_”

 

“He’s all right,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”

 

“Nothing—disturbing?”

 

“He had a legacy just a year ago,” I said. “But why not? Why shouldn’t he? I’ll

swear the man is perfectly square and aboveboard.”

 

“Without doubt, without doubt,” said Poirot soothingly. “Do not upset yourself.”

 

He spoke as though to a fractious child.

 

We all trooped into the dining-room. It seemed incredible that less than

twenty-four hours had passed since I last sat at that table.

 

Afterwards, Mrs. Ackroyd took me aside and sat down with me on a sofa.