“Can you?” he repeated.

 

“No motive whatsoever,” I said firmly.

 

His gaze relaxed. He frowned and murmured to himself:—

 

“Since the blackmailer was a man, it follows that she cannot be the blackmailer,

then——”

 

I coughed.

 

“As far as that goes——” I began doubtfully.

 

He spun round on me.

 

“What? What are you going to say?”

 

“Nothing. Nothing. Only that, strictly speaking, Mrs. Ferrars in her letter

mentioned a _person_—she didn’t actually specify a man. But we took it for

granted, Ackroyd and I, that it _was_ a man.”

 

Poirot did not seem to be listening to me. He was muttering to himself again.

 

“But then it is possible after all—yes, certainly it is possible—but then—ah! I

must rearrange my ideas. Method, order; never have I needed them more.