expected a contradiction. “In all probability this is the last case I shall ever

investigate. But Hercule Poirot does not end with a failure. Messieurs et

mesdames, I tell you, I mean to _know_. And I shall know—in spite of you all.”

 

He brought out the last words provocatively, hurling them in our face as it

were. I think we all flinched back a little, excepting Geoffrey Raymond, who

remained good humored and imperturbable as usual.

 

“How do you mean—in spite of us all?” he asked, with slightly raised eyebrows.

 

“But—just that, monsieur. Every one of you in this room is concealing something

from me.” He raised his hand as a faint murmur of protest arose. “Yes, yes, I

know what I am saying. It may be something unimportant—trivial—which is supposed

to have no bearing on the case, but there it is. _Each one of you has something

to hide._ Come, now, am I right?”

 

His glance, challenging and accusing, swept round the table. And every pair of

eyes dropped before his. Yes, mine as well.

 

“I am answered,” said Poirot, with a curious laugh. He got up from his seat. “I

appeal to you all. Tell me the truth—the whole truth.” There was a silence.

“Will no one speak?”

 

He gave the same short laugh again.