Just asks what the hell it is to do with us, and that he’ll see us in —— before

he answers any questions.”

 

“Is it permitted that I, too, see him?” asked Poirot.

 

The superintendent closed one eye knowingly.

 

“Very glad to have you, sir. You’ve got permission to do anything you please.

Inspector Japp of Scotland Yard was asking after you the other day. Said he’d

heard you were connected unofficially with this case.

 

Where’s Captain Paton hiding, sir, can you tell me that?”

 

“I doubt if it would be wise at the present juncture,” said Poirot primly, and I

bit my lips to prevent a smile.

 

The little man really did it very well.

 

After some further parley, we were taken to interview the prisoner.

 

He was a young fellow, I should say not more than twenty-two or three. Tall,

thin, with slightly shaking hands, and the evidences of considerable physical

strength somewhat run to seed. His hair was dark, but his eyes were blue and

shifty, seldom meeting a glance squarely. I had all along cherished the illusion

that there was something familiar about the figure I had met that night, but if