He took Poirot’s hand and gave it a grip which caused the other to wince in

anguish. Then he strode to the side door and passed out into the garden.

 

“Not every kind of a fool,” murmured Poirot, tenderly nursing the injured

member. “Only one kind—the fool in love.”

 

CHAPTER XX

 

MISS RUSSELL

 

Inspector Raglan had received a bad jolt. He was not deceived by Blunt’s valiant

lie any more than we had been. Our way back to the village was punctuated by his

complaints.

 

“This alters everything, this does. I don’t know whether you’ve realized it,

Monsieur Poirot?”

 

“I think so, yes, I think so,” said Poirot. “You see, me, I have been familiar

with the idea for some time.”

 

Inspector Raglan, who had only had the idea presented to him a short half-hour

ago, looked at Poirot unhappily, and went on with his discoveries.

 

“Those alibis now. Worthless! Absolutely worthless. Got to start again. Find out

what every one was doing from nine-thirty onwards.