“Without much success,” I reminded her.

 

“Poor boy, and so they’ve caught him. I consider, James, that it’s your duty to

see that he isn’t hung.”

 

“What do you expect me to do?”

 

“Why, you’re a medical man, aren’t you? You’ve known him from a boy upwards. Not

mentally responsible. That’s the line to take, clearly. I read only the other

day that they’re very happy in Broadmoor—it’s quite like a high-class club.”

 

But Caroline’s words had reminded me of something.

 

“I never knew that Poirot had an imbecile nephew?” I said curiously.

 

“Didn’t you? Oh, he told me all about it. Poor lad. It’s a great grief to all

the family. They’ve kept him at home so far, but it’s getting to such a pitch

that they’re afraid he’ll have to go into some kind of institution.”

 

“I suppose you know pretty well everything there is to know about Poirot’s

family by this time,” I said, exasperated.

 

“Pretty well,” said Caroline complacently. “It’s a great relief to people to be

able to tell all their troubles to some one.”