Poirot interrupted.

 

“That is your advice, yes? That he should come forward?”

 

“Certainly. If you know where he is——”

 

“I perceive that you do not believe that I do know. And yet I have told you just

now that I know everything. The truth of the telephone call, of the footprints

on the window-sill, of the hiding-place of Ralph Paton——”

 

“Where is he?” said Blunt sharply.

 

“Not very far away,” said Poirot, smiling.

 

“In Cranchester?” I asked.

 

Poirot turned towards me.

 

“Always you ask me that. The idea of Cranchester it is with you an _idée fixe_.

No, he is not in Cranchester. He is—_there_!”

 

He pointed a dramatic forefinger. Every one’s head turned.

 

Ralph Paton was standing in the doorway.