hiding Captain Paton from the police.”

 

“Where?” asked Raymond. “In his own house?”

 

“Ah, no, indeed,” said Poirot. “You should ask yourself the question that I did.

If the good doctor is concealing the young man, what place would he choose? It

must necessarily be somewhere near at hand. I think of Cranchester. A hotel? No.

Lodgings? Even more emphatically, no.

 

Where, then? Ah! I have it. A nursing home. A home for the mentally unfit. I

test my theory. I invent a nephew with mental trouble. I consult Mademoiselle

Sheppard as to suitable homes. She gives me the names of two near Cranchester to

which her brother has sent patients. I make inquiries. Yes, at one of them a

patient was brought there by the doctor himself early on Saturday morning. That

patient, though known by another name, I had no difficulty in identifying as

Captain Paton.

 

After certain necessary formalities, I was allowed to bring him away.

 

He arrived at my house in the early hours of yesterday morning.”

 

I looked at him ruefully.

 

“Caroline’s Home Office expert,” I murmured. “And to think I never guessed!”