There was a tense silence. Into the midst of it came the old Breton woman with a

telegram on a salver. Poirot tore it open.

 

Blunt’s voice rose abrupt and resonant.

 

“The murderer is amongst us, you say? You know—which?”

 

Poirot had read the message. He crumpled it up in his hand.

 

“I know—now.”

 

He tapped the crumpled ball of paper.

 

“What is that?” said Raymond sharply.

 

“A wireless message—from a steamer now on her way to the United States.”

 

There was a dead silence. Poirot rose to his feet bowing.

 

“Messieurs et Mesdames, this reunion of mine is at an end.

 

Remember—_the truth goes to Inspector Raglan in the morning_.”

 

CHAPTER XXV