“He cannot escape,” he said gravely. “There is only one way out—and that way

does not lead to freedom.”

 

“You really believe that one of those people here to-night committed the

murder?” I asked incredulously.

 

“Yes, my friend.”

 

“Which one?”

 

There was a silence for some minutes. Then Poirot tossed the stump of his

cigarette into the grate and began to speak in a quiet, reflective tone.

 

“I will take you the way that I have traveled myself. Step by step you shall

accompany me, and see for yourself that all the facts point indisputably to one

person. Now, to begin with, there were two facts and one little discrepancy in

time which especially attracted my attention. The first fact was the telephone

call. If Ralph Paton were indeed the murderer, the telephone call became

meaningless and absurd.

 

Therefore, I said to myself, Ralph Paton is not the murderer.

 

“I satisfied myself that the call could not have been sent by any one in the

house, yet I was convinced that it was amongst those present on the fatal