I yawned.

 

“All this,” I said, “is very interesting—but hardly in the sphere of practical

politics.”

 

“You think not? Remember what I said—the truth goes to Inspector Raglan in the

morning. But, for the sake of your good sister, I am willing to give you the

chance of another way out. There might be, for instance, an overdose of a

sleeping draught. You comprehend me? But Captain Ralph Paton must be cleared—_ça

va sans dire_. I should suggest that you finish that very interesting manuscript

of yours—but abandoning your former reticence.”

 

“You seem to be very prolific of suggestions,” I remarked. “Are you sure you’ve

quite finished.”

 

“Now that you remind me of the fact, it is true that there is one thing more. It

would be most unwise on your part to attempt to silence me as you silenced M.

Ackroyd. That kind of business does not succeed against Hercule Poirot, you

understand.”

 

“My dear Poirot,” I said, smiling a little, “whatever else I may be, I am not a

fool.”

 

I rose to my feet.