“But you have probably heard something? A big bump—eh, mon ami?”
“No.”
“Is it possible? Ah, but I am vexed with myself! I am not usually clumsy. I made but a slight gesture”—I know Poirot’s gestures—“with the left hand, and over went the table by the bed!”
He looked so childishly vexed and crestfallen that I hastened to console him.
“Never mind, old chap. What does it matter? Your triumph downstairs excited you. I can tell you, that was a surprise to us all. There must be more in this affair
don’t shout so. Whatever we may think or suspect, it is better to say as little as possible for the present. The inquest isn’t until Friday.”
“Not until fiddlesticks!” The snort Miss Howard gave was truly magnificent. “You’re all off your heads. The man will be out of the country by then. If he’s any