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Walter whispered:

‘It’s old Mr Lee. He’s been done in…’

The superintendent pushed past him and ran up the stairs. He came into the room without anyone being aware of his entrance. As he entered he saw Pilar bend forward and pick up something from the floor. He saw David Lee standing with his hands over his eyes.

He saw the others huddled into a little group. Alfred Lee alone had stepped near his father’s body. He stood now quite close, looking down. His face was blank.

George Lee was saying importantly:

‘Nothing must be touched—remember that—nothing—till the police arrive. That is most important!’

‘Excuse me,’ said Sugden.

He pushed his way forward, gently thrusting the ladies aside.

Alfred Lee recognized him.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘It’s you, Superintendent Sugden. You’ve got here very quickly.’

‘Yes, Mr Lee.’ Superintendent Sugden did not waste time on explanations. ‘What’s all this?’

‘My father,’ said Alfred Lee, ‘has been killed—murdered…’

His voice broke.

Magdalene began suddenly to sob hysterically.

Superintendent Sugden held up a large official hand. He said authoritatively:

‘Will everybody kindly leave the room except Mr Lee and—er—Mr George Lee?…’

They moved slowly towards the door, reluctantly, like sheep. Superintendent Sugden intercepted Pilar suddenly.

‘Excuse me, miss,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Nothing must be touched or disturbed.’

She stared at him. Stephen Farr said impatiently:

‘Of course not. She understands that.’

Superintendent Sugden said, still in the same pleasant manner: ‘You picked up something from the floor just now?’

Pilar’s eyes opened. She stared and said incredulously: ‘I did?’

Superintendent Sugden was still pleasant. His voice was just a little firmer.

‘Yes, I saw you…’

‘Oh!’

‘So please give it to me. It’s in your hand now.’

Slowly Pilar unclosed her hand. There lay in it a wisp of rubber and a small object made of wood. Superintendent Sugden took them, enclosed them in an envelope and put them away in his breast pocket. He said: ‘Thank you.’

He turned away. Just for a minute Stephen Farr’s eyes showed a startled respect. It was as though he had underestimated the large handsome superintendent.

They went slowly out of the room. Behind them they heard the superintendent’s voice saying officially:

‘And now, if you please…’

V

‘Nothing like a wood fire,’ said Colonel Johnson as he threw on an additional log and then drew his chair nearer to the blaze. ‘Help yourself,’ he added, hospitably calling attention to the tantalus and siphon that stood near his guest’s elbow.

The guest raised a polite hand in negation. Cautiously he edged his own chair nearer to the blazing logs, though he was of the opinion that the opportunity for roasting the soles of one’s feet (like some mediaeval torture) did not offset the cold draught that swirled round the back of the shoulders.

Colonel Johnson, Chief Constable of Middleshire, might be of the opinion that nothing could beat a wood fire, but Hercule Poirot was of the opinion that central heating could and did every time!

‘Amazing business that Cartwright case,’ remarked the host reminiscently. ‘Amazing man! Enormous charm of manner. Why, when he came here with you, he had us all eating out of his hand.’

He shook his head.

‘We’ll never have anything like that case!’ he said. ‘Nicotine poisoning is rare, fortunately.’

‘There was a time when you would have considered all poisoning unEnglish,’ suggested Hercule Poirot. ‘A device of foreigners! Unsportsmanlike!’

‘I hardly think we could say that,’ said the chief constable. ‘Plenty of poisoning by arsenic—probably a good deal more than has ever been suspected.’

‘Possibly, yes.’

‘Always an awkward business, a poisoning case,’ said Johnson. ‘Conflicting testimony of the experts—then doctors are usually so extremely cautious in what they say. Always a difficult case to take to a jury. No, if one must have murder (which heaven forbid!) give me a straightforward case. Something where there’s no ambiguity about