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‘Shall we do a final conjuring trick, Mademoiselle? Feel in my left-hand pocket.’

Bridget thrust her hand in. She drew it out again with a scream of triumph and held aloft a large ruby blinking in crimson splendour.

‘You comprehend,’ explained Poirot, ‘the one that was clasped in your hand was a paste replica. I brought it from London in case it was possible to make a substitute. You understand? We do not want the scandal. Monsieur Desmond will try and dispose of that ruby in Paris or in Belgium or wherever it is that he has his contacts, and then it will be discovered that the stone is not real! What could be more excellent? All finishes happily. The scandal is avoided, my princeling receives his ruby back again, he returns to his country and makes a sober and we hope a happy marriage. All ends well.’

‘Except for me,’ murmured Sarah under her breath. She spoke so low that no one heard her but Poirot. He shook his head gently.

‘You are in error, Mademoiselle Sarah, in what you say there. You have gained experience. All experience is valuable. Ahead of you I prophesy there lies happiness.’

‘That’s what you say,’ said Sarah.

‘But look here, M. Poirot.’ Colin was frowning. ‘How did you know about the show we were going to put on for you?’

‘It is my business to know things,’ said Hercule Poirot. He twirled his moustache.

‘Yes, but I don’t see how you could have managed it. Did someone split – did someone come and tell you?’

‘No, no, not that.’

‘Then how? Tell us how?’

They all chorused, ‘Yes, tell us how.’

‘But no,’ Poirot protested. ‘But no. If I tell you how I deduced that, you will think nothing of it. It is like the conjurer who shows how his tricks are done!’

‘Tell us, M. Poirot! Go on. Tell us, tell us!’

‘You really wish that I should solve for you this last mystery?’

‘Yes, go on. Tell us.’

‘Ah, I do not think I can. You will be so disappointed.’

‘Now, come on, M. Poirot, tell us. How did you know?’

‘Well, you see, I was sitting in the library by the window in a chair after tea the other day and I was reposing myself. I had been asleep and when I awoke you were discussing your plans just outside the window close to me, and the window was open at the top.’

‘Is that all?’ cried Colin, disgusted. ‘How simple!’

‘Is it not?’ said Hercule Poirot, smiling. ‘You see? You are disappointed!’

‘Oh well,’ said Michael, ‘at any rate we know everything now.’

‘Do we?’ murmured Hercule Poirot to himself. ‘I do not. I, whose business it is to know things.’

He walked out into the hall, shaking his head a little. For perhaps the twentieth time he drew from his pocket a rather dirty piece of paper.

‘DON’T EAT NONE OF THE PLUM PUDDING. ONE AS WISHES YOU WELL.’

Hercule Poirot shook his head reflectively. He who could explain everything could not explain this! Humiliating. Who had written it? Why had it been written? Until he found that out he would never know a moment’s peace. Suddenly he came out of his reverie to be aware of a peculiar gasping noise. He looked sharply down. On the floor, busy with a dustpan and brush was a tow-headed creature in a flowered overall. She was staring at the paper in his hand with large round eyes.

‘Oh sir,’ said this apparition. ‘Oh, sir. Please, sir.’

‘And who may you be, mon enfant?’ inquired M. Poirot genially.

‘Annie Bates, sir, please sir. I come here to help Mrs Ross. I didn’t mean, sir, I didn’t mean to – to do anything what I shouldn’t do. I did mean it well, sir. For your good, I mean.’

Enlightenment came to Poirot. He held out the dirty piece of paper.

‘Did you write that, Annie?’

‘I didn’t mean any harm, sir. Really I didn’t.’

‘Of course you didn’t, Annie.’ He smiled at her. ‘But tell me about it. Why did you write this?’

‘Well, it was them two, sir. Mr Lee-Wortley and his sister. Not that she was his sister, I’m sure. None of us thought so! And she wasn’t ill a bit. We could all tell that. We thought – we all thought – something queer was going on. I’ll tell you straight, sir. I was in her bathroom taking in the clean towels, and I listened at the door.