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and supersitition that’s got the whole world into the mess it’s in. I’d like to sweep away the churches all over the world.” Mr Babbington smiled and said, “And the clergy, too?” I think it was his smile that annoyed Oliver. He felt he was not being taken seriously. He said, “I hate everything the Church stands for. Smugness, security and hypocrisy. Get rid of the whole canting tribe, I say!” And Mr Babbington smiled—he had a very sweet smile—and he said, “My dear boy, if you were to sweep away all the churches ever built or planned, you would still have to reckon with God.”’

‘What did young Manders say to that?’

‘He seemed taken aback, and then he recovered his temper and went back to his usual sneering tired manner.

‘He said, “I’m afraid the things I’ve been saying are rather bad form, padre, and not very easily assimilated by your generation.”’

‘You don’t like young Manders, do you, Lady Mary?’

‘I’m sorry for him,’ said Lady Mary defensively.

‘But you wouldn’t like him to marry Egg.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘I wonder why, exactly?’

‘Because—because, he isn’t kind…and because—’

‘Yes?’

‘Because there’s something in him, somewhere, that I don’t understand. Something cold—’

Mr Satterthwaite looked at her thoughtfully for a minute or two, then he said:

‘What did Sir Bartholomew Strange think of him? Did he ever mention him?’

‘He said, I remember, that he found young Manders an interesting study. He said that he reminded him of a case he was treating at the moment in his nursing home. I said that I thought Oliver looked particularly strong and healthy, and he said, “Yes, his health’s all right, but he’s riding for a fall.”’

She paused and then said:

‘I suppose Sir Bartholomew was a very clever nerve specialist.’

‘I believe he was very highly thought of by his own colleagues.’

‘I liked him,’ said Lady Mary.

‘Did he ever say anything to you about Babbington’s death?’

‘No.’

‘He never mentioned it at all?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Do you think—it’s difficult for you to tell, not knowing him well—but do you think he had anything on his mind?’

‘He seemed in very good spirits—even amused by something—some private joke of his own. He told me at dinner that night that he was going to spring a surprise on me.’

‘Oh, he did, did he?’

On his way home, Mr Satterthwaite pondered that statement.

What had been the surprise Sir Bartholomew had intended to spring on his guests?

Would it, when it came, have been as amusing as he pretended?

Or did that gay manner mask a quiet but indomitable purpose? Would anyone ever know?

Chapter 3

Re-Enter Hercule Poirot

‘Frankly,’ said Sir Charles, ‘are we any forrader?’

It was a council of war. Sir Charles, Mr Satterthwaite and Egg Lytton Gore were sitting in the Ship-room. A fire burned in the grate, and outside an equinoctial gale was howling.

Mr Satterthwaite and Egg answered the question simultaneously.

‘No,’ said Mr Satterthwaite.

‘Yes,’ said Egg.

Sir Charles looked from one to the other of them. Mr Satterthwaite indicated gracefully that the lady should speak first.

Egg was silent a moment or two, collecting her ideas.

‘We are further on,’ she said at last. ‘We are further on because we haven’t found out anything. That sounds nonsense, but it isn’t. What I mean is that we had certain vague sketchy ideas; we know now that certain of those ideas are definitely washouts.’

‘Progress by elimination,’ said Sir Charles.

‘That’s it.’

Mr Satterthwaite cleared his throat. He liked to define things.

‘The idea of gain we can now put definitely away,’ he said. ‘There does not seem to be anybody who (in detective story parlance) could benefit by Stephen Babbington’s death. Revenge seems equally out of the question. Apart from his naturally amiable and peace-loving disposition, I doubt if he were important enough to make enemies. So we are back at our last rather sketchy idea—fear. By the death of Stephen Babbington, someone gains security.’

‘That’s rather well put,’ said Egg.

Mr Satterthwaite looked