ii

poirot called at scotland yard and asked for japp. when he was taken up to the chief inspector’s

room: “i want to see carter,” said hercule poirot.

japp shot him a quick, sideways glance.

he said:

“what’s the big idea?”

“you are unwilling?”

japp shrugged his shoulders. he said:

“oh, i shan’t make objections. no good if i did. who’s the home secretary’s little pet? you

are. who’s got half the cabinet in his pocket? you have. hushing up their scandals for them.”

poirot’s mind flew for a moment to that case that he had named the case of the augean stables.

he murmured, not without complacence:

“it was ingenious, yes? you must admit it. well imagined, let us say.”

“nobody but you would ever have thought of such a thing! sometimes, poirot, i think you

haven’t any scruples at all!”

poirot’s face became suddenly grave. he said:

“that is not true.”

“oh, all right, poirot, i didn’t mean it. but you’re so pleased sometimes with your damned

ingenuity. what do you want to see carter for? to ask him whether he really murdered morley?”

to japp’s surprise, poirot nodded his head emphatically.

“yes, my friend, that is exactly the reason.”

“and i suppose you think he’ll tell you if he did?”

japp laughed as he spoke. but hercule poirot remained grave. he said:

“he might tell me—yes.”

japp looked at him curiously. he said:

“you know, i’ve known you a long time—twenty years? something like that. but i still don’t

always catch on to what you’re driving at. i know you’ve got a bee in your bonnet about young

frank carter. for some reason or other, you don’t want him to be guilty—”

hercule poirot shook his head energetically.

“no, no, there you are wrong. it is the other way about—”

“i thought perhaps it was on account of that girl of his—the blonde piece. you’re a sentimental

old buzzard in some ways—”

poirot was immediately indignant.

“it is not i who am sentimental! that is an english failing! it is in england that they weep over

young sweethearts and dying mothers and devoted children. me, i am logical. if frank carter is a

killer, then i am certainly not sentimental enough to wish to unite him in marriage to a nice but

commonplace girl who, if he is hanged, will forget him in a year or two and find someone else!”

“then why don’t you want to believe he is guilty?”

“i do want to believe he is guilty.”

“i suppose you mean that you’ve got hold of something which more or less conclusively proves

him to be innocent? why hold it up, then? you ought to play fair with us, poirot.”

“i am playing fair with you. presently, very shortly, i will give you the name and address of a

witness who will be invaluable to you for the prosecution. her evidence ought to clinch the case

against him.”

“but then—oh! you’ve got me all tangled up. why are you so anxious to see him.”

“to satisfy myself,” said hercule poirot.

and he would say no more.