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‘Anything more you want to see, M. Poirot?’ he inquired brusquely.

‘You would perhaps be so kind as to show me the silver table from which the weapon was taken? After that, I will trespass on your kindness no longer.’


We went to the drawing-room, but on the way the constable waylaid the colonel, and after a muttered conversation the latter excused himself and left us together. I showed Poirot the silver table, and after raising the lid once or twice and letting it fall, he pushed open the window and stepped out on the terrace. I followed him.

Inspector Raglan had just turned the corner of the house, and was coming towards us. His face looked grim and satisfied.

‘So there you are, M. Poirot,’ he said. ‘Well, this isn’t going to be much of a case. I’m sorry, too. A nice enough young fellow gone wrong.’


Poirot’s face fell, and he spoke very mildly.

‘I’m afraid I shall not be able to be of much aid to you, then?’

‘Next time, perhaps,’ said the inspector soothingly. ‘Though we don’t have murders every day in this quiet little corner of the world.’

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