"Ah," he said. "The Spanish touch, you think?"

"Well, they are cruel, aren't they?" Magdalene spoke with an effect of childish appeal. "All those bullfights and things!"

Hercule Poirot said pleasantly: "You are saying that in your opinion Seorita Estravados cut her grandfather's throat?"

"Oh no, M. Poirot!" Magdalene was vehement. She was shocked. "I never said anything of the kind! Indeed I didn't!"

"Well," said Poirot. "Perhaps you did not."

"But I do think that she is-well, a suspicious person. The furtive way she picked up something from the floor of that room last night, for instance."

A different note crept into Hercule Poirot's voice. He said sharply: "She picked up something from the floor last night?"

Magdalene nodded. Her childish mouth curved spitefully.

"Yes, as soon as we got into the room. She gave a quick glance round to see if anyone was looking, and then pounced on it. But the superintendent man saw her, I'm glad to say, and made her give it up."

"What was it that she picked up, do you know, madame?"

"No. I wasn't near enough to see." Magdalene's voice held regret. "It was something quite small."

Poirot frowned to himself.

"It is interesting, that," he murmured to himself.

Magdalene said quickly: "Yes, I thought you ought to know about it. After all, we don't know anything about Pilar's upbringing and what her life has been like. Alfred is always so suspicious and dear Lydia is so casual." Then she murmured: "Perhaps I'd better go and see if I can help Lydia in any way. There may be letters to write."

She left him with a smile of satisfied malice on her lips.

Poirot remained lost in thought on the terrace.

II.

To him there came Superintendent Sugden. The police superintendent looked gloomy. He said: "Good morning, Mr. Poirot. Doesn't seem quite the right thing to say Merry Christmas, does it?"

"Mon cher collegue, I certainly do not observe any traces of merriment on your countenance. If you had said Merry Christmas I should not have replied 'Many of them!' "

"I don't want another one like this one, and that's a fact," said Sugden.

"You have made the progress, yes?"

"I've checked up on a good many points. Horbury's alibi is holding water all right. The commissionaire at the cinema saw him go in with the girl, and saw him come out with her at the end of the performance, and seems pretty positive he didn't leave, and couldn't have left and returned during the performance. The girl swears quite definitely he was with her in the cinema all the time."

Poirot's eyebrows rose.

"I hardly see, then, what more there is to say."

The cynical Sugden said: "Well, one never knows with girls! Lie themselves black in the face for the sake of a man."

"That does credit to their hearts," said Hercule Poirot.

Sugden growled.

"That's a foreign way of looking at it. It's defeating the ends of justice."

Hercule Poirot said: "Justice is a very strange thing. Have you ever reflected on it?"

Sugden stared at him. He said: "You're a queer one, Mr. Poirot."

"Not at all. I follow a logical train of thought. But we will not enter into a dispute on the question. It is your belief, then, that this demoiselle from the milk shop is not speaking the truth?"

Sugden shook his head.

"No," he said, "it's not like that at all. As a matter of fact, I think she is telling the truth. She's a simple kind of girl, and I think if she was telling me a pack of lies I'd spot it."

Poirot said: "You have the experience, yes?"

"That's just it, Mr. Poirot. One does know, more or less, after a lifetime of taking down statements, when a person's lying and when they're not. No, I think the girl's evidence is genuine, and if so, Horbury couldn't have murdered old Mr. Lee, and that brings us right back to the people in the house."

He drew a deep breath.

"One of 'em did it, Mr. Poirot. One of 'em did it. But which?"

"You have no new data?"

"Yes, I've had a certain amount of luck over the telephone calls. Mr. George Lee put through a call to Westeringham at two minutes to nine. That call lasted under six minutes."

"Aha!"

"As you say! Moreover, no other call was put through-to Westeringham or anywhere else."

"Very interesting," said Poirot, with approval. "M. George Lee says he has just finished telephoning when he hears the noise overhead-but actually he had finished telephoning nearly ten minutes before that. Where was he in those ten minutes? Mrs. George Lee says that she was telephoning-but actually she never put through a call at all. Where was she?"

Sugden said: "I saw you talking to her, M. Poirot?"

His voice held a question, but Poirot replied: "You are in error!"

"Eh?"

"I was not talking to her-she was talking to me!"

"Oh-" Sugden seemed to be about to brush the distinction aside impatiently; then, as its significance sank in, he said: "She was talking to you, you say?"

"Most definitely. She came out here for that purpose."

"What did she have to say?"

"She wished to stress certain points: the unEnglish character of the crime-the possibly undesirable antecedents of Miss Estravados on the paternal side-the fact that Miss Estravados had furtively picked up something from the floor last night."

"She told you that, did she?" said Sugden with interest.

"Yes. What was it that the seorita picked up?"

Sugden sighed.

"I could give you three hundred guesses! I'll show it to you. It's the sort of thing that solves the whole mystery in detective stories! If you can make anything out of it, I'll retire from the police force!"

"Show it me."

Sugden took an envelope from his pocket and tilted its contents on to the palm of his hand. A faint grin showed on his face.

"There you are. What do you make of it?"

On the superintendent's broad palm lay a little triangular piece of pink rubber and a small wooden peg.

His grin broadened as Poirot picked up the articles and frowned over them.

"Make anything of them, Mr. Poirot?"

"This little piece of stuff might have been cut from a sponge bag?"

"It was. It comes from a sponge bag in Mr. Lee's room. Somebody with sharp scissors just cut a small triangular piece out of it. Mr. Lee may have done it himself, for all I know. But it beats me why he should do it. Horbury can't throw any light on the matter. As for the peg, it's about the size of a cribbage peg, but they're usually made of ivory. This is just rough wood-whittled out of a bit of deal, I should say."

"Most remarkable," murmured Poirot.

"Keep 'em if you like," said Sugden kindly. "I don't want them."

"Mon ami, I would not deprive you of them!"

"They don't mean anything at all to you?"

"I must confess-nothing whatever!"

"Splendid!" said Sugden with heavy sarcasm, returning them to his pocket. "We are getting on!"

Poirot said: "Mrs. George Lee, she recounts that the young lady stooped and picked these bagatelles up in a furtive manner. Should you say that that was true?"

Sugden considered the point.

"N-o," he said hesitatingly. "I shouldn't quite go as far as that. She didn't look guilty-nothing of that kind-but she did set about it rather-well, quickly and quietly-if you know what I mean. And she didn't know I'd seen her do it! That I'm sure of. She jumped when I rounded on her."

Poirot said thoughtfully: "Then there was a reason? But what conceivable reason could there have been? That little piece of rubber is quite fresh. It has not been used for anything. It can have no meaning whatsoever; and yet-"

Sugden said impatiently: "Well, you can worry about it if you like, Mr. Poirot. I've got other things to think about."

Poirot asked: "The case stands-where, in your opinion?"

Sugden took out his notebook.

"Let's get down to facts. To begin with, there are the people who couldn't have done it. Let's get them out of the way first-"

"They are-?"

"Alfred and Harry Lee. They've got a definite alibi. Also Mrs. Alfred Lee, since Tressilian saw her in the drawing room only about a minute before the row started upstairs. Those three are clear. Now for the others. Here's a list. I've put it this way for clearness."

He handed the book to Poirot.

At the time of the crime George Lee ?.

Mrs. George Lee ?.

David Lee playing piano in music room (confirmed by his wife) Mrs. David Lee in music room (confirmed by husband) Miss Estravados in her bedroom (no confirmation) Stephen Farr in ballroom playing gramophone (confirmed by three of staff who could hear the music in servants' hall).

Poirot said, handing back the list: "And therefore?"

"And therefore," said Sugden, "George Lee could have killed the old man. Mrs. George Lee could have killed him. Pilar Estravados could have killed him; and either Mr. or Mrs. David Lee could have killed him, but not both."

"You do not, then, accept that alibi?"

Superintendent Sugden shook his head emphatically.

"Not on your life! Husband and wife-devoted to each other! They may be in it together, or if one of them did it, the other is ready to swear to an alibi. I look at it this way: Someone was in the music room playing the piano. It may have been David Lee. It probably was, since he was an acknowledged musician, but there's nothing to say his wife was there too except her word and his. In the same way, it may have been Hilda who was playing that piano while David Lee crept upstairs and killed his father! No, it's an absolutely different case from the two brothers in the dining room. Alfred Lee and Harry Lee don't love each other. Neither of them would perjure himself for the other's sake."

"What about Stephen Farr?"

"He's a possible suspect because that gramophone alibi is a bit thin. On the other hand, it's the sort of alibi that's really sounder than a good cast-iron dyed-in-the-wool alibi which, ten to one, has been faked up beforehand!"

Poirot bowed his head thoughtfully.

"I know what you mean. It is the alibi of a man who did not know that he would be called upon to provide such a thing."

"Exactly! And anyway, somehow, I don't believe a stranger was mixed up in this thing."

Poirot said quickly: "I agree with you. It is here a family affair. It is a poison that works in the blood-it is intimate-it is deep-seated. There is here, I think, hate and knowledge. . . ."

He waved his hands.

"I do not know-it is difficult!"

Superintendent Sugden had waited respectfully, but without being much impressed. He said: "Quite so, Mr. Poirot. But we'll get at it, never fear, with elimination and logic. We've got the possibilities now-the people with opportunity. George Lee, Magdalene Lee, David Lee, Hilda Lee, Pilar Estravados, and I'll add, Stephen Farr. Now we come to motive. Who had a motive for putting old Mr. Lee out of the way? There again we can wash out certain people. Miss Estravados, for one. I gather that as the will stands now, she doesn't get anything at all. If Simeon Lee had died before her mother, her mother's share would have come down to her (unless her mother willed it otherwise), but as Jennifer Estravados predeceased Simeon Lee, that particular legacy reverts to the other members of the family. So it was definitely to Miss Estravados' interests to keep the old man alive. He'd taken a fancy to her; it's pretty certain he'd have left her a good slice of money when he made a new will. She had everything to lose and nothing to gain by his murder. You agree to that?"

"Perfectly."

"There remains, of course, the possibility that she cut his throat in the heat of a quarrel, but that seems extremely unlikely to me. To begin with, they were on the best of terms, and she hadn't been here long enough to bear him a grudge about anything. It therefore seems highly unlikely that Miss Estravados has anything to do with the crime-except that you might argue that to cut a man's throat is an unEnglish sort of thing to do, as your friend Mrs. George put it?"

"Do not call her my friend," said Poirot hastily. "Or I shall speak of your friend Miss Estravados, who finds you such a handsome man!"

He had the pleasure of seeing the superintendent's official poise upset again. The police officer turned crimson. Poirot looked at him with malicious amusement.