It was a very uncomfortable minute for me. I hardly took in what happened next, but there were exclamations¹ and cries of surprise! When I was sufficiently² master of myself to be able to realize what was going on, Ralph Paton was standing³ by his wife, her hand in his, and he was smiling across the room at me.

 

Poirot, too, was smiling, and at the same time shaking an eloquent⁴ finger at me.

 

“Have I not told you at least thirty-six times that it is useless to conceal⁵ things from Hercule Poirot?” he demanded. “That in such a case he finds out?”

 

He turned to the others.

 

“One day, you remember, we held a little séance about a table—just the six of us. I accused the other five persons present of concealing⁶ something from me. Four of them gave up their secret. Dr. Sheppard did not give up his. But all along I have had my suspicions. Dr. Sheppard went to the Three Boars that night hoping to find Ralph. He did not find him there; but supposing, I said to myself, that he met him in the street on his way home? Dr. Sheppard was a friend of Captain Paton’s, and he had come straight from the scene of the crime. He must know that things looked very black against him. Perhaps he knew more than the general public did——”

 

285

 

“I did,” I said ruefully. “I suppose I might as well make a clean breast of things now. I went to see Ralph that afternoon. At first he refused to take me into his confidence, but later he told me about his marriage, and the hole he was in. As soon as the murder was discovered, I realized that once the facts were known, suspicion could not fail to attach to Ralph—or, if not to him, to the girl he loved. That night I put the facts plainly before him. The thought of having possibly to give evidence which might incriminate his wife made him resolve at all costs to—to——”

 

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