2 THE EVIDENCE OF THE SECRETARY
For a minute or two Poirot remained lost, in thought.
“I think,” he said at last, “that it would be well to have a further word with Mr. MacQueen, in view of what we now know.”
The young American appeared promptly¹.
“Well,” he said, “how are things going?”
“Not too badly. Since our last conversation, I have learnt something—the identity of Mr. Ratchett.”
Hector MacQueen leaned forward interestedly. “Yes?” he said.
“ ‘Ratchett,’ as you suspected, was merely an alias². The man ‘Ratchett’ was Cassetti, who ran the celebrated³ kidnapping stunts—including the famous affair of little Daisy Armstrong.”
An expression of utter astonishment⁴ appeared on MacQueen’s face. Then it darkened. “The damned skunk⁵!” he exclaimed.
“You had no idea of this, Mr. MacQueen?”
“No, sir,” said the young American decidedly. “If I had, I’d have cut off my right hand before it had a chance to do secretarial work for him!”
“You feel strongly about the matter, Mr. MacQueen?”
“I have a particular reason for doing so. My father was the district attorney who handled the case, Mr. Poirot. I saw Mrs. Armstrong more than once—she was a lovely woman. So gentle and heartbroken.” His face darkened. “If ever a man deserved what he got, Ratchett—or Cassetti—is the man. I’m rejoiced at his end. Such a man wasn’t fit to live!”
“You almost feel as though you would have been willing to do the good deed yourself?”
“I do. I—” He paused, then added rather guiltily, “Seems I’m kind of incriminating myself.”
“I should be more inclined to suspect you, Mr. MacQueen, if you displayed an inordinate⁷ sorrow at your employer’s decease.”
“I don’t think I could do that even to save myself from the chair,” said MacQueen grimly. Then he added: “If I’m not being

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