"But he did not. The murderer's luck held. As you say, mon ami, it was a very desperate business."

"Any ideas, Monsieur Poirot? As to motive? Anything of that kind?"

Poirot said slowly, "Yes, I have something to say on that score. Tell me – Monsieur Shaitana, he did not give you any hint of what kind of a party you were coming to tonight?"

Superintendent Battle looked at him curiously.

"No, Monsieur Poirot. He didn't say anything at all. Why?"

A bell whirred in the distance and a knocker was plied.

"That's our people," said Superintendent Battle. "I'll go and let 'em in. We'll have your story presently. Must get on with the routine work."

Poirot nodded. Battle left the room.

Mrs. Oliver continued to sob.

Poirot went over to the bridge table. Without touching anything he examined the scores. He shook his head once or twice.

"The stupid little man! Oh, the stupid little man," murmured Hercule Poirot. "To dress up as the devil and try to frighten people. Quel enfantillage!"

The door opened. The divisional surgeon came in, bag in hand; he was followed by the divisional inspector talking to Battle. A camera man came next. There was a constable in the hall.

The routine of the detection of crime had begun.

Chapter 4

FIRST MURDERER?

Hercule Poirot, Mrs. Oliver, Colonel Race, and Superintendent Battle sat round the dining-room table. It was an hour later. The body had been examined, photographed, and removed. A fingerprint expert had been and gone.

Superintendent Battle looked at Poirot.

"Before I have those four in, I want to hear what you've got to tell me. According to you there was something behind this party tonight?"