ing to go upon."

"Precisely. It is a matter of precaution only."

John turned to me, taking out his cigarette-case, and lighting a
cigarette as he did so.

"You know that fellow Inglethorp is back?"

"Yes. I met him."

John flung the match into an adjacent flower bed, a proceeding which was
too much for Poirot's feelings. He retrieved it, and buried it neatly.

"It's jolly difficult to know how to treat him."

"That difficulty will not exist long," pronounced Poirot quietly.

John looked puzzled, not quite understanding the portent of this cryptic
saying. He handed the two keys which Dr. Bauerstein had given him to me.

"Show Monsieur Poirot everything he wants to see."

"The rooms are locked?" asked Poirot.

"Dr. Bauerstein considered it advisable."

Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

"Then he is very sure. Well, that simplifies matters for us."

We went up together to the room of the tragedy. For convenience I append
a plan of the room and the principal articles of furniture in it.

Poirot locked the door on the inside, and proceeded to a minute
inspection of the room. He darted from one object to the other with the
agility of a grasshopper. I remained by the door, fearing to obliterate
any clues. Poirot, however, did not seem grateful to me for my
forbearance.

"What have you, my friend," he cried, "that you remain there like--how
do you say it?--ah, yes, the stuck pig?"

I explained that I was afraid of obliterating any foot-marks.

"Foot-marks? But what an idea! There has already been practically an
army in the room! What foot-marks are we likely to find? No, come here
and aid me in my search. I will put down my little case until I need
it."

He did so, on the round table by the window, but it was an ill-advised
proceeding; for, the top of it being loose, it tilted up, and
precipitated the despatch-case on the floor.

"Eh voila une table!" cried Poirot. "Ah, my friend, one may live in a
big house and yet have no comfort."

After which piece of moralizing, he resumed his search.

A small purple despatch-case, with a key in the lock, on the
writing-table, engaged his attention for some time. He took out the key
from the lock, and passed it to me to inspect. I saw nothing peculiar,
however. It was an ordinary key of the Yale type, with a bit of twisted
wire through the handle.

Next, he examined the framework of the door we had broken in, assuring
himself that the bolt had really been shot. The