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request I should like to put to you.”
    â€œYou want to see the body, perhaps, sir?”
    â€œOh, dear me, no! I have not the least interest in the body. I want to see Robert Grant.”
    â€œYou’ll have to drive back with me to Moreton to see him, sir.”
    â€œVery well, I will do so. But I must see him and be able to speak to him alone.”
    The Inspector caressed his upper lip.
    â€œWell, I don’t know about that, sir.”
    â€œI assure you that if you can get through to Scotland Yard you will receive full authority.”
    â€œI’ve heard of you, of course, sir, and I know you’ve done us a good turn now and again. But it’s very irregular.”
    â€œNevertheless, it is necessary,” said Poirot calmly. “It is necessary for this reason—Grant is not the murderer.”
    â€œWhat? Who, is, then?”
    â€œThe murderer was, I should fancy, a youngish man. He drove up to Granite Bungalow in a trap, which he left outside. He went in, committed the murder, came out, and drove away again. He was bareheaded, and his clothing was slightly bloodstained.”
    â€œBut—but the whole village would have seen him!”
    â€œNot under certain circumstances.”
    â€œNot if it was dark, perhaps; but the crime was committed in broad daylight.”
    Poirot merely smiled.
    â€œAnd the horse and trap, sir—how could you tell that? Any amount of wheeled vehicles have passed along outside. There’s no mark of one in particular to be seen.”
    â€œNot with the eyes of the body, perhaps; but with the eyes of the mind, yes.”
    The Inspector touched his forehead significantly with a grin at me. I was utterly bewildered, but I had faith in Poirot. Further discussion ended in our all driving back to Moreton with the Inspector. Poirot and I were taken to Grant, but a constable was to be present during the interview. Poirot went straight to the point.
    â€œGrant, I know you to be innocent of this crime. Relate to me in your own words exactly what happened.”
    The prisoner was a man of medium height, with a somewhat unpleasing cast of features. He looked a jailbird if ever a man did.
    â€œHonest to God, I never did it,” he whined. “Someone put those little glass figures amongst my traps. It was a frame-up, that’s what it was. I went straight to my rooms when I came in, like I said. I never knew a thing till Betsy screeched out. S’welp me, God, I didn’t.”
    Poirot rose.
    â€œIf you can’t tell me the truth, that is the end of it.”
    â€œBut, guv’nor—”
    â€œYou did go into the room—you did know your master was dead; and you were just preparing to make a bolt of it when the good Betsy made her terrible discovery.”
    The man stared at Poirot with a dropped jaw.
    â€œCome now, is it not so? I tell you solemnly—on my word of honour—that to be frank now is your only chance.”
    â€œI’ll risk it,” said the man suddenly. “It was just as you say. I came in, and went straight to the master—and there he was, dead on the floor and blood all round. Then I got the wind up proper. They’d ferret out my record, and for a certainty they’d say it was me as had done him in. My only thought was to get away—at once—before he was found—”
    â€œAnd the jade figures?”
    The man hesitated.
    â€œYou see—”
    â€œYou took them by a kind of reversion to instinct, as it were? You had heard your master say that they were valuable, and you felt you might as well go the whole hog. That, I understand. Now, answer me this. Was it the second time that you went into the room that you took the figures?”
    â€œI didn’t go in a second time. Once was enough for me.”
    â€œYou are sure of that?”
    â€œAbsolutely certain.”
    â€œGood. Now, when did you come out of prison?”
    â€œTwo months