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Since the piece of evidence I have imagined may not in fact exist. I have only deduced its existence from various scraps of conversation. I may,” said Poirot in a completely unconvinced tone, “be wrong.” Morton smiled. “But that doesn’t often happen to you?” “No. Though I will admit—yes, I am forced to admit—that it has happened to me.” “I must say I’m glad to hear it! To be always right must be sometimes monotonous.” “I do not find it so,” Poirot assured him.
He went into the study to find Inspector Morton and without a word handed him the telegram. Morton read it blankly. “I don’t understand a word of this.” “The time has come to tell you all.” Inspector Morton grinned. “You sound like a young lady in a Victorian melodrama.
