"You said this 'ridiculous' accusation. But it is not that, you know.""I did not kill Arnold Clayton.""Call it then a false accusation. Say the accusation is not true. But it is not ridiculous. On thecontrary, it is highly plausible. You must know that very well.""I can only tell you that to me it seems fantastic.""Saying that will be of very little use to you. We must think of something more useful than that.""I am represented by solicitors. They have briefed, I understand, eminent counsel to appear for mydefence. I cannot accept your use of the word 'we.'"Unexpectedly Poirot smiled.

"Ah," he said, in his most foreign manner, "that is the flea in the ear you give me. Very well. I go.

I wanted to see you. I have seen you. Already I have looked up your career. You passed high upinto Sandhurst. You passed into the Staff College. And so on and so on. I have made my ownjudgement of you today. You are not a stupid man.""And what has all that got to do with it?""Everything! It is impossible that a man of your ability should commit a murder in the way thisone was committed. Very well. You are innocent. Tell me now about your manservant Burgess.""Burgess?""Yes. If you didn't kill Clayton, Burgess must have done so. The conclusion seems inescapable.

But why? There must be a 'why?' You are the only person who knows Burgess well enough tomake a guess at it. Why, Major Rich, why?""I can't imagine. I simply can't see it. Oh, I've followed the same line of reasoning as you have.

Yes, Burgess had opportunity - the only person who had except myself. The trouble is, I just can'tbelieve it. Burgess is not the sort of man you can imagine murdering anybody.""What do your legal advisers think?"Rich's lips set in a grim line.

"My legal advisers spend their time asking me, in a persuasive way, if it isn't true that I havesuffered all my life from blackouts when I don't really know what I am doing!""As bad as that," said Poirot. "Well, perhaps we shall find it is Burgess who is subject to blackouts.

It is always an idea. The weapon now. They showed it to you and asked you if it was yours?""It was not mine. I had never seen it before.""It was not yours, no. But are you quite sure you had never seen it before?""No." Was there a faint hesitation. "It's a kind of ornamental toy - really - one sees things like thatlying about in people's houses.""In a woman's drawing room, perhaps. Perhaps in Mrs. Clayton's drawing room?""Certainly not!"The last word came out loudly and the warder looked up.

"Très bien. Certainly not - and there is no need to shout. But somewhere, at some time, you haveseen something very like it. Eh? I am right?""I do not think so. In some curio shop... perhaps.""Ah, very likely." Poirot rose. "I take my leave.""And now," said Hercule Poirot, "for Burgess. Yes, at long last, for Burgess."He had learned something about the people in the case, from themselves and from each other. Butnobody had given him any knowledge of Burgess. No clue, no hint, of what kind of a man he was.

When he saw Burgess he realized why.

The valet was waiting for him at Major Rich's flat, apprised of his arrival by a telephone call fromCommander McLaren.

"I am M. Hercule Poirot."

"Yes, sir, I was expecting you."

Burgess held back the door with a deferential hand and Poirot entered. A small square entrancehall, a door on the left, open, leading into the sitting room. Burgess relieved Poirot of his hat andcoat, and followed him into the sitting room.

"Ah," said Poirot looking round. "It was here, then, that it happened?""Yes, sir."A quiet fellow, Burgess, white-faced, a little weedy. Awkward shoulders and elbows. A flat voicewith a provincial accent that Poirot did not know. From the east coast, perhaps. Rather a nervousman, perhaps - but otherwise no definite characteristics. It was hard to associate him with positiveaction of any kind. Could one postulate a negative killer?

He had those pale blue, rather shifty eyes that observant people often equate with dishonesty. Yeta liar can look you in the face with a bold and confident eye.

"What is happening to the flat?" Poirot inquired.

"I'm still looking after it, sir. Major Rich arranged for my pay and to keep it nice until - until -"The eyes shifted uncomfortably.

"Until -" agreed Poirot.

He added in a matter-of-fact manner: "I should say that Major Rich will almost certainly becommitted for trial. The case will come up probably within three months."Burgess shook his head, not in denial, simply in perplexity.

"It really doesn't seem possible," he said.

"That Major Rich should be a murderer?"

"The whole thing. That chest -"

His eyes went across the room.

"Ah, so that is the famous chest?"

It was a mammoth piece of furniture of very dark polished wood, studded with brass, with a greatbrass hasp and antique lock.

"A handsome affair." Poirot went over to it.

It stood against the wall near the window, next to a modern cabinet for holding records. On theother side of it was a door, half ajar. The door was partly masked by a big painted leather screen.

"That leads into Major Rich's bedroom," said Burgess.

Poirot nodded. His eyes traveled to the other side of the room. There were two stereophonic recordplayers, each on a low table, trailing snake-like electrical cord. There were easy chairs - a bigtable. On the walls were a set of Japanese prints. It was a handsome room, comfortable, but notluxurious.

He looked back at William Burgess.