“So,” said Poirot thoughtfully, “there are two disappearances: the Prime Minister in France, and O’Murphy in London.”

He looked keenly at Lord Estair, who made a gesture of despair.

“I can only tell you, Monsieur Poirot, that, if anyone had suggested to me yesterday that O’Murphy was a traitor, I should have laughed in his face.”

“And today?”

“Today I do not know what to think.”

Poirot nodded gravely. He looked at his turnip of a watch again.

“I understand that I have carte blanche, messieurs⁠—in every way, I mean? I must be able to go where I choose, and how I choose.”