His eyes challenged us. “But I⁠—Hercule Poirot⁠—tell you that it is not so! The true clues are within⁠— here !” He tapped his forehead. “See you, I need not have left London. It would have been sufficient for me to sit quietly in my rooms there. All that matters is the little grey cells within. Secretly and silently they do their part, until suddenly I call for a map, and I lay my finger on a spot⁠—so⁠—and I say: the Prime Minister is there ! And it is so! With method and logic one can accomplish anything! This frantic rushing to France was a mistake⁠—it is playing a child’s game of hide-and-seek. But now, though it may be too late, I will set to work the right way, from within. Silence, my friends, I beg of you.”

And for five long hours the little man sat motionless, blinking his eyelids like a cat, his green eyes flickering and becoming steadily greener and greener. The Scotland Yard man was obviously contemptuous, Major Norman was bored and impatient, and I myself found the time pass with wearisome slowness.