But the detective, entering into the spirit of the joke, had remembered it so well that a telegram was handed to Poirot about eleven o’clock the next day. At his request I opened it and read it out:

“ ‘Husband and wife have occupied separate rooms since last winter.’ ”

“Aha!” cried Poirot. “And now we are in mid June! All is solved!”

I stared at him.

“You have no moneys in the bank of Davenheim and Salmon, mon ami ?”

“No,” I said, wondering. “Why?”

“Because I should advise you to withdraw it⁠—before it is too late.”

“Why, what do you expect?”