Flora came forward and laid her hand on my arm. “Oh! Dr. Sheppard, let us go at once to this M. Poirot. He will find out the truth.”

“My dear Flora,” I said gently, laying my hand on hers. “Are you quite sure it is the truth we want?”

She looked at me, nodding her head gravely. “You’re not sure,” she said. “I am. I know Ralph better than you do.”

“Of course he didn’t do it,” said Caroline, who had been keeping silent with great difficulty. “Ralph may be extravagant, but he’s a dear boy, and has the nicest manners.”