“But⁠—just that, monsieur. Every one of you in this room is concealing something from me.” He raised his hand as a faint murmur of protest arose. “Yes, yes, I know what I am saying. It may be something unimportant⁠—trivial⁠—which is supposed to have no bearing on the case, but there it is. Each one of you has something to hide. Come now, am I right?”

His glance, challenging and accusing, swept round the table. And every pair of eyes dropped before his. Yes, mine as well.

“I am answered,” said Poirot, with a curious laugh. He got up from his seat. “I appeal to you all. Tell me the truth⁠—the whole truth.” There was a silence. “Will no one speak?”

He gave the same short laugh again.

“ C’est dommage ,” he said, and went out.