himself early on Saturday morning. That patient, though known by another name, I had no difficulty in identifying as Captain Paton. After certain necessary formalities, I was allowed to bring him away. He arrived at my house in the early hours of yesterday morning.”
I looked at him ruefully. “Caroline’s Home Office expert,” I murmured. “And to think I never guessed!”
“You see now why I drew attention to the reticence of your manuscript,” murmured Poirot. “It was strictly truthful as far as it went—but it did not go very far, eh, my friend?”
I was too abashed to argue.
“ Dr. Sheppard has been very loyal,” said Ralph. “He has stood by me through thick and thin. He did what he thought was best. I see now, from what M. Poirot has told me, that it was not really the best. I should have come forward and faced the music. You see, in the home, we never saw a newspaper. I knew nothing of what was going on.”
“ Dr. Sheppard has been a model of discretion,” said Poirot drily. “But me, I discover all the little secrets. It is my business.”
“Now we can have your story of what happened that night,” said Raymond impatiently.
“You know it already,” said Ralph. “There’s very little for me to add. I left the summerhouse about nine forty-five, and tramped about the lanes, trying to make up my mind as to what to do next—what line to take. I’m bound to admit that I’ve not the shadow of an alibi, but I give you my solemn word that I never went to the study, that I never saw my stepfather alive—or dead. Whatever the world thinks, I’d like all of you to believe me.”
“No alibi,” murmured Raymond. “That’s bad. I believe you, of course, but—it’s a bad business.”