“The first one that occurs to me is that you yourself do not know who the guilty person is, but that you are sure that he is to be found amongst the people here tonight. Therefore your words were intended to force a confession from the unknown murderer?”
Poirot nodded approvingly. “A clever idea, but not the truth.”
“I thought, perhaps, that by making him believe you knew, you might force him out into the open—not necessarily by confession. He might try to silence you as he formerly silenced Mr. Ackroyd—before you could act tomorrow morning.”
“A trap with myself as the bait! Merci, mon ami , but I am not sufficiently heroic for that.”
“Then I fail to understand you. Surely you are running the risk of letting the murderer escape by thus putting him on his guard?”
Poirot shook his head. “He cannot escape,” he said gravely. “There is only one way out—and that way does not lead to freedom.”
“You really believe that one of those people here tonight committed the murder?” I asked incredulously.
“Yes, my friend.”
“Which one?”
There was a silence for some minutes. Then Poirot tossed the stump of his cigarette into the grate and began to speak in a quiet, reflective tone.
“I will take you the way that I have travelled myself. Step by step you shall accompany me, and see for yourself that all the facts point indisputably to one person. Now, to begin with, there were two facts and one little discrepancy in time which especially attracted my attention. The first fact