My chief puzzle was what the man Charles Kent could have been doing at Fernly. Again and again I put the question to myself and could get no satisfactory reply. At last I ventured a tentative query to Poirot. His reply was immediate.

“ Mon ami , I do not think; I know.”

“Really?” I said incredulously.

“Yes, indeed. I suppose now that to you it would not make sense if I said that he went to Fernly that night because he was born in Kent?”

I stared at him. “It certainly doesn’t seem to make sense to me,” I said drily.

“Ah!” said Poirot pityingly. “Well, no matter. I have still my little idea.”