I thought for a minute or two. “Perhaps you are right,” I said at last. “All along I’ve felt that Flora was keeping back something⁠—so the truth, when it came, was subconsciously expected. It upset Inspector Raglan very much indeed, poor man.”

“Ah! pour ça, oui! The poor man must rearrange all his ideas. I profited by his state of mental chaos to induce him to grant me a little favour.”

“What was that?”

Poirot took a sheet of notepaper from his pocket. Some words were written on it, and he read them aloud.