“But I don’t,” cried Ursula, almost in a wail. “That’s just it, I don’t.”

“Isn’t he detained at Liverpool?” asked Raymond. “It said so in the paper.”

“He is not at Liverpool,” said Poirot shortly.

“In fact,” I remarked, “no one knows where he is.”

“Except Hercule Poirot, eh?” said Raymond.

Poirot replied seriously to the other’s banter. “I know everything. Remember that.”

Geoffrey Raymond lifted his eyebrows.

“Everything?” He whistled. “Whew! that’s a tall order.”

“Do you mean to say you can really guess where Ralph Paton is hiding?” I asked incredulously.

“You call it guessing. I call it knowing, my friend.”