“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.”

“It makes things very simple, though,” said Poirot, in a cheerful voice. “Very simple indeed.”

We all stared at him.

“You see what I mean? No? Just this⁠—to save Captain Paton the real criminal must confess.”