“The doubt lay in the identity of the murderer—but that is a doubt no longer!”
“Really? You know?”
“Let us say that I shall have definite proof in my hands tomorrow.”
Dr. Donaldson’s eyebrows rose in a slightly ironical fashion.
“Ah,” he said. “Tomorrow! Sometimes, M. Poirot, tomorrow is a long way off.”
“On the contrary,” said Poirot, “I always find that it succeeds today with monotonous regularity.”
Donaldson smiled. He rose.
“I fear I have wasted your time, M. Poirot.”
“Not at all. It is always as well to understand each other.”
With a slight bow Dr. Donaldson left the room.
Twenty-eight
ANOTHER VICTIM
“That is a clever man,” said Poirot thoughtfully.
“It’s rather difficult to know what he is driving at.”
“Yes. He is a little inhuman. But extremely perceptive.”
“That telephone call was from Mrs. Tanios.”
“So I gathered.”
I repeated the message. Poirot nodded approval.
“Good. All marches well. Twenty-four hours, Hastings, and I think we shall know exactly where we stand.”
“I’m still a little fogged. Who exactly do we suspect?”
“I really could not say who you suspect, Hasti
ngs! Everybody in turn, I should imagine!”
“Sometimes I think you like to get me into that state!”
“No, no, I would not amuse myself in such a way.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Poirot shook his head, but somewhat absently. I studied him.
“Is anything the matter?” I asked.
“My friend, I am always nervous towards the end of a case. If anything should go wrong—”
“Is anything likely to go wrong?”
“I do not think so.” He paused—frowning. “I have, I think, provided against every contingency.”