chest, the final touch of moving the screen. Not so
that Clayton can raise the lid a little and get
relief--no, so that he, Curtiss, can raise that lid
unobserved. The plan is Curtiss', and observe the
beauty of it, Hastings. If Rich had observed the
screen was out of place and moved it back--well,
no harm is done. He can make another plan.
Clayton hides in the chest, the mild narcotic that
Curtiss had administered takes effect. He sinks
into unconsciousness. Curtiss lifts up the lid and
strikes--and the phonograph goes on playing
Walking My Baby Back Home."
I found my voice. "Why? But why?"
Poirot shrugged his shoulders.
"Why did a man shoot himself? Why did two
Italians fight a duel? Curtiss is of a dark passion-ate
temperament. He wanted Marguerita Clayton.
With her husband and Rich out of the way, she
would, or so he thought, turn to him."
He added musingly:
"These simple childlike women . . . they are
very dangerous. But mon Dieu.t what an artistic
masterpiece! It goes to my heart to hang a man
like that. I may be a genius myself, but I am
capable of recognizing genius in other people. A
perfect murder, mon ami. I, Hercule Poirot, say it
to you. A perfect murder, tpatant,t''
How Does your
Garden Grow?
Hercule Poirot arranged his letters in a neat pile in