you English say--a method."
His eyes met those of Miss Henderson for just a
minute. He began unwrapping the bulky object.
"I have here, Messieurs and Mesdames, an im-portant
witness to the truth of who killed Mrs.
Clapperton." With a deft hand he whisked away
the last enveloping cloth, and the object it con-cealed
was revealed--an almost life-sized wooden
doll, dressed in a velvet suit and lace collar.
"Now, Arthur," said Poirot and his voice
changed subtly--it was no longer foreign--it had
instead a confident English, a slightly Cockney in-flection.
"Can you tell me--I repeatmcan you tell
me--anything at all about the death of Mrs. Clap-perton?"
The doll's neck oscillated a little, its wooden
lower jaw dropped and wavered and a shrill high-pitched
woman's voice spoke:
"What is it, John? The door's locked. I don't
want to be disturbed by the stewards .... "
There was a cryman overturned chair--a man
stood swaying, his hand to his throat--trying to
speak--trying . . . Then suddenly, his figure
seemed to crumple up. He pitched headlong.
It was Colonel Clapperton.
Poirot and the ship's doctor rose from their
knees by the prostrate figure.
"All over, I'm afraid. Heart," said the doctor
briefly.
Poirot nodded. "The shock of having his trick
seen through," he said.