‘Indeed!’ Inspector Japp pounced on the statement.
Little Mr Clancy fairly squeaked with agitation.
‘You must not—er—misunderstand; my motives are quite innocent. I can explain…’
‘Yes, sir, perhaps you will explain.’
‘Well, you see, I was writing a book in which the murder was committed that way—’
‘Indeed—’
Again that threatening intonation. Mr Clancy hurried on:
‘It was all a question of fingerprints—if you understand me. It was necessary to have an illustration illustrating the point I meant—I mean—the fingerprints—the position of them—the position of them on the blowpipe, if you understand me, and having noticed such a thing—in the Charing Cross Road it was—at least two years ago now—and so I bought the blowpipe—and an artist friend of mine very kindly drew it for me—with the fingerprints—to illustrate my point. I can refer you to the book—The Clue of the Scarlet Petal—and my friend too.’
‘Did you keep the blowpipe?’
‘Why, yes—why, yes, I think so—I mean, yes, I did.’
‘And where is it now?’
‘Well, I suppose—well, it must be somewhere about.’
‘What exactly do you mean by somewhere about, Mr Clancy?’
‘I mean—well—somewhere—I can’t say where. I—I am not a very tidy man.’
‘It isn’t with you now, for instance?’
‘Certainly not. Why, I haven’t see the thing for nearly six months.’
Inspector Japp bent a glance of cold suspicion on him and continued his questions.
‘Did you leave your seat at all in the plane?’
‘No, certainly not—at least—well, yes, I did.’
‘Oh, you did. Where did you go?’
‘I went to get a continental Bradshaw out of my raincoat pocket. The raincoat was piled with some rugs and suitcases by the entrance at the end.’
‘So you passed close by the deceased’s seat?’
‘No—at least—well, yes, I must have done. But this was long before anything could have happened. I’d only just drunk my soup.’
Further questions drew negative answers. Mr Clancy had noticed nothing suspicious. He had been absorbed in the perfectioning of his cross-Europe
alibi.
‘Alibi, eh?’ said the inspector darkly.
Poirot intervened with a question about wasps.
Yes, Mr Clancy had noticed a wasp. It had attacked him. He was afraid of wasps. When was this? Just after the steward had brought him his coffee. He struck at it and it went away.
Mr Clancy’s name and address were taken and he was allowed to depart, which he did with relief on his face.
‘Looks a bit fishy to me,’ said Japp. ‘He actually had a blowpipe; and look at his manner. All to pieces.’