Poirot nodded.
“Can you describe him?”
Again Father Lavigny frowned in thought.
“He was rather a short man,” he said at last, “and squarely built. He had a very noticeable squint and was of fair complexion.”
Mr. Poirot turned to me.
“Does that agree with the way you would describe him?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” I said hesitatingly. “I should have said he was tall rather than short, and very dark-complexioned. He seemed to me of a rather slender build. I didn’t notice any squint.”
Mr. Poirot gave a despairing shrug of the shoulders.
“It is always so! If you were of the police how well you would know it! The description of the same man by two different people—never does it agree. Every detail is contradicted.”
“I’m fairly sure about the squint,” said Father Lavigny. “Nurse Leatheran may be right about the other points. By the way, when I said fair, I only meant fair for an Iraqi. I expect nurse would call that dark.”
“Very dark,” I said obstinately. “A dirty dark-yellow colour.”
I saw Dr. Reilly bite his lips and smile.
Poirot threw up his hands.
“Passons!” he said. “This stranger hanging about, he may be important—he may not. At any rate he must be found. Let us continue our inquiry.”
He hesitated for a minute, studying the faces turned towards him round the table, then, with a quick nod, he singled out Mr. Reiter.
“Come, my friend,” he said. “Let us have your account of yesterday afternoon.”
Mr. Reiter’s pink, plump face flushed scarlet.
“Me?” he said.
“Yes, you. To begin with, your name and your age?”
“Carl Reiter, twenty-eight.”
“American—yes?”
“Yes, I come from Chicago.”
“This is your first season?”
“Yes. I’m in charge of the photography.”
“Ah, yes. And yesterday afternoon, how did you employ yourself?”
“Well—I was in the darkroom most of the time.”
“Most of the time—eh?”
“Yes. I developed some plates first. Afterwards I was fixing up some objects to photograph.”
“Outside?”
“Oh no, in the photographic room.”