Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "That is the best I can do for you."

"Medical, eh?" said the Inspector. "Well, yes, that is a third way of looking at it. He was shot, he suspected he was dying, he wanted something done for him quicklyAnd if, as Lady Angkatell says. Miss Savernake was the first person he saw when his eyes opened, then he would appeal to her …It's not very satisfactory, though."

"Nothing about this case is satisfactory," said Poirot with some bitterness.

A murder scene, set and staged to deceive Hercule Poirot-and which had deceived him! No, it was not satisfactory.

Inspector Grange was looking out of the window.

"Hullo," he said, "here's Coombes, my Sergeant. Looks as though he's got something.

He's been working on the servants-the friendly touch. He's a nice-looking chap, got a way with women."

Sergeant Coombes came in a little breathlessly.

He was clearly pleased with himself, though subduing the fact under a respectful official manner.

"Thought I'd better come and report, sir, since I knew where you'd gone."

He hesitated, shooting a doubtful glance at Poirot, whose exotic foreign appearance did not commend itself to his sense of official reticence.

"Out with it, my lad," said Grange. "Never mind M. Poirot here. He's forgotten more about this game than you'll know for many years to come."

"Yes, sir. It's this way, sir. I got something out of the kitchen maid-"

Grange interrupted. He turned to Poirot triumphantly.

"What did I tell you? There's always hope where there's a kitchen maid. Heaven help us when domestic staffs are so reduced that nobody keeps a kitchen maid any more.

Kitchen maids talk, kitchen maids babble.

They're so kept down and in their place by the cook and the upper servants that it's only human nature to talk about what they know to someone who wants to hear it. Go on, Coombes."

"This is what the girl says, sir. That on Sunday afternoon she saw Gudgeon, the butler, walking across the hall with a revolver in his hand."

"Gudgeon?"

"Yes, sir." Coombes referred to a notebook.

"These are her own words. (I don't know what to do, but I think I ought to say what I saw that day. I saw Mr. Gudgeon; he was standing in the hall with a revolver in his hand. Mr. Gudgeon looked very peculiar indeed.' "I don't suppose," said Coombes, breaking off, "that the part about looking peculiar means anything. She probably put that in out of her head. But I thought you ought to know about it at once, sir."

Inspector Grange rose, with the satisfaction of a man who sees a task ahead of him which he is well fitted to perform.

"Gudgeon?" he said. "I'll have a word with Mr. Gudgeon right away."