of paper Dorcas saw in her hand yesterday afternoon. And I--"
his anger burst forth freely--"miserable animal that I am! I
guessed nothing! I have behaved like an imbecile! I should never
have left that case here. I should have carried it away with me.
Ah, triple pig! And now it is gone. It is destroyed--but is it
destroyed? Is there not yet a chance--we must leave no stone
unturned--"

He rushed like a madman from the room, and I followed him as soon
as I had sufficiently recovered my wits. But, by the time I had
reached the top of the stairs, he was out of sight.

Mary Cavendish was standing where the staircase branched, staring
down into the hall in the direction in which he had disappeared.

"What has happened to your extraordinary little friend, Mr.
Hastings? He has just rushed past me like a mad bull."

"He's rather upset about something," I remarked feebly. I really
did not know how much Poirot would wish me to disclose. As I saw
a faint smile gather on Mrs. Cavendish's expressive mouth, I
endeavoured to try and turn the conversation by saying: "They
haven't met yet, have they?"

"Who?"

"Mr. Inglethorp and Miss Howard."

She looked at me in rather a disconcerting manner.