I followed his instructions, taking up my position by the baize
door, and wondering what on earth lay behind the request. Why
was I to stand in this particular spot on guard? I looked
thoughtfully down the corridor in front of me. An idea struck
me. With the exception of Cynthia Murdoch's, every one's room
was in this left wing. Had that anything to do with it? Was I to
report who came or went? I stood faithfully at my post. The
minutes passed. Nobody came. Nothing happened.

It must have been quite twenty minutes before Poirot rejoined me.

"You have not stirred?"

"No, I've stuck here like a rock. Nothing's happened."

"Ah!" Was he pleased, or disappointed? "You've seen nothing at
all?"

"No."

"But you have probably heard something? A big bump--eh, mon ami?"

"No."

"Is it possible? Ah, but I am vexed with myself! I am not usually
clumsy. I made but a slight gesture"--I know Poirot's
gestures--"with the left hand, and over went the table by the
bed!"

He looked so childishly vexed and crest-fallen that I hastened to