A glass was brought him. He sipped it whilst his complexion gradually returned to the normal.
“Me?” he said. “Why me?”
“It looks like it,” said Crome. “In fact, it’s the only explanation.”
“You mean that this man—this—this fiend incarnate—this bloodthirsty madman has been following me about waiting for an opportunity?”
“I should say that was the way of it.”
“But in heaven’s name, why me?” demanded the outraged schoolmaster.
Inspector Crome struggled with the temptation to reply: “Why not?” and said instead: “I’m afraid it’s no good expecting a lunatic to have reasons for what he does.”
“God bless my soul,” said Mr. Downes, sobered into whispering.
He got up. He looked suddenly old and shaken.
“If you don’t want me any more, gentlemen, I think I’ll go home. I—I don’t feel very well.”
“That’s quite all right, Mr. Downes. I’ll send a constable with you—just to see you’re all right.”
“Oh, no—no, thank you. That’s not necessary.”
“Might as well,” said Colonel Anderson gruffly.
His eyes slid sideways, asking an imperceptible question of the inspector. The latter gave an equally imperceptible nod.
Mr. Downes went out shakily.
“Just as well he didn’t tumble to it,” said Colonel Anderson. “There’ll be a couple of them—eh?”
“Yes, sir. Your Inspector Rice has made arrangements. The house will be watched.”
“You think,” said Po
irot, “that when A B C finds out his mistake he might try again?”
Anderson nodded.
“It’s a possibility,” he said. “Seems a methodical sort of chap, A B C. It will upset him if things don’t go according to programme.”
Poirot nodded thoughtfully.
“Wish we could get a description of the fellow,” said Colonel Anderson irritably. “We’re as much in the dark as ever.”
“It may come,” said Poirot.
“Think so? Well, it’s possible. Damn it all, hasn’t anyone got eyes in their head?”
“Have patience,” said Poirot.
“You seem very confident, M. Poirot. Got any reason for this optimism?”
“Yes, Colonel Anderson. Up to now, the murderer has not made a mistake. He is bound to make one soon.”
“If that’s all you’ve got to go on,” began the Chief Constable with a snort, but he was interrupted.
“Mr. Ball of the Black Swan is here with a young woman, sir. He reckons he’s got summat to say might help you.”