“And you, Sir George? Could you say if it was a man or a woman?”
“I didn’t see anyone myself.”
Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Then he skipped suddenly to his feet and went over to the writing table.
“I can assure you that the plans are not there,” said Lord Mayfield. “We have all three been through those papers half a dozen times.”
“All three? You mean, your secretary also?”
“Yes, Carlile.”
Poirot turned suddenly.
“Tell me, Lord Mayfield, which paper was on top when you went over to the desk?”
Mayfield frowned a little in the effort of remembrance.
“Let me see—yes, it was a rough memorandum of some sort of our air defence positions.”
Deftly, Poirot nipped out a paper and brought it over.
“Is this the one, Lord Mayfield?”
Lord Mayfield took it and glanced over it.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
Poirot took it over to Carrington.
“Did you notice this paper on the desk?”
Sir George took it, held it away from him, then slipped on his pince-nez.
“Yes, that’s right. I looked through them too, with Carlile and Mayfield. This was on top.”
Poirot nodded thoughtfully. He replaced the paper on the desk. Mayfield looked at him in a slightly puzzled manner.
“If there are any other questions—” he began.
“But yes, certainly there is a question. Carlile. Carlile is the question!”
Lord Mayfield’s colour rose a little.
“Carlile, M. Poirot, is quite above suspicion! He has been my confidential secretary for nine years. He has access to all my private papers, and I may point out to you that he could have made a copy of the plans and a tracing of the specifications quite easily without anyone being the wiser.”
“I appreciate your point,” said Poirot. “If he had been guilty there would be no need for him to stage a clumsy robbery.”
“In any case,” said Lord Mayfield, “I am sure of Carlile. I will guarantee him.”
“Carlile,” said Carrington gruffly, “is all right.”
Poirot spread out his hands gracefully.
“And this Mrs. Vanderlyn—she is all wrong?”
“She’s a wrong ’un all right,” said Sir George.
Lord Mayfield said in more measured tones: