“Old chap’s getting on in years,” he observed beneath his breath to me. “That wont do for us young folk,” he said aloud. “_Quel dommage?_” Poirot inquired. “Well, do you want to hear what I’ve done?” “You permit me to make a guess? You have found the knife with which the crime was committed by the side of the line between Weston and Taunton, and you have interviewed the paper-boy who spoke to Mrs. Carrington at Weston!” * * * * * Japp’s jaw fell. “How on earth did you know? Don’t tell me it was those almighty ‘little gray cells’ of yours!” “I am glad you admit for once that they are _all mighty_! Tell me, did she give the paper-boy a shilling for himself?” “No, it was half a crown!” Japp recovered his temper and grinned. “Pretty extravagant, these rich Americans!” “And in consequence the boy did not forget her?” “Not he. Half-crowns don’t come his way every day. She hailed him and bought two magazines. One had a picture of a girl in blue on the cover. ‘That’ll match me,’ she said. Oh! he remembered her perfectly. Well, that was enough for me. By the doctor’s evidence, the crime _must_ have been committed before Taunton. I guessed they’d throw the knife away at once, and I walked down the line looking for it; and sure enough, there it was. I made inquiries at Taunton about our man, but of course it’s a big station, and it wasn’t likely they’d notice him. He probably got back to London by a later train.” Poirot nodded. “Very likely.” “But I found another bit of news when I got back. They’re passing the jewels, all right! That large emerald was pawned last night—by one of the regular lot. Who do you think it was?” “I don’t know—except that he was a short man.” Japp stared. “Well, you’re right there. He’s short enough. It was Red Narky.” “Who on earth is Red Narky?” I asked. “A particularly sharp jewel-thief, sir. And not one to stick at murder. Usually works with a woman—Gracie Kidd; but she doesn’t seem to be in it this time—unless she’s got off to Holland with the rest of the swag.” “You’ve arrested Narky?” “Sure thing. But mind you, it’s the other man we want—the man who went down with Mrs. Carrington in the train. He was the one who planned the job, right enough. But Narky wont squeal on a pal.” I noticed that Poirot’s eyes had become very green. “I think,” he said gently, “that I can find Narky’s pal for you, all right.” “One of your little ideas, eh?” Japp eyed Poirot sharply. “Wonderful how you manage to deliver the goods sometimes, at your age and all. Devil’s own luck, of course.” “Perhaps, perhaps,” murmured my friend. “Hastings, my hat. And the brush. So! My galoshes if it still rains! We must not undo the good work of that _tisano_. Au revoir, Japp!” “Good luck to you, Poirot.” Poirot hailed the first taxi we met, and directed the driver to Park Lane. * * * * *