Inspector Colgate considered.
“It’s difficult, that is. But it’s my opinion that if anyone tells enough lies, they’re bound to trip up in the end.”
Poirot nodded.
“Yes, that is very true. You see, it is only in my mind that certain statements are lies. I think that they are lies, but I cannot know that they are lies. But one might perhaps make a test—a test of one little not very noticeable lie. And if that were proved to be a lie—why then, one would know that all the rest were lies, too!”
Inspector Colgate looked at him curiously.
“Your mind works a funny way, doesn’t it, sir? But I dare say it comes out all right in the end. If you’ll excuse me asking, what put you on to asking about strangulation cases in general?”
Poirot said slowly:
“You have a word in your language—slick. This crime seemed to me a very slick crime! It made me wonder if, perhaps, it was not a first attempt.”
Inspector Colgate said:
“I see.”
Poirot went on:
“I said to myself, let us examine past crimes of a similar kind and if there is a crime that closely resembles this one—eh bien, we shall have there a very valuable clue.”
“You mean using the same method of death, sir?”
“No, no, I mean more than that. The death of Nellie Parsons for instance tells me nothing. But the death of Alice Corrigan—tell me, Inspector Colgate, do you not notice one striking form of similarity in this crime?”
Inspector Colgate turned the problem over in his mind. He said at last.
“No, sir, I can’t say that I do really. Unless it’s that in each case the husband has got a cast-iron alibi.”
Poirot said softly:
“Ah, so you have noticed that?”
IV
“Ha, Poirot. Glad to see you. Come in. Just the man I want.”
Hercule Poirot responded to the invitation.
The Chief Constable pushed over a box of cigarettes, took one himself and lighted it. Between puffs he said:
“I’ve decided, more or less, on a course of action. But I’d like your opinion on it before I act decisively.”
Hercule Poirot said:
“Tell me, my friend.”
Weston said:
“I’ve decided to call in Scotland Yard and hand the case over to them. In my opinion, although there have been grounds for suspicion against one or two people, the whole case hinges on dope smuggling. It seems clear to me that that place, Pixy’s Cave, was a definite rendezvous for the stuff.”
Poirot nodded.
“I agree.”
“Good man. And I’m pretty certain who our dope smuggler is. Horace Blatt.”