"See here, it was like this," he said at last. "There was
something in that case--some piece of evidence, slight in itself
perhaps, but still enough of a clue to connect the murderer with
the crime. It was vital to him that it should be destroyed
before it was discovered and its significance appreciated.
Therefore, he took the risk, the great risk, of coming in here.
Finding the case locked, he was obliged to force it, thus
betraying his presence. For him to take that risk, it must have
been something of great importance."
"But what was it?"
"Ah!" cried Poirot, with a gesture of anger. "That, I do not
know! A document of some kind, without doubt, possibly the scrap
of paper Dorcas saw in her hand yesterday afternoon. And I--"
his anger burst forth freely--"miserable animal that I am! I
guessed nothing! I have behaved like an imbecile! I should never
have left that case here. I should have carried it away with me.
Ah, triple pig! And now it is gone. It is destroyed--but is it
destroyed? Is there not yet a chance--we must leave no stone
unturned--"
He rushed like a madman from the room, and I followed him as soon
as I had sufficiently recovered my wits.
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