said Poirot primly, and I bit my lips to prevent a smile.
The little man really did it very well.
After some further parley, we were taken to interview the prisoner.
He was a young fellow, I should say not more than twenty-two or three. Tall, thin, with slightly shaking hands, and the evidences of considerable physical strength somewhat run to seed. His hair was dark, but his eyes were blue and shifty, seldom meeting a glance squarely. I had all along cherished the illusion that there was something familiar about the figure I had met that night, but if this were indeed he, I was completely mistaken. He did not remind me in the least of any one I knew.
"Now then, Kent," said the superintendent, "stand up. Here are some visitors come to see you. Recognize any of them."
Kent glared at us sullenly, but did not reply. I saw his glance waver over the three of us, and come to rest on me.
"Well, sir," said the superintendent to me, "what do you say?"
"The height's the same," I said, "and as far as general appearance goes it might well be the man in question. Beyond that, I couldn't go."
"What the hell's the meaning of all this?" asked Kent. "What have you got against me? Come on, out with it! What am I supposed to have done?"
I nodded my head.
"It's the man," I said. "I recognize the voice."
[220]
