"Your name, it is Charles Kent," said Poirot. "Where were you born?"
The man stared at him, then he grinned.
"I'm a full-blown Britisher all right," he said.
"Yes," said Poirot meditatively, "I think you are. I fancy you were born in Kent."
The man stared.
"Why's that? Because of my name? What's that to do with it? Is a man whose name is Kent bound to be born in that particular county?"
"Under certain circumstances, I can imagine he might be," said Poirot very deliberately. "Under certain circumstances, you comprehend."
There was so much meaning in his voice as to surprise the two police officers. As for Charles Kent, he flushed a brick red, and for a moment I thought he was going to spring at Poirot. He thought better of it, however, and turned away with a kind of laugh.
Poirot nodded as though satisfied, and made his way out through the door. He was joined presently by the two officers.
"We'll verify that statement," remarked Raglan. "I don't think he's lying, though. But he's got to come clear with a statement as to what he was doing at Fernly. It looks to me as though we'd got our blackmailer all right. On the other hand, granted his story's correct, he couldn't have had anything to do with the actual murder. He'd got ten pounds on him when he was arrested—rather a large sum. I fancy that forty pounds went to him—the numbers of the notes didn't correspond, but of course
[223]
