took a sheet of paper, and amused myself by scribbling notes upon it. My friend's voice aroused me. He had come out of his reverie, and was looking brisk and alert.
"Que faites vous là, mon ami?"
"I was jotting down what occurred to me as the main points of interest in this affair."
"You become methodical—at last!" said Poirot approvingly.
I concealed my pleasure. "Shall I read them to you?"
"By all means."
I cleared my throat.
"'One: All the evidence points to Lowen having been the man who forced the safe.
"'Two: He had a grudge against Davenheim.
"'Three: He lied in his first statement that he had never left the study.
"'Four: If you accept Billy Kellett's story as true, Lowen is unmistakably implicated.'"
I paused. "Well?" I asked, for I felt that I had put my finger on all the vital facts.
Poirot looked at me pityingly, shaking his head very gently. "Mon pau'vre ami! But it is that you have not the gift! The important
