gram was handed to Poirot about eleven o'clock the next day. At his request I opened it and read it out:
"'Husband and wife have occupied separate rooms since last winter.'"
"Aha!" cried Poirot. "And now we are in mid June! All is solved!"
I stared at him.
"You have no moneys in the bank of Davenheim and Salmon, mon ami?"
"No," I said, wondering. "Why?"
"Because I should advise you to withdraw it—before it is too late."
"Why, what do you expect?"
"I expect a big smash in a few days—perhaps sooner. Which reminds me, we will return the compliment of a dépêche to Japp. A pencil, I pray you, and a form. Voilà! 'Advise you to withdraw any money deposited with firm in question.' That will intrigue him, the good Japp! His eyes will open wide—wide! He will not comprehend in the slightest—until tomorrow, or the next day!"
I remained sceptical, but the morrow forced me to render tribute to my friend's remarkable
