夜雨聆风It was on the following day that I ventured to broach an idea which hadcome into my mind more than once. I did so a little dubiously, for onenever knows how Poirot may react!
I said: ‘I’ve been thinking, Poirot, I know I’m not much of a fellow.
You’ve said I’m stupid – well, in a way it’s true. And I’m only half the manI was. Since Cinders’s death –’
I stopped. Poirot made a gruff noise indicative of sympathy.
I went on: ‘But there is a man here who could help us – just the kind ofman we need. Brains, imagination, resource – used to taking decisions anda man of wide experience. I’m talking of Boyd Carrington. He’s the manwe want, Poirot. Take him into your confidence. Put the whole thing be-fore him.’
Poirot opened his eyes and said with immense decision: ‘Certainly not.’
‘But why not? You can’t deny that he’s clever – a good deal cleverer thanI am.’
‘THAT,’ said Poirot with biting sarcasm, ‘would be easy. But dismiss theidea from your mind, Hastings. We take no one into our confidence. That isunderstood – hein? You comprehend, I forbid you to speak of this matter.’
