“To do a bunk,” he said graphically. “You see, Ursula left me to go back to the house. I thought it possible that she might have attempted to have another interview with my stepfather. He had already been very rude to her that afternoon. It occurred to me that he might have so insulted her—in such an unforgivable manner—that without knowing what she was doing——”
He stopped. Ursula released her hand from his, and stepped back.
“You thought that, Ralph! You actually thought that I might have done it?”
“Let us get back to the culpable conduct of Dr. Sheppard,” said Poirot dryly. “Dr. Sheppard consented to do what he could to help him. He was successful in hiding Captain Paton from the police.”
“Where?” asked Raymond. “In his own house?”
“Ah, no, indeed,” said Poirot. “You should ask yourself the question that I did. If the good doctor is concealing the young man, what place would he choose? It must necessarily be somewhere near at hand. I think of Cranchester. A hotel? No. Lodgings? Even more emphatically, no. Where, then? Ah! I have it. A nursing home. A home for the mentally unfit. I test my theory. I invent a nephew with mental trouble. I consult Mademoiselle Sheppard as to suitable homes. She gives me the names of two near Cranchester to which her brother has sent patients. I make inquiries. Yes, at one of them a patient was brought there by the doctor himself early on Saturday morning. That patient, though known by another name, I had no difficulty in identifying as Captain Paton. After certain necessary formalities, I was allowed to bring him away. He arrived at my house in the early hours of yesterday morning.”
I looked at him ruefully.
“Caroline’s Home Office expert,” I murmured. “And to think I never guessed!”
“You see now why I drew attention to the reticence of your manuscript,” murmured Poirot. “It was strictly truthful as far as it went—but it did not go very far, eh, my friend?”
I was too abashed to argue.