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The
young
man
's
eyes
twinkled
suddenly
.
"
This
is
where
I
'm
supposed
to
go
all
goosefleshy
down
the
back
.
In
the
words
of
a
best
seller
,
'
You
've
nothing
on
me
.
'
Ratchett
and
I
were
on
perfectly
good
terms
.
"
"
Perhaps
,
M.
MacQueen
,
you
will
give
me
your
full
name
and
your
address
in
America
.
"
MacQueen
gave
his
name
--
Hector
Willard
MacQueen
,
and
an
address
in
New
York
.
Poirot
leaned
back
against
the
cushions
.
"
That
is
all
for
the
present
,
M.
MacQueen
,
"
he
said
.
"
I
should
be
obliged
if
you
would
keep
the
matter
of
M.
Ratchett
's
death
to
yourself
for
a
little
time
.
"
"
His
valet
,
Masterman
,
will
have
to
know
.
"
"
He
probably
knows
already
,
"
said
Poirot
dryly
.
"
If
so
try
to
get
him
to
hold
his
tongue
.
"
"
That
ought
n't
to
be
difficult
.
He
's
a
Britisher
,
and
does
what
he
calls
'
Keeps
himself
to
himself
.
'
He
's
a
low
opinion
of
Americans
and
no
opinion
at
all
of
any
other
nationality
.
"
"
Thank
you
,
M.
MacQueen
.
"
