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"
If
those
walls
could
speak
,
"
I
murmured
.
Poirot
shook
his
head
.
"
A
tongue
is
not
enough
,
"
he
said
.
They
would
have
to
have
also
eyes
and
ears
.
But
do
not
be
too
sure
that
these
dead
things
"
–
he
touched
the
top
of
the
bookcase
as
he
spoke
–
"
are
always
dumb
.
To
me
they
speak
sometimes
–
chairs
,
tables
–
they
have
their
message
!
"
He
turned
away
towards
the
door
.
"
What
message
?
"
I
cried
.
"
What
have
they
said
to
you
today
?
"
He
looked
over
his
shoulder
and
raised
one
eyebrow
quizzically
.
"
An
opened
window
,
"
he
said
.
"
A
locked
door
.
A
chair
that
apparently
moved
itself
.
To
all
three
I
say
"
Why
?
"
and
I
find
no
answer
.
"
He
shook
his
head
,
puffed
out
his
chest
,
and
stood
blinking
at
us
.
He
looked
ridiculously
full
of
his
own
importance
.
It
crossed
my
mind
to
wonder
whether
he
was
really
any
good
as
a
detective
.
Had
his
big
reputation
been
built
up
on
a
series
of
lucky
chances
?
"
I
think
the
same
thought
must
have
occurred
to
Colonel
Melrose
,
for
he
frowned
.
"
Anything
more
you
want
to
see
,
M
.
Poirot
?
"
he
inquired
brusquely
.
"
You
would
perhaps
be
so
kind
as
to
show
me
the
silver
table
from
which
the
weapon
was
taken
?
After
that
,
I
will
trespass
on
your
kindness
no
longer
.
"
We
went
to
the
drawing
-
room
,
but
on
the
way
the
constable
waylaid
the
colonel
,
and
after
a
muttered
conversation
the
latter
excused
himself
and
left
us
together
.
I
showed
Poirot
the
silver
table
,
and
after
raising
the
lid
once
or
twice
and
letting
it
fall
,
he
pushed
open
the
window
and
stepped
out
on
the
terrace
.
I
followed
him
.
Inspector
Raglan
had
just
turned
the
corner
of
the
house
,
and
was
coming
towards
us
.
His
face
looked
grim
and
satisfied
.
