And on Carter's side, there was nothing at all to be said.
He could offer no alternative explanation, except that somebody else must have shot off the revolver.
He kept repeating that.
It was a frame-up.
No, there was nothing to be said for Carter except, perhaps, that it seemed an odd coincidence that Howard Raikes should have been present two days running at the moment when a bullet had just missed Alistair Blunt.
But presumably there wasn't anything in that.
Raikes certainly hadn't fired the shot in Downing Street.
And his presence down here was fully accounted for – he had come down to be near his girl.
No, there was nothing definitely improbable in his story.
It had turned out, of course, very fortunately for Howard Raikes.
When a man has just saved you from a bullet, you cannot forbid him the house.
The least you can do is to show friendliness and extend hospitality.
Mrs. Olivera didn't like it, obviously, but even she saw that there was nothing to be done about it.
Jane's undesirable young man had got his foot in and he meant to keep it there!
Poirot watched him speculatively during the evening.
He was playing his part with a good deal of astuteness.
He did not air any subversive views, he kept off politics.
He told amusing stories of his hitchhikes and tramps in wild places.
"He is no longer the wolf," thought Poirot.
"No, he has put on the sheep's clothing.
But underneath?
I wonder…"
As Poirot was preparing for bed that night, there was a rap on the door.
Poirot called, "Come in," and Howard Raikes entered.
He laughed at Poirot's expression.
"Surprised to see me?
I've had my eye on you all evening.
I didn't like the way you were looking.
Kind of thoughtful."
"Why should that worry you, my friend?"
"I don't know why, but it did.
I thought maybe that you were finding certain things just a bit hard to swallow."
"Eh bien?
And if so?"
"Well, I decided that I'd best come clean. About yesterday, I mean.
That was a fake show all right! You see, I was watching his lordship come out of 10 Downing Street and I saw Ram Lal fire at him.
I know Ram Lal. He's a nice kid.
A bit excitable but he feels the wrongs of India very keenly.
Well, there was no harm done, that precious pair of stuffed shirts weren't harmed – the bullet had missed 'em both by miles – so I decided to put up a show and hope the Indian kid would get clear.
I grabbed hold of a shabby little guy just by me and called out that I'd got the villain and hoped Ram Lal was beating it all right.
But the dicks were too smart. They were onto him in a flash. That's just how it was. See?"
Hercule Poirot said: "And today?"
"That's different.
There weren't any Ram Lals about today.
Carter was the only man on the spot.
He fired that pistol all right!
It was still in his hand when I jumped on him.
He was going to try a second shot, I expect."
Poirot said: "You were very anxious to preserve the safety of M. Blunt?"
Raikes grinned – an engaging grin.