V“Deliver me, O Lord, from the evil man: and preserve me from the wicked man,” sang Mrs.

Olivera in a firm voice, slightly off the note.

There was a relentlessness¹ about her enunciation² of the sentiment which made Hercule Poirotdeduce that Mr. Howard Raikes was the wicked man immediately in her mind.

Hercule Poirot had accompanied his host and the family to the morning service in the villagechurch.

Howard Raikes had said with a faint sneer³: “So you always go to church, Mr. Blunt?”

And Alistair had murmured vaguely⁴ something about it being expected of you in the country—can’t let the parson down, you know—which typically English sentiment had merely bewilderedthe young man, and had made Hercule Poirot smile comprehendingly.

Mrs. Olivera had tactfully accompanied her host and commanded Jane to do likewise.

“They have sharpened their tongues like a serpent,” sang the choir⁵ boys in shrill⁶ treble,“adder’s poison is under their lips.”

The tenors⁷ and basses⁸ demanded with gusto:

“Keep me, O Lord, from the hands of the ungodly. Preserve me from the wicked men who arepurposed to overthrow⁹ my goings.”

Hercule Poirot essayed in a hesitant baritone.

“The proud have laid a snare¹⁰ for me,” he sang, “and spread a net with cords: yea, and settraps in my way….”

His mouth remained open.

He saw it—saw clearly the trap into which he had so nearly fallen!

Like a man in a trance Hercule Poirot remained, mouth open, staring into space. He remainedthere as the congregation seated themselves with a rustle¹¹; until Jane Olivera tugged¹² at his arm andmurmured a sharp, “Sit down.”

Hercule Poirot sat down. An aged¹³ clergyman with a beard intoned: “Here beginneth thefifteenth chapter of the First Book of Samuel,” and began to read.

But Poirot heard nothing of the smiting¹⁴ of the Amalekites.

A snare cunningly laid—a net with cords—a pit open at his feet—dug carefully so that heshould fall into it.

He was in a daze¹⁵—a glorious daze where isolated¹⁶ facts spun¹⁷ wildly round before settling neatlyinto their appointed places.

It was like a kaleidoscope—shoe buckles¹⁸, 10-inch stockings, a damaged face, the low tastes inliterature of Alfred the page boy, the activities of Mr. Amberiotis, and the part played by the lateMr. Morley, all rose up and whirled and settled themselves down into a coherent pattern.

For the first time, Hercule Poirot was looking at the case the right way up.

“For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft¹⁹ and stubborness is as iniquity²⁰ and idolatry. Becausethou hast rejected the word of the Lord he hath also rejected thee from being king. Here endeththe first lesson,” quavered the aged clergyman all in one breath.

As one in a dream, Hercule Poirot rose to praise the Lord in the Te Deum.

 

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