'One can see by his face that he was stabbed in the back,' remarked Poirot.

Very gently, he turned the dead man over. There, between the shoulder-blades staining the light fawn overcoat, was a round dark patch. In the middle of it there was a slit in the cloth. Poirot examined it narrowly.

'Have you any idea with what weapon the crime was committed?'

'It was left in the wound.' The commissary reached down a large glass jar. In it was a small object that looked to me more like a paper knife than anything else. It had a black handle and a narrow shining blade. The whole thing was not more than ten inches long. Poirot tested the discoloured point gingerly with his fingertip.

'[unclear] but it is sharp! A nice little tool for murder?

'Unfortunately, we couldn't find any trace of fingerprints on it,' remarked Bex regretfully. 'The murderer must have worn gloves.'

'Of course he did,' said Poirot contemptuously. 'Even in Santiago they know enough for that. The veriest amateur of an English Mees knows it-thanks to the publicity the Bertillon system has been given in the Press. All the same, it interests me very much that there were no fingerprints. It is so amazingly simple to leave the fingerprints of someone else! And then the police are happy.' He shook his head. 'I very much fear our criminal is not a man of method-either that or he was pressed for time. But we shall see.'

He let the body fall back into its original position.

'He wore only underclothes under his overcoat, I see,' he remarked.

'Yes, the examining magistrate thinks that is rather a curious point.'

At this minute there was a tap on the door which Bex had closed after him. He strode forward and opened it. Francoise was there. She endeavoured to peep in with ghoulish curiosity.

'Well, what is it?' demanded Bex impatiently.

'Madame. She sends a message that she is much recovered and is quite ready to receive the examining magistrate.'

'Good,' said M. Bex briskly. 'Tell Monsieur Hautet and say that we will come at once.'

Poirot lingered a moment looking back towards the body. I thought for a moment that he was going to apostrophise it, to declare aloud his determination never to rest till he had discovered the murderer.' But when he spoke, it was tamely and awkwardly, and his comment was ludicrously inappropriate to the solemnity of the moment.

'He wore his overcoat very long' he said constrainedly.