It was at this moment，I think，that what Poirot called the human
element began to fade out of the picture again.It was as though，the mind
being unable to stand unadulterated horror，we had had an interval of normal
human interests.
We had，one and all，felt the impossibility of doing anything until the
fourth letter should come revealing the projected scene of the D murder.
That atmosphere of waiting had brought a release of tension.
But now，with the printed words jeering from the white stiff paper，the
hunt was up once more.
Inspector Crome had come round from the Yard，and while he was still
there，Franklin Clarke and Megan Barnard came in.
The girl explained that she，too，had come up from Bexhill.
"I wanted to ask Mr Clarke something."
She seemed rather anxious to excuse and explain her procedure.I just
noted the fact without attaching much importance to it.
The letter naturally filled my mind to the exclusion of all else.
Crome was not，I think，any too pleased to see the various participants
in the drama.He became extremely official and non-committal.
"I'll take this with me，M.Poirot.If you care to take a copy of it-""No，
no，it is not necessary."
"What are your plans，inspector?"asked Clarke.
"Fairly comprehensive ones，Mr Clarke."
"This time we've got to get him，"said Clarke."I may tell you，inspector，
that we've formed an association of our own to deal with the matter.A legion
of interested parties."
Inspector Crome said in his best manner:
"Oh，yes?"
"I gather you don't think much of amateurs，inspector?"
"You've hardly the same resources at your command，have you，Mr Clarke?"
"We've got a personal axe to grind-and that's something."
"Oh，yes?"
"I fancy your own task isn't going to be too easy，inspector.In fact，I
rather fancy old A B C has done you again."
Crome，I noticed，could often be goaded into speeck when other methods
would have failed.
"I don't fancy the public will have much to criticize in our
arrangements this time，"he said."The fool has given us ample warning.The
11th isn't till Wednesday of next week.That gives ample time for a publicity
campaign in the press.Doncaster will be thoroughly warned.
Every soul whose name begins with a D will be on his or her guard-that's
so much to the good.
Also，we'll draft police into the town on a fairly large scale.That's
already been arranged for by consent of all the Chief Constables in
England.The whole of Doncaster，police and civilians，will be out to catch
one man-and with reasonable luck，we ought to get him!"
Clarke said quietly:
"It's easy to see you're not a sporting man，inspector."
Crome stared at him.
"What do you mean，Mr Clarke?"
"Man alive，don't you realize that on next Wednesday the St Leger is
being run at Doncaster?"
The inspector's jaw dropped.For the life of him he could not bring out
the familiar "Oh，yes?"Instead he said:
"That's true.Yes，that complicates matters......"
"A B C is no fool，even if he is a madman."
We were all silent for a minute or two，taking in the situation.The
crowds on the race-course-the passionate，sport-loving English public-the
endless complications.
Poirot murmured:
"C'est ingenieux.Tout de meme c'est bien imagine，ca."
"It's my belief，"said Clarke，"that the murder will take place on the
race-course-perhaps actually while the Leger is being run."
For the moment his sporting instincts took a momentary pleasure in the
thought......
Inspector Crome rose，taking the letter with him.
"The St Leger is a complication，"he allowed."It's unfortunate."
He went out.We heard a murmur of voices in the hallway.A minute later
Thora Grey entered.
She said anxiously:
"The inspector told me there is another letter.
Where this time?"
It was raining outside.Thoran Grey was wearing a black coat and skirt
and furs.A little black hat just perched itself on the side of her golden
head.
It was to Franklin Clarke that she spoke and she came right up to him
and，with a hand on his arm，waited for his answer.
"Doncaster-and on the day of the St Leger."
We settled down to a discussion.It went without saying that we all
intended to be present，but the race-meeting undoubtedly complicated the
plans we had made tentatively beforehand.
A feeling of discouragement swept over me.What could this little band of
six people do，after all，however strong their personal interest in the
matter might be?There would be innumerable police，keen-eyed and alert，
watching all likely spots.What could six more pairs of eyes do?
As though in answer to my thought，Poirot raised his voice.He spoke
rather like a schoolmaster or a priest.
"Mes enfants，"he said."We must not disperse the strength.We must
approach this matter with method and order in our thoughts.We must look
within and not without for the truth.We must say to ourselves-each one of
us-what do I know about the murderer?And so we must blind up a composite
picture of the man we are going to seek."
"We know nothing about him，"sighed Thora Grey helplessly.
"No，no，mademoiselle.That is not true.Each one of us knows something
about him-if we only knew what it is we know.I am convinced that the
knowledge is there if we could only get at it."
Clarke shook his head.
"We don't know anything-whether he's old or young，fair or dark!None of
us has ever seen him or spoken to him!We've gone over everything we all know
again and again."
"Not everything!For instance，Miss Grey here told us that she did not
see or speak to any stranger on the day that Sir Carmichael Clarke was
murdered."
Thora Grey nodded.
"That's quite right."
"Is it?Lady Clarke told us，mademoiselle，that from her window she saw
you standing on the front doorstep takling to a man."
"She saw me talking to a strange man?"The girl seemed genuinely
astonished.Surely that pure，limpid look could not be anything but genuine.
She shook her head.
"Lady Clarke must have made a mistake.i never-Oh!"
The exclamation came suddenly-jerked out of her.A crimson wave flooded
her cheeks.
"I remember now!How stupid!I'd forgotten all about it.But it wasn't
important.Just one of those men who come round selling stockings-you know，
ex-army people.They're very persistent.I had to get rid of him.I was just
crossing the hall when he came to the door.He spoke to me instead of ringing
but he was quite a harmless sort of person.
I suppose that's why I forgot about him."
Poirot was swaying to and fro，his hands clasped to his head.He was
muttering to himself with such vehemence that nobody else said anything，but
at him instead.
"Stockings，"he was murmuring.
"Stockings......stockings......stocking......ca
vient......stockings......stockings......it is the motif-yes......three
months ago......and the other day......and now.Bon Dieu，I have it!"
He sat upright and fixed me with an imperious eye.
"You remember，Hastings?Andover The shop.We go upstairs.The bedroom.
On a chair.A pair of new silk stockings.And now I know what it was that
roused my attention two days ago.It was you，mademoiselle-"He turned on
Megan."You spoke of your mother who wept because she had bought your sister
some new stockings on the very day of the murder......"
He looked round on us all.
"You see?It is the same motif three times repeated.That cannot be
coincidence.When mademoiselle spoke I had the feeling that what she said
linked up with something.I know now with what.The words spoken by Mrs
Ascher's next-door neighbour，Mrs Fowler.About people who were always trying
to sell you things-and she mentioned stockings.Tell me，mademoiselle，it is
true，is it not，that your mother bought those stockings，not at a shop，but
from someone who came to the door?"
"Yes-yes-she did......I remember now.She said something about being
sorry for these wretched men who go round and try to get orders."
"But what's the connection?"cried Franklin."That a man came selling
stockings proves nothing!"
"I tell you，my friends，it cannot be coincidence.Three crimes-and every
time a man selling stockings and spying out the land."
He wheeled round on Thora.
"A vous la parole!Describe this man."
She looked at him blankly.
"I can't......I don't know how......He had glasses，I think-and a shabby
overcoat......"
"Mieux que ca，mademoiselle."
"He stooped......I don't know.I hardly looked at him.He wasn't the sort
of man you'd notice......"
Poirot said gravely:
"You are quite right，mademoiselle.The whole secret of the murders lies
there in your description of the murderer-for without a doubt he was the
murderer!"He wasn't the sort of man you'd notice."Yes-there is no doubt
about it......You have described the murderer!"
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