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 out of the way—that’s what I'd like to know? Harmless unassuming young fellow. Just come over here from the States, and apparently hadn’t an enemy in the world.”

“It seems incredible,” I mused.

“Not at all,” said Poirot, smiling. “Japp has his theory, I can see.”

“I have, Moosior Poirot. I don’t believe the poison was meant for Wilson—it was meant for the other man.”

“Savaronoff?”

“Yes. Savaronoff fell foul of the Bolsheviks at the outbreak of the Revolution. He was even reported killed. In reality he escaped, and for three years endured incredible hardships in the wilds of Siberia. His sufferings were so great that he is now a changed man. His friends and acquaintances declare they would hardly have recognised him. His hair is white, and his whole aspect that of a man terribly aged. He is a semi-invalid, and seldom goes out, living alone with a niece, Sonia Daviloff, and a Russian manservant in a flat down Westminster way. It is possible that he still considers himself a marked man. Certainly he was very unwilling to agree to this chess contest. He refused several times point blank, and it was only when the newspapers took it up and began making a fuss about the