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 when you do that successfully, you do not call it guessing.”

“Don’t let’s split hairs,” I said impatiently. “You foresaw this?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

Poirot put his hand into his pocket and pulled out—a white bishop.

“Why,” I cried, “you forgot to give it back to Dr. Savaronoff.”

“You are in error, my friend. That bishop still reposes in my left-hand pocket. I took its fellow from the box of chessmen Mademoiselle Daviloff kindly permitted me to examine. The plural of one bishop is two bishops.”

He sounded the final “s” with a great hiss. I was completely mystified.

“But why did you take it?”

“Parbleu, I wanted to see if they were exactly alike.”

He stood them on the table side by side.

“Well, they are, of course,” I said, “exactly alike.”

Poirot looked at them with his head on one side.

“They seem so, I admit. But one should take no fact for granted until it is proved. Bring me, I pray you, my little scales.”