"Yes, but what is inside?" demanded Van Aldin impatiently.
Poirot unwrapped the brown paper and disclosed a square cardboard box. He looked round him.
"It is a good moment," he said quietly. "All eyes are on the tennis. Look, Monsieur!"
He lifted the lid of the box for the fraction of a second. An exclamation of utter astonishment came from the millionaire. His face turned as white as chalk.
"My God!" he breathed, "the rubies."
He sat for a minute as though dazed. Poirot restored the box to his pocket and beamed placidly. Then suddenly the millionaire seemed to come out of his trance; he leaned across to Poirot and wrung his hand so heartily that the little man winced with pain.
"This is great," said Van Aldin. "Great! You are the goods, M. Poirot. Once and for all, you are the goods."
"It is nothing," said Poirot modestly. "Order, method, being prepared for eventualities beforehand—that is all there is to it."
"And now, I suppose, the Comte de la Roche has been arrested?" continued Van Aldin eagerly.
"No," said Poirot.
A look of utter astonishment came over Van Aldin's face.
"But why? What more do you want?"
"The Comte's alibi is still unshaken."
"But that is nonsense."
"Yes," said Poirot; "I rather think it is nonsense, but unfortunately we have to prove it so."
"In the meantime he will slip through your fingers."
