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By Root 577 0

know Mademoiselle was Seton’s heir.) Did she know that she herself was Mademoiselle’s residuary legatee? (This, I think, is likely. Mademoiselle would probably tell her so, adding perhaps that she would not get much out of it.) Is there any truth in Commander Challenger’s suggestion that Lazarus was attracted by Mademoiselle Nick? (This might explain a certain lack of cordiality between the two friends which seems to have shown itself in the last few months.) Who is the ‘boy friend’ mentioned in her note as supplying the drug? Could this possibly be J.? Why did she turn faint one day in this room? Was it something that had been said—or was it something she saw? Is her account of the telephone message asking her to buy chocolates correct—or is it a deliberate lie? What did she mean by “I can understand the other—but not this”? If she is not herself guilty, what knowledge has she got that she is keeping to herself?’

‘You perceive,’ said Poirot, suddenly breaking off, ‘that the questions concerning Madame Rice are almost innumerable. From beginning to end, she is an enigma. And that forces me to a conclusion. Either Madame Rice is guilty—or she knows—or shall we say, thinks she knows—who is guilty. But is she right? Does she know or does she merely suspect? And how is it possible to make her speak?’

He sighed.

‘Well, I will go on with my list of questions.

‘G. Mr. Lazarus.—Curious—there are practically no questions to ask concerning him—except the crude one, “Did he substitute the poisoned sweets?” Otherwise I find only one totally irrelevant question. But I have put it down. “Why did M. Lazarus offer fifty pounds for a picture that was only worth twenty?”’

‘He wanted to do Nick a good turn,’ I suggested.

‘He would not do it that way. He is a dealer. He does not buy to sell at a loss. If he wished to be amiable he would lend her money as a private individual.’

‘It can’t have any bearing on the crime, anyway.’

‘No, that is true—but all the same, I should like to know. I am a student of the psychology, you understand.

‘Now we come to H.’

‘H. Commander Challenger.—Why did Mademoiselle Nick tell him she was engaged to someone else? What necessitated her having to tell him that? She told no one else. Had he proposed to her? What are his relations with his uncle?’

‘His uncle, Poirot?’

‘Yes, the doctor. That rather questionable character. Did any private news of Michael Seton’s death come through to the Admiralty before it was announced publicly?’

‘I don’t quite see what you’re driving at Poirot. Even if Challenger knew beforehand about Seton’s death, it does not seem to get us anywhere. It provides no earthly motive for killing the girl he loved.’

‘I quite agree. What you say is perfectly reasonable. But these are just things I should like to know. I am still the dog, you see, nosing about for the things that are not very nice!’

‘I. M. Vyse.—Why did he say what he did about his cousin’s fanatical devotion to End House? What possible motive could he have in saying that? Did he, or did he not, receive the will? Is he, in fact, an honest man—or is he not an honest man?

‘And now J.—Eh bien, J. is what I put down before—a giant question mark. Is there such a person, or is there not—

‘Mon Dieu! my friend, what have you?’

I had started from my chair with a sudden shriek. With a shaking hand I pointed at the window.

‘A face, Poirot!’ I cried. ‘A face pressed against the glass. A dreadful face! It’s gone now—but I saw it.’

Poirot strode to the window and pushed it open. He leant out.

‘There is no one there now,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘You are sure you did not imagine it, Hastings?’

‘Quite sure. It was a horrible face.’

‘There is a balcony, of course. Anyone could reach there quite easily if they wanted to hear what we were saying. When you say a dreadful face, Hastings, just what do you mean?’

‘A white, staring face, hardly human.’

‘Mon ami, that is the fever. A face, yes. An unpleasant face, yes. But a face hardly human—no. What you saw was the effect of a face pressed closely against