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By Root 629 0

him as Underhay. Never in his life has David Hunter been in a tighter place! Worse still, the girl herself is beginning to crack. Her conscience is becoming increasingly active. She is showing signs of mental breakdown. Sooner or later she will confess, give the whole thing away, render him liable to criminal prosecution. Moreover, he finds her demands on him increasingly irksome. He has fallen in love with you. So he decides to cut his losses. Eileen must die. He substitutes morphia for one of the powders prescribed for her by Dr Cloade, urges her on to take them every night, suggests to her fears of the Cloade family. David Hunter will not be suspected since the death of his sister means that her money passes back to the Cloades.

‘That was his trump card: lack of motive. As I told you — this case was always the wrong way round.’

The door opened and Superintendent Spence came in.

Poirot said sharply, ‘Eh bien?’

Spence said, ‘It’s all right. We’ve got him.’

Lynn said in a low voice:

‘Did he — say anything?’

‘Said he’d had a good run for his money — ’

‘Funny,’ added the Superintendent, ‘how they always talk at the wrong moment…We cautioned him, of course. But he said, “Cut it out, man. I’m a gambler — but I know when I’ve lost the last throw.”’

Poirot murmured:

‘“There is a tide in the affairs of men

Which, taken at its flood, leads on to fortune…”

‘Yes, the tide sweeps in — but it also ebbs — and may carry you out to sea.’

Chapter 17

It was a Sunday morning when Rowley Cloade, answering a knock at the farm door, found Lynn waiting outside.

He stepped back a pace.

‘Lynn!’

‘Can I come in, Rowley?’

He stood back a little. She passed him and went into the kitchen. She had been at church and was wearing a hat. Slowly, with an almost ritual air, she raised her hands, took off the hat and laid it down on the window-sill.

‘I’ve come home, Rowley.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘Just that. I’ve come home. This is home — here, with you. I’ve been a fool not to know it before — not to know journey’s end when I saw it. Don’t you understand, Rowley, I’ve come home!’

‘You don’t know what you’re saying, Lynn. I — I tried to kill you.’

‘I know.’ Lynn gave a grimace and put her fingers gingerly to her throat. ‘Actually, it was just when I thought you had killed me, that I began to realize what a really thundering fool I’d been making of myself!’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Rowley.

‘Oh, don’t be stupid. I always wanted to marry you, didn’t I? And then I got out of touch with you — you seemed to me so tame — so meek — I felt life would be so safe with you — so dull. I fell for David because he was dangerous and attractive — and, to be honest, because he knows women much too well. But none of that was real. When you caught hold of me by the throat and said if I wasn’t for you, no one should have me — well — I knew then that I was your woman! Unfortunately it seemed that I was going to know it — just too late…Luckily Hercule Poirot walked in and saved the situation. And I am your woman, Rowley!’

Rowley shook his head.

‘It’s impossible, Lynn. I’ve killed two men — murdered them — ’

‘Rubbish,’ cried Lynn. ‘Don’t be pigheaded and melodramatic. If you have a row with a hulking big man and hit him and he falls down and hits his head on a fender — that isn’t murder. It’s not even legally murder.’

‘It’s manslaughter. You go to prison for it.’

‘Possibly. If so, I shall be on the step when you come out.’

‘And there’s Porter. I’m morally responsible for his death.’

‘No, you’re not. He was a fully adult responsible man — he could have turned down your proposition. One can’t blame any one else for the things one decides to do with one’s eyes open. You suggested dishonesty to him, he accepted it and then repented and took a quick way out. He was just a weak character.’

Rowley shook his head obstinately.

‘It’s no good, old girl. You can’t marry a gaol-bird.’

‘I don’t think you’re going to gaol. A policeman would have been round for you before now if so.’

Rowley stared.

‘But damn it all, manslaughter — bribing