‘Of course.’ Franklin Clarke resumed his ordinary manner. ‘I think that when the moment comes—that is, when the fourth letter arrives—we ought to join forces. Until then, perhaps we might each try our luck on our own. I don’t know whether there are any points M. Poirot thinks might repay investigation?’

‘I could make some suggestions,’ said Poirot.

‘Good. I’ll take them down.’ He produced a notebook. ‘Go ahead, M. Poirot. A—?’

‘I consider it just possible that the waitress, Milly Higley, might know something useful.’

‘A—Milly Higley,’ wrote down Franklin Clarke.

‘I suggest two methods of approach. You, Miss Barnard, might try what I call the offensive approach.’

‘I suppose you think that suits my style?’ said Megan dryly.

‘Pick a quarrel with the girl—say you knew she never liked your sister—and that your sister had told you all about her. If I do not err, that will provoke a flood of recrimination. She will tell you just what she thought of your sister! Some useful fact may emerge.’

‘And the second method?’

‘May I suggest, Mr Fraser, that you should show signs of interest in the girl?’

‘Is that necessary.’

‘No, it is not necessary. It is just a possible line of exploration.’

‘Shall I try my hand?’ asked Franklin. ‘I’ve—er—a pretty wide experience, M. Poirot. Let me see what I can do with the young lady.’

‘You’ve got your own part of the world to attend to,’ said Thora Grey rather sharply.

Franklin’s face fell just a little.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have.’

‘Tout de même, I do not think there is much you can do down there for the present,’ said Poirot. ‘Mademoiselle Grey now, she is far more fitted—’

Thora Grey interrupted him.

‘But you see, M. Poirot, I have left Devon for good.’

‘Ah? I did not understand.’

‘Miss Grey very kindly stayed on to help me clear up things,’ said Franklin. ‘But naturally she prefers a post in London.’

Poirot directed a sharp glance from one to the other.

‘How is Lady Clarke?’ he demanded.

I was admiring the faint colour in Thora Grey’s cheeks and almost missed Clarke’s reply.

‘Pretty bad. By the way, M. Poirot, I wonder if you could see your way to running down to Devon and paying her a visit? She expressed a desire to see you before I left. Of course, she often can’t see people for a couple of days at a time, but if you would risk that—at my expense, of course.’

‘Certainly, Mr Clarke. Shall we say the day after tomorrow?’

‘Good. I’ll let nurse know and she’ll arrange the dope accordingly.’

‘For you, my child,’ said Poirot, turning to Mary, ‘I think you might perhaps do good work in Andover. Try the children.’

‘The children?’

‘Yes. Children will not chat readily to outsiders. But you are known in the street where your aunt lived. There were a good many children playing about. They may have noticed who went in and out of your aunt’s shop.’