‘Really, Poirot,’ I cried scandalized. ‘I’m sure none of those people was thinking of anything but—’

‘Oh! my dear friend. And what about yourself?’

‘I?’

‘Mais oui, as they departed, did you not come back from the door humming a tune?’

‘One may do that without being callous.’

‘Certainly, but that tune told me your thoughts.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes. To hum a tune is extremely dangerous. It reveals the subconscious mind. The tune you hummed dates, I think, from the days of the war. Comme c¸a,’ Poirot sang in an abominable falsetto voice:

‘Some of the time I love a brunette,

Some of the time I love a blonde

(Who comes from Eden by way of Sweden).

‘What could be more revealing? Mais je crois que la blonde l’emporte sur la brunette!’

‘Really, Poirot,’ I cried, blushing slightly.

‘C’est tout naturel. Did you observe how Franklin Clarke was suddenly at one and in sympathy with Mademoiselle Megan? How he leaned forward and looked at her? And did you also notice how very much annoyed Mademoiselle Thora Grey was about it? And Mr Donald Fraser, he—’

‘Poirot,’ I said. ‘Your mind is incurably sentimental.’

‘That is the last thing my mind is. You are the sentimental one, Hastings.’

I was about to argue the point hotly, but at that moment the door opened.

To my astonishment it was Thora Grey who entered.

‘Forgive me for coming back,’ she said composedly. ‘But there was something that I think I would like to tell you, M. Poirot.’

‘Certainly, mademoiselle. Sit down, will you not?’

She took a seat and hesitated for just a minute as though choosing her words.

‘It is just this, M. Poirot. Mr Clarke very generously gave you to understand just now that I had left Combeside by my own wish. He is a very kind and loyal person. But as a matter of fact, it is not quite like that. I was quite prepared to stay on—there is any amount of work to be done in connection with the collections. It was Lady Clarke who wished me to leave! I can make allowances. She is a very ill woman, and her brain is somewhat muddled with the drugs they give her. It makes her suspicious and fanciful. She took an unreasoning dislike to me and insisted that I should leave the house.’

I could not but admire the girl’s courage. She did not attempt to gloss over facts, as so many might have been tempted to do, but went straight to the point with an admirable candour. My heart went out to her in admiration and sympathy.

‘I call it splendid of you to come and tell us this,’ I said.

‘It’s always better to have the truth,’ she said with a little smile. ‘I don’t want to shelter behind Mr Clarke’s chivalry. He is a very chivalrous man.’

There was a warm glow in her words. She evidently admired Franklin Clarke enormously.

‘You have been very honest, mademoiselle,’ said Poirot.