‘He has an impulsive nature,’ said Poirot.

‘Yes—yes…And very chivalrous. Men are so foolish that way. Even Car—’ Her voice tailed off.

She shook her head with a febrile impatience.

‘Everything’s so dim…One’s body is a nuisance, M. Poirot, especially when it gets the upper hand. One is conscious of nothing else—whether the pain will hold off or not—nothing else seems to matter.’

‘I know, Lady Clarke. It is one of the tragedies of this life.’

‘It makes me so stupid. I cannot even remember what it was I wanted to say to you.’

‘Was it something about your husband’s death?’

‘Car’s death? Yes, perhaps…Mad, poor creature—the murderer, I mean. It’s all the noise and the speed nowadays—people can’t stand it. I’ve always been sorry for mad people—their heads must feel so queer. And then, being shut up—it must be so terrible. But what else can one do? If they kill people…’ She shook her head—gently pained. ‘You haven’t caught him yet?’ she asked.

‘No, not yet.’

‘He must have been hanging round here that day.’

‘There were so many strangers about, Lady Clarke. It is the holiday season.’

‘Yes—I forgot…But they keep down by the beaches, they don’t come up near the house.’

‘No stranger came to the house that day.’

‘Who says so?’ demanded Lady Clarke, with a sudden vigour.

Poirot looked slightly taken aback.

‘The servants,’ he said. ‘Miss Grey.’

Lady Clarke said very distinctly:

‘That girl is a liar!’

I started on my chair. Poirot threw me a glance.

Lady Clarke was going on, speaking now rather feverishly.

‘I didn’t like her. I never liked her. Car thought all the world of her. Used to go on about her being an orphan and alone in the world. What’s wrong with being an orphan? Sometimes it’s a blessing in disguise. You might have a good-for-nothing father and a mother who drank—then you would have something to complain about. Said she was so brave and such a good worker. I dare say she did her work well! I don’t know where all this bravery came in!’

‘Now don’t excite yourself, dear,’ said Nurse Capstick, intervening. ‘We mustn’t have you getting tired.’

‘I soon sent her packing! Franklin had the impertinence to suggest that she might be a comfort to me. Comfort to me indeed! The sooner I saw the last of her the better—that’s what I said! Franklin’s a fool! I didn’t want him getting mixed up with her. He’s a boy! No sense! “I’ll give her three months’ salary, if you like,” I said. “But out she goes. I don’t want her in the house a day longer.” There’s one thing about being ill—men can’t argue with you. He did what I said and she went. Went like a martyr, I expect—with more sweetness and bravery!’

‘Now, dear, don’t get so excited. It’s bad for you.’

Lady Clarke waved Nurse Capstick away.

‘You were as much of a fool about her as anyone else.’

‘Oh! Lady Clarke, you mustn’t say that. I did think Miss Grey a very nice girl—so romantic-looking, like someone out of a novel.’