"A mechanic drove her out to it, made an investigation and said they'd have to tow it in and it would be a long job - couldn't promise to finish it that day. The lady was very put out, but went to a small inn, arranged to stay the night, and asked for some sandwiches as she said she'd like to see something of the countryside - it's on the edge of the moorland country. She didn't come back to the inn till quite late that evening. My informant said he didn't wonder. It's a sordid little place!"

"And the times?"

"She got the sandwiches at eleven. If she'd walked to the main road, a mile, she could have hitch-hiked into Wallcaster and caught a special South Coast express which stops at Reading West. I won't go into details of buses etcetera. It could just have been done if you could make the - er - attack fairly late in the afternoon."

"I understand the doctor stretched the time limit to possibly 4.30."

"Mind you," said Mr Goby," I shouldn't say it was likely. She seems to be a nice lady, liked by everybody. She's devoted to her husband, treats him like a child."

"Yes, yes, the maternal complex."

"She's strong and hefty, chops the wood and often hauls in great baskets of logs. Pretty good with the inside of a car, too."

"I was coming to that. What exactly was wrong with the car?"

"Do you want the exact details, M. Poirot?"

"Heaven forbid. I have no mechanical knowledge."

"It was a difficult thing to spot. And also to put right. And it could have been done maliciously by someone without very much trouble. By someone who was familiar with the insides of a car."

"C'est magnifique!" said Poirot with bitter enthusiasm. "All so convenient, all so possible. Bon dieu, can we eliminate nobody? And Mrs Leo Abernethie?"

"She's a very nice lady, too. Mr Abernethie deceased was very fond of her. She came there to stay about a fortnight before he died."

"After he had been to Lytchett St Mary to see his sister?"

"No, just before. Her income is a good deal reduced since the war. She gave up her house in England and took a small flat in London. She has a villa in Cyprus and spends part of the year there. She has a young nephew whom she is helping to educate, and there seems to be one or two, young artists whom she helps financially from time to time."

"St Helen of the blameless life," said Poirot, shutting his eyes. "And it was quite impossible for her to have left Enderby that day without the servants knowing? Say that that is so, I implore you!"

Mr Goby brought his glance across to rest apologetically on Poirot's polished patent leather shoe, the nearest he had come to a direct encounter, and murmured: