"Well, Madame," said Poirot at last. "What have you say to that?"

The seconds ticked on but she did not speak. It was quite two minutes before she raised her head, and he started a little when he saw the look in her eyes.

"M. Poirot, I did not kill my mother-in-law. That you know! She was alive and well when I left her. There are many people who can testify to that! Therefore, being innocent of the crime, I can venture to appeal to you. Why must you mix yourself up in this business? If I swear to you on my honor that justice and only justice has been done. Will you not abandon this inquiry? There has been so much suffering—you do not know. Now that at last there is peace and the possibility of happiness, must you destroy it all?"

Poirot sat up very straight. His eyes shone with a green light. "Let me be clear, Madame. What are you asking me to do?"

"I am telling you that my mother-in-law died a natural death and I am asking you to accept that statement."

"Let us be definite. You believe that your mother-in-law was deliberately killed, and you are asking me to condone—murder!"

"I am asking you to have pity!"

"Yes—on someone who had no pity!"

"You don't understand—it was not like that."

"Did you commit the crime yourself, Madame, that you know so well?"

Nadine shook her head. She showed no signs of guilt. "No," she said quietly. "She was alive when I left her."

"Then what happened? You know—or you suspect—"

Nadine said passionately: "I have heard, M. Poirot, that once, in that affair of the Orient Express, you accepted an official verdict of what had happened?"

Poirot looked at her curiously. "I wonder who told you that."

"Is it true?"

He said slowly: "That case was—different."

"No. No, it was not different! The man who was killed was evil," her voice dropped, "as she was. . . ."

Poirot said: "The moral character of the victim has nothing to do with it! A human being who has exercised the right of private judgment and taken the life of another human being is not safe to exist amongst the community. I tell you that! I, Hercule Poirot!"

"How hard you are!"

"Madame, in some ways I am adamant. I will not condone murder! That is the final word of Hercule Poirot."

She got up. Her dark eyes flashed with sudden fire. "Then go on! Bring ruin and misery into the lives of innocent people! I have nothing more to say."

"But I—I think, Madame, that you have a lot to say."

"No, nothing more."

"What happened, Madame, after you left your mother-in-law? Whilst you and your husband were in the marquee together?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "How should I know?"

"You do know—or you suspect."

She looked him straight in the eyes. "I know nothing, M. Poirot." Turning, she left the room.

8

After noting on his pad "N. B. 4:40," Poirot opened the door and called to the orderly whom Colonel Carbury had left at his disposal, an intelligent man with a good knowledge of English. He asked him to fetch Miss Carol Boynton.