"Thank you, Mr. Cope. May I be so indiscreet as to ask if Mrs. Boynton is likely to have left a large fortune?"

"A very considerable one. That is to say, strictly speaking, it was not hers to leave. She had a life interest in it and at her death it is divided among the late Elmer Boynton's children. Yes, they will all be very comfortably off now."

"Money," murmured Poirot, "makes a lot of difference. How many crimes have been committed for it!"

Mr. Cope looked a little startled. "Why, that's so, I suppose," he admitted.

Poirot smiled sweetly and murmured: "But there are so many motives for murder, are there not? Thank you, Mr. Cope, for your kind cooperation."

"You're welcome, I'm sure," said Mr. Cope. "Do I see Miss King sitting up there? I think I'll go and have a word with her."

Poirot continued to descend the hill. He met Miss Pierce fluttering up it. She greeted him breathlessly.

"Oh M. Poirot, I'm so glad to meet you. I've been talking to that very odd Boynton girl—the youngest one, you know. She has been saying the strangest things—about enemies and some Sheikh who wanted to kidnap her and how she has spies all around her. Really, it sounded most romantic! Lady Westholme says it is all nonsense and that she once had a redheaded kitchen maid who told lies just like that, but I think sometimes that Lady Westholme is rather hard. And after all, it might be true, mightn't it, M. Poirot? I read some years ago that one of the Czar's daughters was not killed in the Revolution in Russia but escaped secretly to America. The Grand Duchess Tatiana, I think it was. If so, this might be her daughter, mightn't it? She did hint at something Royal. And she has a look, don't you think? Rather Slavic, those cheekbones. How thrilling it would be!"

Miss Pierce looked wistful and excited. Poirot said, somewhat sententiously: "It is true that there are many strange things in life."

"I didn't really take in this morning who you are," said Miss Pierce, clasping her hands. "Of course you are that very famous detective! I read all about the A.B.C. case. It was so thrilling. I had actually a post as governess near Doncaster at the time."

Poirot murmured something. Miss Pierce went on with growing agitation: "That is why I felt that perhaps I had been wrong this morning. One must always tell everything, must one, of even the smallest detail, however unrelated it may seem. Because, of course, if you are mixed up in this, poor Mrs. Boynton must have been murdered! I see that now. I suppose Mr. Mah Mood—I cannot remember his name—but the dragoman, I mean—I suppose he could not be a Bolshevik agent? Or even, perhaps, Miss King's? I believe many quite well brought up young girls of good family belong to these dreadful Communists! That's why I wondered if I ought to tell you—because, you see, it was rather peculiar when one comes to think of it."