"It must be. I know myself - "

I broke off as Boyd Carrington came striding round the corner of the house. As usual, his big buoyant personality seemed to sweep away shadows and intangible worries. He was so large, so sane, so out of doors - one of those lovable, forceful personalities that radiate cheerfulness and common sense.

"Morning, Hastings; morning, Nurse. Where's Mrs. Franklin?"

"Good morning, Sir William. Mrs. Franklin's down at the bottom of the garden under the beech tree near the laboratory."

"And Franklin, I suppose, is inside the laboratory?"

"Yes, Sir William - with Miss Hastings."

"Wretched girl. Fancy being cooped up doing stinks on a morning like this! You ought to protest, Hastings."

Nurse Craven said quickly:

"Oh, Miss Hastings is quite happy. She likes it, you know, and the doctor couldn't do without her, I'm sure."

"Miserable fellow," said Boyd Carrington. "If I had a pretty girl like your Judith as a secretary, I'd be looking at her instead of at guinea pigs, eh what?" It was the kind of joke that Judith would particularly have disliked, but it went down quite well with Nurse Craven, who laughed a good deal.

"Oh, Sir William," she exclaimed. "You really mustn't say things like that. I'm sure we all know what you'd be like! But poor Dr. Franklin is so serious - quite wrapped up in his work."

Boyd Carrington said cheerfully:

"Well, his wife seems to have taken up her position where she can keep her eye on her husband. I believe she's jealous."

"You know far too much, Sir William!"

Nurse Craven seemed delighted with this badinage. She said reluctantly:

"Well, I suppose I ought to be going to see about Mrs. Franklin's malted milk." She moved away slowly and Boyd Carrington stood looking after her.

"Good-looking girl," he remarked. "Lovely hair and teeth. Fine specimen of womanhood. Must be a dull life on the whole always looking after sick people. A girl like that deserves a better fate."

"Oh, well," I said. "I suppose she'll marry one day."

"I expect so."

He sighed - and it occurred to me that he was thinking of his dead wife. Then he said:

"Like to come over with me to Knatton and see the place?"

"Rather. I'd like to. I'll just see first if Poirot needs me." I found Poirot sitting on the verandah, well muffled up. He encouraged me to go.

"But certainly go, Hastings, go. It is, I believe, a most handsome property. You should certainly see it."

"I'd like to. But I didn't want to desert you."

"My faithful friend! No, no, go with Sir William. A charming man, is he not?"

"First class," I said with enthusiasm.

Poirot smiled.

"Ah yes. I thought he was your type."

III

I enjoyed my expedition enormously. Not only was the weather fine - a really lovely summer's day - but I enjoyed the companionship of the man. Boyd Carrington had that personal magnetism, that wide experience of life and of places that made him excellent company. He told me stories of his administrative days in India, some intriguing details of East African tribal lore and was altogether so interesting that I was quite taken out of myself and forgot my worries about Judith and the deep anxieties that Poirot's revelations had given me. I liked, too, the way Boyd Carrington spoke of my friend. He had a deep respect for him - both for his work and his character. Sad though Poirot's present condition of ill health was, Boyd Carrington uttered no facile words of pity. He seemed to think that a lifetime spent as Poirot's had been was in itself a rich reward and that in his memories my friend could find satisfaction and self-respect.