Coming on top of the tragedy that had just happened, it made me feel very angry. I called sharply to Judith and she looked up surprised. In a few words I told them what had occurred.

"What an extraordinary thing to happen," was my daughter's comment. She did not seem nearly as perturbed as she should have done, I thought. Allerton's manner was outrageous. He seemed to take the whole thing as a good joke.

"Serves the old harridan damn well right," he observed. "Think the old boy did it on purpose."

"Certainly not," I said sharply. "It was an accident."

"Yes, but I know these accidents. Damned convenient sometimes. My word, if the old boy shot her deliberately, I take off my hat to him."

"It was nothing of the kind," I said angrily.

"Don't be too sure. I've known two men who shot their wives. Cleaning his revolver one was. The other fired point-blank at her as a joke, he said. Didn't know the thing was loaded. Got away with it, both of them. Damned good release, I should say myself."

"Colonel Luttrell," I said coldly, "isn't that type of man."

"Well, you couldn't say it wouldn't be a blessed release, could you?" demanded Allerton pertinently. "They hadn't just had a row or anything, had they?" I turned away angrily, at the same time trying to hide a certain perturbation. Allerton had come a little too near the mark. For the first time a doubt crept into my mind.

It was not bettered by meeting Boyd Carrington. He had been for a stroll down towards the lake, he explained. When I told him the news, he said at once:

"You don't think he meant to shoot her, do you, Hastings?"

"My dear man."

"Sorry, sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It was only, for the moment, one wondered... She - she gave him a bit of provocation, you know." We were both silent for a moment as we remembered the scene we had so unwillingly overheard.

I went upstairs feeling unhappy and worried and rapped on Poirot's door. He had already heard through Curtiss of what had occurred, but he was eager for full details. Since my arrival at Styles I had got into the way of reporting most of my daily encounters and conversations in full detail. In this way I felt that the dear old fellow felt less cut off. It gave him the illusion of actually participating in everything that went on. I have always had a good and accurate memory and found it a simple matter to repeat conversations verbatim.

Poirot listened very attentively. I was hoping that he would be able definitely to pooh-pooh the dreadful suggestion that had by now taken uneasy control of my mind, but before he had a chance of telling me what he thought, there came a light tap on the door.

It was Nurse Craven. She apologized for disturbing us.

"I'm so sorry, but I thought Doctor was here. The old lady is conscious now and she's worrying about her husband. She'd like to see him. Do you know where he is, Captain Hastings? I don't want to leave my patient."