"He has never said that you are that, I am sure."

"Oh, not said so. Of course not. But men are so transparent, poor dears. And John isn't any good at concealing his feelings. He doesn't mean, of course, to be unkind, but he's - well, mercifully for himself he's a very insensitive sort of person. He's no feelings and so he doesn't expect anyone else to have them. It's so terribly lucky to be born thick-skinned."

"I should not describe Dr. Franklin as thick-skinned." "Wouldn't you? Oh, but you don't know him as well as I do. Of course I know that if it wasn't for me, he would be much freer. Sometimes, you know, I get so terribly depressed that I think what a relief it would be to end it all."

"Oh, come, madame."

"After all, what use am I to anybody? To go out of it all into the Great Unknown -

" She shook her head. "And then John would be free."

"Great fiddlesticks," said Nurse Craven when I repeated this conversation to her.

"She won't do anything of the kind. Don't you worry, Captain Hastings. These ones that talk about 'ending it all' in a dying duck voice haven't the faintest intention of doing anything of the kind."

And I must say that once the excitement aroused by Mrs. Luttrell's injury had died down and Nurse Craven was once more in attendance, Mrs. Franklin's spirits improved very much.

On a particularly fine morning Curtiss had taken Poirot down to the corner below the beech trees near the laboratory. This was a favourite spot of his. It was sheltered from any east wind and in fact hardly any breeze could ever be felt there. This suited Poirot, who abhorred draughts and was always suspicious of the fresh air. Actually, I think, he much preferred to be indoors but had grown to tolerate the outer air when muffled in rugs.

I strolled down to join him there, and just as I got there, Mrs. Franklin came out of the laboratory.

She was most becomingly dressed and looked remarkably cheerful. She explained that she was driving over with Boyd Carrington to see the house and to give expert advice in choosing cretonnes.

"I left my handbag in the lab yesterday when I was talking to John," she explained. "Poor John, he and Judith have driven into Tadcaster - they were short of some chemical reagent or other."

She sank down on a seat near Poirot and shook her head with a comical expression. "Poor dears - I'm so glad I haven't got the scientific mind. On a lovely day like this - it - all seems so puerile."

"You must not let scientists hear you say that, madame."

"No, of course not." Her face changed. It grew serious. She said quietly:

"You mustn't think, M. Poirot, that I don't admire my husband. I do. I think the way he just lives for his work is really - tremendous." There was a little tremor in her voice.