"Yes, yes, clever fellow," said Boyd Carrington - rather perfunctorily. Judith left the room abruptly, nearly colliding with Nurse Craven in the doorway. Boyd Carrington said: "What about a game of picquet, Babs?" "Oh, lovely. Can you get hold of some cards, Nurse?" Nurse Craven went to get cards, and I wished Mrs. Franklin good night and thanked her for the coffee.

Outside I overtook Franklin and Judith. They were standing looking out of the passage window. They were not speaking. Just standing side by side, Franklin looked over his shoulder as I approached. He moved a step or two, hesitated and said:

"Coming out for a stroll, Judith?"

My daughter shook her head.

"Not tonight." She added abruptly, "I'm going to bed. Good night." I went downstairs with Franklin. He was whistling softly to himself and smiling. I remarked rather crossly, for I was feeling depressed myself:

"You seem pleased with yourself tonight."

He admitted it.

"Yes. I've done something that I've been meaning to do for a long time. Very satisfactory, that."

I parted from him downstairs and looked in on the bridge players for a minute. Norton winked at me when Mrs. Luttrell wasn't looking. The rubber seemed to be progressing with unusual harmony.

Allerton had still not come back. It seemed to me that the house was happier and less oppressive without him.

I went up to Poirot's room. I found Judith sitting with him. She smiled at me when I came in and did not speak.

"She has forgiven you, mon ami," said Poirot - an outrageous remark.

"Really," I spluttered. "I hardly think - " Judith got up. She put an arm round my neck and kissed me. She said:

"Poor Father. Uncle Hercule shall not attack your dignity. I am the one to be forgiven. So forgive me and say good night."

I don't quite know why, but I said:

"I'm sorry, Judith. I'm very sorry. I didn't mean - " She stopped me.

"That's all right. Let's forget it. Everything's all right now." She smiled a slow faraway smile. She said again: "Everything's all right now ..." and quietly left the room.

When she had gone, Poirot looked at me.

"Well," he demanded, "what has been happening this evening?" I spread out my hands.

"Nothing has happened or is likely to happen," I told him. Actually I was very wide of the mark. For something did happen that night. Mrs. Franklin was taken violently ill. Two more doctors were sent for, but in vain. She died the following morning.

It was not until twenty-four hours later that we learned that her death was due to poisoning by physostigmine.

FOURTEEN

The inquest took place two days later. It was the second time I had attended an inquest in this part of the world.

The coroner was an able middle-aged man with a shrewd glance and a dry manner of speech.

The medical evidence was taken first. It established the fact that death was the result of poisoning by physostigmine, and that other alkaloids of the Calabar bean were also present. The poison must have been taken sometime on the preceding evening between seven o'clock and midnight. The police surgeon and his colleague refused to be more precise.