‘Mum don’t know everything,’ she said. ‘Marlene didn’t get that scarf off of the lady down at the cottage.’

‘Where did she get it?’

‘Bought it in Torquay. Bought some lipstick, too, and some scent – Newt in Paris – funny name. And a jar of foundation cream, what she’d read about in an advertisement.’ Marilyn giggled. ‘Mum doesn’t know. Hid it at the back of her drawer, Marlene did, under her winter vests. Used to go into the convenience at the bus stop and do herself up, when she went to the pictures.’

Marilyn giggled again.

‘Mum never knew.’

‘Didn’t your mother find these things after your sister died?’

Marilyn shook her fair fluffy head.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I got ’em now – in my drawer. Mum doesn’t know.’

Poirot eyed her consideringly, and said:

‘You seem a very clever girl, Marilyn.’

Marilyn grinned rather sheepishly.

‘Miss Bird says it’s no good my trying for the grammar school.’

‘Grammar school is not everything,’ said Poirot. ‘Tell me, how did Marlene get the money to buy these things?’

Marilyn looked with close attention at a drain-pipe.

‘Dunno,’ she muttered.

‘I think you do know,’ said Poirot.

Shamelessly he drew out a half-crown from his pocket and added another half-crown to it.

‘I believe,’ he said, ‘there is a new, very attractive shade of lipstick called “Carmine Kiss.”’

‘Sounds smashing,’ said Marilyn, her hand advanced towards the five shillings. She spoke in a rapid whisper. ‘She used to snoop about a bit, Marlene did. Used to see goings-on – you know what. Marlene would promise not to tell and then they’d give her a present, see?’

Poirot relinquished the five shillings.

‘I see,’ he said.

He nodded to Marilyn and walked away. He murmured again under his breath, but this time with intensified meaning:

‘I see.’

So many things now fell into place. Not all of it. Not clear yet by any means – but he was on the right track. A perfectly clear trail all the way if only he had had the wit to see it. That first conversation with Mrs Oliver, some casual words of Michael Weyman’s, the significant conversation with old Merdell on the quay, an illuminating phrase spoken by Miss Brewis – the arrival of Etienne de Sousa.

A public telephone box stood adjacent to the village post office. He entered it and rang up a number. A few minutes later he was speaking to Inspector Bland.

‘Well, M. Poirot, where are you?’

‘I am here, in Nassecombe.’

‘But you were in London yesterday afternoon?’

‘It only takes three and a half hours to come here by a good train,’ Poirot pointed out. ‘I have a question for you.’

‘Yes?’

‘What kind of a yacht did Etienne de Sousa have?’