The chief constable and Inspector Bland looked up with keen curiosity as Hercule Poirot was ushered in. The chief constable was not in the best of tempers. Only Bland’s quiet persistence had caused him to cancel his dinner appointment for that evening.

‘I know, Bland, I know,’ he said fretfully. ‘Maybe he was a little Belgian wizard in his day – but surely, man, his day’s over. He’s what age?’

Bland slid tactfully over the answer to this question which, in any case, he did not know. Poirot himself was always reticent on the subject of his age.

‘The point is, sir, he was there – on the spot. And we’re not getting anywhere any other way. Up against a blank wall, that’s where we are.’

The chief constable blew his nose irritably.

‘I know. I know. Makes me begin to believe in Mrs Masterton’s homicidal pervert. I’d even use bloodhounds, if there were anywhere to use them.’

‘Bloodhounds can’t follow a scent over water.’

‘Yes. I know what you’ve always thought, Bland. And I’m inclined to agree with you. But there’s absolutely no motive, you know. Not an iota of motive.’

‘The motive may be out in the islands.’

‘Meaning that Hattie Stubbs knew something about De Sousa out there? I suppose that’s reasonably possible, given her mentality. She was simple, everyone agrees on that. She might blurt out what she knew to anyone at any time. Is that the way you see it?’

‘Something like that.’

‘If so, he waited a long time before crossing the sea and doing something about it.’

‘Well, sir, it’s possible he didn’t know what exactly had become of her. His own story was that he’d seen a piece in some society periodical about Nasse House, and its beautiful châtelaine. (Which I have always thought myself,’ added Bland parenthetically, ‘to be a silver thing with chains, and bits and pieces hung on it that people’s grandmothers used to clip on their waistbands – and a good idea, too. Wouldn’t be all these silly women for ever leaving their handbags around.) Seems, though, that in women’s jargon châtelaine means mistress of a house. As I say, that’s history and maybe it’s true enough, and he didn’t know where she was or who she’d married until then.’

‘But once he did know, he came across post-haste in a yacht in order to murder her? It’s far-fetched, Bland, very far-fetched.’

‘But it could be, sir.’

‘And what on earth could the woman know?’

‘Remember what she said to her husband. “He kills people.”’

‘Murder remembered? From the time she was fifteen? And presumably only her word for it? Surely he’d be able to laugh that off ?’