‘Oh, no, not Mrs Folliat.’ Hoskins sounded shocked. ‘I understand she knew Lady Stubbs before she was married and it was she who urged on Sir George to buy this place.’

‘I’ll have to talk to Mrs Folliat,’ said the inspector.

‘Ah, she’s a shrewd old lady, she is. If anything is going on, she’d know about it.’

‘I must talk to her,’ said the inspector. ‘I wonder where she is now.’

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

I

Mrs Folliat was at that moment being talked to by Hercule Poirot in the big drawing-room. He had found her there leaning back in a chair in a corner of the room. She had started nervously when he came in. Then sinking back, she had murmured:

‘Oh, it’s you, M. Poirot.’

‘I apologize, Madame. I disturbed you.’

‘No, no. You don’t disturb me. I’m just resting, that’s all. I’m not as young as I was. The shock – it was too much for me.’

‘I comprehend,’ said Poirot. ‘Indeed, I comprehend.’

Mrs Folliat, a handkerchief clutched in her small hand, was staring up at the ceiling. She said in a voice half-stifled with emotion:

‘I can hardly bear to think of it. That poor girl. That poor, poor girl –’

‘I know,’ said Poirot. ‘I know.’

‘So young,’ said Mrs Folliat; ‘just at the beginning of life.’ She said again, ‘I can hardly bear to think of it.’

Poirot looked at her curiously. She seemed, he thought, to have aged by about ten years since the time early in the afternoon, when he had seen her, the gracious hostess, welcoming her guests. Now her face seemed drawn and haggard with the lines in it clearly marked.

‘You said to me only yesterday, Madame, it is a very wicked world.’

‘Did I say that?’ Mrs Folliat seemed startled. ‘It’s true…Oh, yes, I’m only just beginning to know how true it is.’ She added in a low voice, ‘But I never thought anything like this would happen.’

Again he looked at her curiously.

‘What did you think would happen, then? Something?’

‘No, no. I didn’t mean that.’

Poirot persisted.

‘But you did expect something to happen – something out of the usual.’

‘You misunderstand me, M. Poirot. I only mean that it’s the last thing you would expect to happen in the middle of a fête like this.’

‘Lady Stubbs this morning also spoke of wickedness.’

‘Hattie did? Oh, don’t speak of her to me – don’t speak of her. I don’t want to think about her.’ She was silent for a moment or two, and then said, ‘What did she say – about wickedness?’

‘She was speaking of her cousin. Etienne de Sousa. She said that he was wicked, that he was a bad man. She said, too, that she was afraid of him.’

He watched, but she merely shook her head incredulously.

‘Etienne de Sousa – who is he?’