‘It’s somebody she’s been meeting on the sly, I’ve no doubt,’ said Miss Brewis. ‘She often slips out of the house on the quiet and goes off into the woods by herself. She was out the night before last. Yawning and saying she was going up to bed. I caught sight of her not half an hour later slipping out by the side door with a shawl over her head.’

Poirot looked thoughtfully at the woman opposite him. He wondered if any reliance at all was to be placed in Miss Brewis’ statements where Lady Stubbs was concerned, or whether it was entirely wishful thinking on her part. Mrs Folliat, he was sure, did not share Miss Brewis’ ideas and Mrs Folliat knew Hattie much better than Miss Brewis could do. If Lady Stubbs had run away with a lover it would clearly suit Miss Brewis’ book very well. She would be left to console the bereaved husband and to arrange for him efficiently the details of divorce. But that did not make it true, or probable, or even likely. If Hattie Stubbs had left with a lover, she had chosen a very curious time to do so, Poirot thought. For his own part he did not believe she had.

Miss Brewis sniffed through her nose and gathered together various scattered correspondence.

‘If Sir George really wants those advertisements put in, I suppose I’d better see about it,’ she said. ‘Complete nonsense and waste of time. Oh, good morning, Mrs Masterton,’ she added, as the door opened with authority and Mrs Masterton walked in.

‘Inquest is set for Thursday, I hear,’ she boomed. ‘Morning, M. Poirot.’

Miss Brewis paused, her hand full of letters.

‘Anything I can do for you, Mrs Masterton?’ she asked.

‘No, thank you, Miss Brewis. I expect you’ve plenty on your hands this morning, but I do want to thank you for all the excellent work you put in yesterday. You’re such a good organizer and such a hard worker. We’re all very grateful.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Masterton.’

‘Now don’t let me keep you. I’ll sit down and have a word with M. Poirot.’

‘Enchanted, Madame,’ said Poirot. He had risen to his feet and he bowed.

Mrs Masterton pulled out a chair and sat down. Miss Brewis left the room, quite restored to her usual efficient self.

‘Marvellous woman, that,’ said Mrs Masterton. ‘Don’t know what the Stubbses would do without her. Running a house takes some doing nowadays. Poor Hattie couldn’t have coped with it. Extraordinary business, this, M. Poirot. I came to ask you what you thought about it.’

‘What do you yourself think, Madame?’