He strode to the door and gave an order. The two stewards were ushered in. The younger steward had recovered his balance. He looked more excited than anything else. The other steward still looked white and frightened.

"That's all right, my lads," said Japp. "Sit down. Got the passports there?... Good."

He sorted through them quickly.

"Ah, here we are. Marie Morisot, French passport. Know anything about her?"

"I've seen her before. She crossed to and fro from England fairly often," said Mitchell.

"Ah, in business of some kind. You don't know what her business was?"

Mitchell shook his head. The younger steward said: "I remember her too. I saw her on the early service - the eight o'clock from Paris."

"Which of you was the last to see her alive?"

"Him." The younger steward indicated his companion.

"That's right," said Mitchell. "That's when I took her her coffee."

"How was she looking then?"

"Can't say I noticed. I just handed her the sugar and offered her milk, which she refused."

"What time was that?"

"Well, I couldn't say exactly. We were over the Channel at the time. Might have been somewhere about two o'clock."

"Thereabouts," said Albert Davis, the other steward.

"When did you see her next?"

"When I took the bills round."

"What time was that?"

"About a quarter of an hour later. I thought she was asleep... Crikey!

She must have been dead then!" The steward's voice sounded awed.

"You didn't see any signs of this -" Japp indicated the little wasp-like dart.

"No, sir, I didn't."

"What about you, Davis?"

"The last time I saw her was when I was handing the biscuits to go with the cheese. She was all right then."

"What is your system of serving meals?" asked Poirot. "Do each of you serve separate cars?"

"No, sir, we work it together. The soup, then the meat and vegetables and salad, then the sweet, and so on. We usually serve the rear car first, and then go out with a fresh lot of dishes to the front car."

Poirot nodded.

"Did this Morisot woman speak to anyone on the plane, or show any signs of recognition?" asked Japp.

"Not that I saw, sir."

"You, Davis?"

"No, sir."

"Did she leave her seat at all during the journey?"

"I don't think so, sir."

"There's nothing you can think of that throws any light on this business

-either of you?"

Both the men thought, then shook their heads.

"Well, that will be all for now, then. I'll see you again later."

Henry Mitchell said soberly:

"It's a nasty thing to happen, sir. I don't like it - me having been in charge, so to speak."

"Well, I can't see that you're to blame in any way," said Japp. "Still, I agree, it's a nasty thing to happen."

He made a gesture of dismissal. Poirot leaned forward.

"Permit me one little question."

"Go ahead, M. Poirot."

"Did either of you two notice a wasp flying about the plane?"