Jane's lips curled scornfully; her glance traveled farther down the car.

Behind the two women was the little foreigner who had yielded his seat to the county woman. Heavily muffled up in unnecessary mufflers, he appeared to be fast asleep. Perhaps made uneasy by Jane's scrutiny, his eyes opened, looked at her for a moment, then closed again.

Beside him sat a tall, gray-haired man with an authoritative face. He had a flute case open in front of him and was polishing the flute with loving care. Funny, Jane thought, he didn't look like a musician - more like a lawyer or a doctor.

Behind these two were a couple of Frenchmen, one with a beard and one much younger - perhaps his son. They were talking and gesticulating in an excited manner.

On her own side of the car, Jane's view was blocked by the man in the blue pullover - the man at whom, for some absurd reason, she was determined not to look.

"Absurd to feel so - so excited. I might be seventeen," thought Jane disgustedly.

Opposite her, Norman Gale was thinking:

"She's pretty - really pretty. She remembers me all right. She looked so disappointed when her stakes were swept away. It was worth a lot more than that to see her pleasure when she won. I did that rather well. She's very attractive when she smiles - no pyorrhoea there - healthy gums and sound teeth... Damn it, I feel quite excited. Steady, my boy."

He said to the steward, who hovered at his side with the menu, "I'll have cold tongue."

The Countess of Horbury thought: "What shall I do? It's the hell of a mess. The hell of a mess. There's only one way out that I can see. If only I had the nerve - Can I do it? Can I bluff it out? My nerves are all to pieces! That's the coke. Why did I ever take to coke? My face looks awful - simply awful. That cat, Venetia Kerr, being here makes it worse. She always looks at me as though I were dirt. Wanted Stephen herself. Well, she didn't get him! That long face of hers gets on my nerves. It's exactly like a horse. I hate these county women. What shall I do? I've got to make up my mind. The old hag meant what she said."

She fumbled in her vanity bag for her cigarette case and fitted a cigarette into a long holder. Her hands shook slightly.

The Honorable Venetia Kerr thought: "Little tart! That's what she is. Poor old Stephen! If he only could get rid of her!"

She, in turn, felt for her cigarette case. She accepted Cicely Horbury's match.

The steward said: "Excuse me, ladies; no smoking."

Cicely Horbury said, "Hell!"

M. Hercule Poirot thought: "She is pretty, that little one over there. There is determination in that chin. Why is she so worried over something? Why is she so determined not to look at the handsome young man opposite her? She is very much aware of him and he of her." The plane dropped slightly. "Mon estomac!" thought Hercule Poirot, and closed his eyes determinedly.