“You’re quite right. The shock has been very bad for a child of that age. It has made her terribly jumpy.”

“That is only natural, Mademoiselle. But at any age one soon forgets. Persuade her to come. You can, I know.”

Major Barry had refused firmly. He said he didn’t like picnics. “Lots of baskets to carry,” he said. “And darned uncomfortable. Eating my food at a table’s good enough for me.”

The party assembled at ten o’clock. Three cars had been ordered. Mr. Blatt was loud and cheerful, imitating a tourist guide.

“This way, ladies and gentlemen—this way for Dartmoor. Heather and bilberries, Devonshire cream and convicts. Bring your wives, gentlemen, or bring the other thing! Everyone welcome! Scenery guaranteed. Walk up. Walk up.”

At the last minute Rosamund Darnley came down looking concerned. She said:

“Linda’s not coming. She says she’s got a frightful headache.”

Poirot cried:

“But it will do her good to come. Persuade her, Mademoiselle.”

Rosamund said firmly:

“It’s no good. She’s absolutely determined. I’ve given her some aspirin and she’s gone to bed.”

She hesitated and said:

“I think, perhaps, I won’t go, either.

“Can’t allow that, dear lady, can’t allow that,” cried Mr. Blatt, seizing her facetiously by the arm. “La haute Mode must grace the occasion. No refusals! I’ve taken you into custody, ha, ha. Sentenced to Dartmoor.”

He led her firmly to the first car. Rosamund threw a black look at Hercule Poirot.

“I’ll stay with Linda,” said Christine Redfern. “I don’t mind a bit.”

Patrick said: “Oh, come on, Christine.”

And Poirot said:

“No, no, you must come, Madame. With a headache one is better alone. Come, let us start.”

The three cars drove off. They went first to the real Pixy’s Cave on Sheepstor, and had a good deal of fun looking for the entrance and at last finding it, aided by a picture postcard.

It was precarious going on the big boulders and Hercule Poirot did not attempt it. He watched indulgently while Christine Redfern sprang lightly from stone to stone and observed that her husband was never far from her. Rosamund Darnley and Emily Brewster had joined in the search though the latter slipped once and gave a slight twist to her ankle. Stephen Lane was indefatigable, his long lean figure turning and twisting among the boulders. Mr. Blatt contented himself with going a little way and shouting encouragement, also taking photographs of the searchers.

The Gardeners and Poirot remained staidly sitting by the wayside whilst Mrs. Gardener’s voice upraised itself in a pleasant even-toned monologue, punctuated now and then by the obedient “Yes, darlings” of her spouse.