“Well, Mrs. Marshall—she wasn’t exactly a lady, as you might say. What I mean is she was more like an actress.”

Colonel Weston said:

“She was an actress.”

“Yes, sir, that’s what I’m saying. She just went on exactly as she felt like it. She didn’t—well, she didn’t trouble to be polite if she wasn’t feeling polite. And she’d be all smiles one minute and then, if she couldn’t find something or the bell wasn’t answered at once or her laundry wasn’t back, well, be downright rude and nasty about it. None of us you might say liked her. But her clothes were beautiful, and, of course, she was a very handsome lady, so it was only natural she should be admired.”

Colonel Weston said:

“I am sorry to have to ask you what I am going to ask you, but it is a very vital matter. Can you tell me how things were between her and her husband?”

Gladys Narracott hesitated a minute.

She said:

“You don’t—it wasn’t—you don’t think as he did it?”

Hercule Poirot said quickly:

“Do you?”

“Oh! I wouldn’t like to think so. He’s such a nice gentleman, Captain Marshall. He couldn’t do a thing like that—I’m sure he couldn’t.”

“But you are not very sure—I hear it in your voice.”

Gladys Narracott said reluctantly:

“You do read such things in the papers! When there’s jealousy. If there’s been goings on—and, of course, everyone’s been talking about it—about her and Mr. Redfern, I mean. And Mrs. Redfern such a nice quiet lady! It does seem a shame! And Mr. Redfern’s a nice gentleman too, but it seems men can’t help themselves when it’s a lady like Mrs. Marshall—one who’s used to having her own way. Wives have to put up with a lot, I’m sure.” She sighed and paused. “But if Captain Marshall found out about it—”

Colonel Weston said sharply:

“Well?”

Gladys Narracott said slowly:

“I did think sometimes that Mrs. Marshall was frightened of her husband knowing.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It wasn’t anything definite, sir. It was only I felt—that sometimes she was—afraid of him. He was a very quiet gentleman but he wasn’t—he wasn’t easy.”

Weston said:

“But you’ve nothing definite to go on? Nothing either of them ever said to each other.”

Slowly Gladys Narracott shook her head.

Weston sighed. He went on.

“Now, as to letters received by Mrs. Marshall this morning. Can you tell us anything about those?”

“There were about six or seven, sir. I couldn’t say exactly.”

“Did you take them up to her?”

“Yes, sir. I got them from the office as usual and put them on her breakfast tray.”

“Do you remember anything about the look of them?”