sublimate one's impulses! That, really, is why I came to you.35

"Yes ?" said Poirot.

"You see, M. Poirot. I think that it is

really not so much wickedness as a craving

for excitement! My life has unfortunately

been very humdrum. The--er--campaign

of the Pekinese dogs, I sometimes

feel, was the only time I really lived. Very

reprehensible, of course, but, as my book

says, one must not turn one's back on the

truth. I came to you, M. Poirot, because

I hoped it might be possible to --to sublimate

that craving for excitement by employing

it, if I may put it that way, on the

side of the angels."

"Aha," said Poirot. "It is then as a

colleague that you present yourself?"

Miss Carnaby blushed.

"It is very presumptuous of me, I know.

But you were so kind --"

She stopped. Her eyes, faded blue eyes,

had something in them of the pleading of

a dog who hopes against hope that you will

take him for a walk.

356

"It is an idea," said Hercule Poirot

slowly.

"I am, of course, not at all clever," explained Miss Camaby. "But my powers of

--of dissimulation are good. They have to

be --otherwise one would be discharged

from the post of companion immediately.

And I have always found that to appear

even stupider than one is, occasionally has

good results." Hercule Poirot laughed. He said:

"You enchant me. Mademoiselle."

"Oh dear, M. Poirot, what a very kind

man you are. Then you do encourage me

to hope ? As it happens, I have just received

a small legacy --a very small one, but it

enables my sister and myself to keep and

feed ourselves in a frugal manner so that I

am not absolutely dependent on what I

earn."

"I must consider," said Poirot, "where

your talents may best be employed. You

have no idea yourself, I suppose ?"

"You know, you must really be a thought

reader, M. Poirot. I have been anxious

lately about a friend of mine. I was going

to consult you. Of course you may say it

is all an old maid's fancy--just imagin 357

ation. One is prone, perhaps to exaggerate,

and to see design where there may be only

coincidence."

cc! do not think you would exaggerate,

Miss Camaby. Tell me what is on your

mind."

''Well, I have a friend, a very dear

friend, though I have not seen very much

of her of late years. Her name is Emmeline

Clegg. She married a man in the North of

England and he died a few years ago leaving

her very comfortably off. She was unhappy

and lonely after his death and I am afraid

she is in some ways a rather foolish and

perhaps credulous woman. Religion, M.

Poirot, can be a great help and sustenance

— but by that I mean orthodox religion."

"You refer to the Greek Church?"

asked Poirot.

Miss Camaby looked shocked.

"Oh no, indeed. Church of England.

And though I do not approve of Roman