‘Is there anything else, M. Poirot?’

‘No, madame. I will not detain you further.’

‘Thank you.’

He opened the door for her. She passed out without glancing at him.

Poirot went back to the fireplace and carefully rearranged the ornaments on the mantelpiece. He was still at it when Lord Mayfield came in through the window.

‘Well?’ said the latter.

‘Very well, I think. Events are shaping themselves as they should.’

Lord Mayfield said, staring at him:

‘You are pleased.’

‘No, I am not pleased. But I am content.’

‘Really, M. Poirot, I cannot make you out.’

‘I am not such a charlatan as you think.’

‘I never said—’

‘No, but you thought! No matter. I am not offended. It is sometimes necessary for me to adopt a certain pose.’

Lord Mayfield looked at him doubtfully with a certain amount of distrust. Hercule Poirot was a man he did not understand. He wanted to despise him, but something warned him that this ridiculous little man was not so futile as he appeared. Charles McLaughlin had always been able to recognize capability when he saw it.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘we are in your hands. What do you advise next?’

‘Can you get rid of your guests?’

‘I think it might be arranged … I could explain that I have to go to London over this affair. They will then probably offer to leave.’

‘Very good. Try and arrange it like that.’

Lord Mayfield hesitated.

‘You don’t think—?’

‘I am quite sure that that would be the wise course to take.’

Lord Mayfield shrugged his shoulders.

‘Well, if you say so.’

He went out.

The guests left after lunch. Mrs Vanderlyn and Mrs Macatta went by train, the Carringtons had their car. Poirot was standing in the hall as Mrs Vanderlyn bade her host a charming farewell.

‘So terribly sorry for you having this bother and anxiety. I do hope it will turn out all right for you. I shan’t breathe a word of anything.’

She pressed his hand and went out to where the Rolls was waiting to take her to the station. Mrs Macatta was already inside. Her adieu had been curt and unsympathetic.

Suddenly Leonie, who had been getting in front with the chauffeur, came running back into the hall.

‘The dressing-case of madame, it is not in the car,’ she exclaimed.

There was a hurried search. At last Lord Mayfield discovered it where it had been put down in the shadow of an old oak chest. Leonie uttered a glad little cry as she seized the elegant affair of green morocco, and hurried out with it.

Then Mrs Vanderlyn leaned out of the car.

‘Lord Mayfield, Lord Mayfield.’ She handed him a letter. ‘Would you mind putting this in your post-bag? If I keep it meaning to post it in town, I’m sure to forget. Letters just stay in my bag for days.’