‘You are right,’ agreed Poirot.

‘In any case,’ continued Japp, ‘she’s holding out on us. Eh? Didn’t you feel that too? That young woman knows something.’

Poirot nodded thoughtfully.

‘Yes, that could be clearly seen.’

‘That’s always a difficulty in these cases,’ Japp complained. ‘People will hold their tongues—sometimes out of the most honourable motives.’

‘For which one can hardly blame them, my friend.’

‘No, but it makes it much harder for us,’ Japp grumbled.

‘It merely displays to its full advantage your ingenuity,’ Poirot consoled him. ‘What about fingerprints, by the way?’

‘Well, it’s murder all right. No prints whatever on the pistol. Wiped clean before being placed in her hand. Even if she managed to wind her arm round her head in some marvellous acrobatic fashion she could hardly fire off a pistol without hanging on to it and she couldn’t wipe it after she was dead.’

‘No, no, an outside agency is clearly indicated.’

‘Otherwise the prints are disappointing. None on the door-handle. None on the window. Suggestive, eh? Plenty of Mrs Allen’s all over the place.’

‘Did Jameson get anything?’

‘Out of the daily woman? No. She talked a lot but she didn’t really know much. Confirmed the fact that Allen and Plenderleith were on good terms. I’ve sent Jameson out to make inquiries in the mews. We’ll have to have a word with Mr Laverton-West too. Find out where he was and what he was doing last night. In the meantime we’ll have a look through her papers.’

He set to without more ado. Occasionally he grunted and tossed something over to Poirot. The search did not take long. There were not many papers in the desk and what there were were neatly arranged and docketed.

Finally Japp leant back and uttered a sigh.

‘Not very much, is there?’

‘As you say.’

‘Most of it quite straightforward—receipted bills, a few bills as yet unpaid—nothing particularly outstanding. Social stuff—invitations. Notes from freinds. These—’ he laid his hand on a pile of seven or eight letters—‘and her cheque book and passbook. Anything strike you there?’

‘Yes, she was overdrawn.’

‘Anything else?’

Poirot smiled.

‘Is it an examination that you put me through? But yes, I noticed what you are thinking of. Two hundred pounds drawn to self three months ago—and two hundred pounds drawn out yesterday—’

‘And nothing on the counterfoil of the cheque book. No other cheques to self except small sums—fifteen pounds the highest. And I’ll tell you this—there’s no such sum of money in the house. Four pounds ten in a handbag and an odd shilling or two in another bag. That’s pretty clear, I think.’

‘Meaning that she paid that sum away yesterday.’

‘Yes. Now who did she pay it to?’

The door opened and Inspector Jameson entered.

‘Well, Jameson, get anything?’

‘Yes, sir, several things. To begin with, nobody actually heard the shot. Two or three women say they did because they want to think they did—but that’s all there is to it. With all those fireworks going off there isn’t a dog’s chance.’