‘And why did he say that—for Vanda’s sake?’ inquired Poirot.

‘Well, you see, Lady Chevenix-Gore was very fond of Colonel Bury, and he worshipped her. Followed her about like a dog.’

‘Sir Gervase was not—jealous at all?’

‘Jealous?’ Burrows stared and then laughed. ‘Sir Gervase jealous? He wouldn’t know how to set about it. Why, it would never have entered his head that anyone could ever prefer another man to him. Such a thing couldn’t be, you understand.’

Poirot said gently:

‘You did not, I think, like Sir Gervase Chevenix-Gore very much?’

Burrows flushed.

‘Oh, yes, I did. At least—well, all that sort of thing strikes one as rather ridiculous nowadays.’

‘All what sort of thing?’ asked Poirot.

‘Well, the feudal motif, if you like. This worship of ancestry and personal arrogance. Sir Gervase was a very able man in many ways, and had led an interesting life, but he would have been more interesting if he hadn’t been so entirely wrapped up in himself and his own egoism.’

‘Did his daughter agree with you there?’

Burrows flushed again—this time a deep purple.

He said:

‘I should imagine Miss Chevenix-Gore is quite one of the moderns! Naturally, I shouldn’t discuss her father with her.’

‘But the moderns do discuss their fathers a good deal!’ said Poirot. ‘It is entirely in the modern spirit to criticize your parents!’

Burrows shrugged his shoulders.

Major Riddle asked:

‘And there was nothing else—no other financial anxiety? Sir Gervase never spoke of having been victimized?’

‘Victimized?’ Burrows sounded very astonished. ‘Oh, no.’

‘And you yourself were on quite good terms with him?’

‘Certainly I was. Why not?’

‘I am asking you, Mr Burrows.’

The young man looked sulky.

‘We were on the best of terms.’

‘Did you know that Sir Gervase had written to M. Poirot asking him to come down here?’

‘No.’

‘Did Sir Gervase usually write his own letters?’

‘No, he nearly always dictated them to me.’

‘But he did not do so in this case?’

‘No.’

‘Why was that, do you think?’

‘I can’t imagine.’

‘You can suggest no reason why he should have written this particular letter himself?’

‘No, I can’t.’

‘Ah!’ said Major Riddle, adding smoothly, ‘Rather curious. When did you last see Sir Gervase?’

‘Just before I went to dress for dinner. I took him some letters to sign.’

‘What was his manner then?’

‘Quite normal. In fact I should say he was feeling rather pleased with himself about something.’

Poirot stirred a little in his chair.

‘Ah?’ he said. ‘So that was your impression, was it? That he was pleased about something. And yet, not so very long afterwards, he shoots himself. It is odd, that!’

Godfrey Burrows shrugged his shoulders.

‘I’m only telling you my impressions.’

‘Yes, yes, they are very valuable. After all, you are probably one of the last people who saw Sir Gervase alive.’

‘Snell was the last person to see him.’

‘To see him, yes, but not to speak to him.’

Burrows did not reply.