‘Aha,’ said Poirot. ‘I see. That makes Sir Gervase’s attitude very much clearer. But if he did not like Mr Hugo Trent, why was he so anxious to arrange a marriage between him and Mademoiselle Ruth?’

‘To regularize the family position. It pleased his sense of fitness.’

‘Even though he did not like or trust the young man?’

Colonel Bury snorted.

‘You don’t understand old Gervase. He couldn’t regard people as human beings. He arranged alliances as though the parties were royal personages! He considered it fitting that Ruth and Hugo should marry, Hugo taking the name of Chevenix-Gore. What Hugo and Ruth thought about it didn’t matter.’

‘And was Mademoiselle Ruth willing to fall in with this arrangement?’

Colonel Bury chuckled.

‘Not she! She’s a tartar!’

‘Did you know that shortly before his death Sir Gervase was drafting a new will by which Miss Chevenix-Gore would inherit only on condition that she should marry Mr Trent?’

Colonel Bury whistled.

‘Then he really had got the wind-up about her and Burrows—’

As soon as he had spoken, he bit the words off, but it was too late. Poirot had pounced upon the admission.

‘There was something between Mademoiselle Ruth and young Monsieur Burrows?’

‘Probably nothing in it—nothing in it at all.’

Major Riddle coughed and said:

‘I think, Colonel Bury, that you must tell us all you know. It might have a direct bearing on Sir Gervase’s state of mind.’

‘I suppose it might,’ said Colonel Bury, doubtfully. ‘Well, the truth of it is, young Burrows is not a bad-looking chap—at least, women seem to think so. He and Ruth seem to have got as thick as thieves just lately, and Gervase didn’t like it—didn’t like it at all. Didn’t like to sack Burrows for fear of precipitating matters. He knows what Ruth’s like. She won’t be dictated to in any way. So I suppose he hit on this scheme. Ruth’s not the sort of girl to sacrifice everything for love. She’s fond of the fleshpots and she likes money.’

‘Do you yourself approve of Mr Burrows?’

The colonel delivered himself of the opinion that Godfrey Burrows was slightly hairy at the heel, a pronouncement which baffled Poirot completely, but made Major Riddle smile into his moustache.

A few more questions were asked and answered, and then Colonel Bury departed.

Riddle glanced over at Poirot who was sitting absorbed in thought.

‘What do you make of it all, M. Poirot?’

The little man raised his hands.

‘I seem to see a pattern—a purposeful design.’

Riddle said, ‘It’s difficult.’

‘Yes, it is difficult. But more and more one phrase, lightly uttered, strikes me as significant.’

‘What was that?’

‘That laughing sentence spoken by Hugo Trent: “There’s always murder”…’

Riddle said sharply:

‘Yes, I can see that you’ve been leaning that way all along.’

‘Do you not agree, my friend, that the more we learn, the less and less motive we find for suicide? But for murder, we begin to have a surprising collection of motives!’