‘Did you notice anything amiss in his manner today? Was he depressed, or unduly excited—was there anything at all abnormal?’

‘I don’t think so. I wasn’t noticing—’

‘When did you see him last?’

‘Tea-time.’

Poirot spoke:

‘You did not go to the study—later?’

‘No. The last I saw of him was in this room. Sitting there.’

She indicated a chair.

‘I see. Do you know this pencil, mademoiselle?’

‘It’s Colonel Bury’s.’

‘Have you seen it lately?’

‘I don’t really remember.’

‘Do you know anything of a—disagreement between Sir Gervase and Colonel Bury?’

‘Over the Paragon Rubber Company, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘I should think so. The Old Man was rabid about it!’

‘He considered, perhaps, that he had been swindled?’

Ruth shrugged her shoulders.

‘He didn’t understand the first thing about finance.’

Poirot said:

‘May I ask you a question, mademoiselle—a somewhat impertinent question?’

‘Certainly, if you like.’

‘It is this—are you sorry that your—father is dead?’

She stared at him.

‘Of course I’m sorry. I don’t indulge in sob-stuff. But I shall miss him…I was fond of the Old Man. That’s what we called him, Hugo and I, always. The “Old Man”—you know—something of the primitive—anthropoid-ape-original-Patriarch-of-the-tribe business. It sounds disrespectful, but there’s really a lot of affection behind it. Of course, he was really the most complete, muddle-headed old ass that ever lived!’

‘You interest me, mademoiselle.’

‘The Old Man had the brains of a louse! Sorry to have to say it, but it’s true. He was incapable of any kind of headwork. Mind you, he was a character. Fantastically brave and all that! Could go careering off to the Pole, or fighting duels. I always think that he blustered such a lot because he really knew that his brains weren’t up to much. Anyone could have got the better of him.’

Poirot took the letter from his pocket.

‘Read this, mademoiselle.’

She read it through and handed it back to him.

‘So that’s what brought you here!’

‘Does it suggest anything to you, that letter?’

She shook her head.

‘No. It’s probably quite true. Anyone could have robbed the poor old pet. John says the last agent before him swindled him right and left. You see, the Old Man was so grand and so pompous that he never really condescended to look into details! He was an invitation to crooks.’

‘You paint a different picture of him, mademoiselle, from the accepted one.’

‘Oh, well—he put up a pretty good camouflage. Vanda (my mother) backed him for all she was worth. He was so happy stalking round pretending he was God Almighty. That’s why, in a way, I’m glad he’s dead. It’s the best thing for him.’

‘I do not quite follow you, mademoiselle.’

Ruth said broodingly:

‘It was growing on him. One of these days he would have had to be locked up…People were beginning to talk as it was.’

‘Did you know, mademoiselle, that he was contemplating a will whereby you could only inherit his money if you married Mr Trent?’