‘Is that’—Susan’s voice shook a little—‘is that what happened last night?’

‘I think so, yes, mademoiselle.’

Susan said violently:

‘I don’t believe a word of it.’

Poirot did not answer. He walked over to the mantelpiece. He wheeled sharply round.

‘Mademoiselle, I have need of you as a witness. I have already one witness, Mr Trent. He saw me find this tiny sliver of looking-glass last night. I spoke of it to him. I left it where it was for the police. I even told the chief constable that a valuable clue was the broken mirror. But he did not avail himself of my hint. Now you are a witness that I place this sliver of looking-glass (to which, remember, I have already called Mr Trent’s attention) into a little envelope—so.’ He suited the action to the word. ‘And I write on it—so—and seal it up. You are a witness, mademoiselle?’

‘Yes—but—but I don’t know what it means.’

Poirot walked over to the other side of the room. He stood in front of the desk and stared at the shattered mirror on the wall in front of him.

‘I will tell you what it means, mademoiselle. If you had been standing here last night, looking into this mirror, you could have seen in it murder being committed…’

Chapter 12

I

For once in her life Ruth Chevenix-Gore—now Ruth Lake—came down to breakfast in good time. Hercule Poirot was in the hall and drew her aside before she went into the dining-room.

‘I have a question to ask you, madame.’

‘Yes?’

‘You were in the garden last night. Did you at any time step in the flower-bed outside Sir Gervase’s study window?’

Ruth stared at him.

‘Yes, twice.’

‘Ah! Twice. How twice?’

‘The first time I was picking michaelmas daisies. That was about seven o’clock.’

‘Was it not rather an odd time of day to pick flowers?’

‘Yes, it was, as a matter of fact. I’d done the flowers yesterday morning, but Vanda said after tea that the flowers on the dinner-table weren’t good enough. I had thought they would be all right, so I hadn’t done them fresh.’

‘But your mother requested you to do them? Is that right?’

‘Yes. So I went out just before seven. I took them from that part of the border because hardly anyone goes round there, and so it didn’t matter spoiling the effect.’

‘Yes, yes, but the second time. You went there a second time, you said?’

‘That was just before dinner. I had dropped a spot of brilliantine on my dress—just by the shoulder. I didn’t want to bother to change, and none of my artificial flowers went with the yellow of that dress. I remembered I’d seen a late rose when I was picking the michaelmas daisies, so I hurried out and got it and pinned it on my shoulder.’

Poirot nodded his head slowly.

‘Yes, I remember that you wore a rose last night. What time was it, madame, when you picked that rose?’