‘Four of them,’ murmured Poirot. ‘Two going toward the window, two coming from it.’

‘A gardener,’ suggested Joan.

‘But no, mademoiselle, but no. Employ your eyes. These shoes are small, dainty, high-heeled, the shoes of a woman. Mademoiselle Diana mentioned having been out in the garden. Do you know if she went downstairs before you did, mademoiselle?’

Joan shook her head.

‘I can’t remember. I was in such a hurry because the gong went, and I thought I’d heard the first one. I do seem to remember that her room door was open as I went past, but I’m not sure. Mrs Lytcham Roche’s was shut, I know.’

‘I see,’ said Poirot.

Something in his voice made Harry look up sharply, but Poirot was merely frowning gently to himself.

In the doorway they met Diana Cleves.

‘The police have gone,’ she said. ‘It’s all–over.’

She gave a deep sigh.

‘May I request one little word with you, mademoiselle?’

She led the way into the morning room, and Poirot followed, shutting the door.

‘Well?’ She looked a little surprised.

‘One little question, mademoiselle. Were you tonight at any time in the flower border outside the study window?’

‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘About seven o’clock and again just before dinner.’

‘I do not understand,’ he said.

‘I can’t see that there is anything to “understand”, as you call it,’ she said coldly. ‘I was picking Michaelmas daisies–for the table. I always do the flowers. That was about seven o’clock.’

‘And afterward–later?’

‘Oh, that! As a matter of fact I dropped a spot of hair oil on my dress–just on the shoulder here. It was just as I was ready to come down. I didn’t want to change the dress. I remembered I’d seen a late rose in bud in the border. I ran out and picked it and pinned it in. See–’ She came close to him and lifted the head of the rose. Poirot saw the minute grease spot. She remained close to him, her shoulder almost brushing his.

‘And what time was this?’

‘Oh, about ten minutes past eight, I suppose.’

‘You did not–try the window?’

‘I believe I did. Yes, I thought it would be quicker to go in that way. But it was fastened.’

‘I see.’ Poirot drew a deep breath. ‘And the shot,’ he said, ‘where were you when you heard that? Still in the flower border?’

‘Oh, no; it was two or three minutes later, just before I came in by the side door.’

‘Do you know what this is, mademoiselle?’

On the palm of his hand he held out the tiny silk rosebud. She examined it coolly.

‘It looks like a rosebud off my little evening bag. Where did you find it?’

‘It was in Mr Keene’s pocket,’ said Poirot dryly. ‘Did you give it to him, mademoiselle?’

‘Did he tell you I gave it to him?’

Poirot smiled.