“Quite correct, mon ami.” Poirot beamed at me. To our audience, he said, “Shortly before I tasted the coffee and made the connection with Pleasant’s, I had been looking at a picture by St. John Wallace that was his wedding anniversary present to his wife. It was a picture of blue bindweed. It was dated—the fourth of August last year—and Lady Wallace remarked upon this. It was then that Poirot, he realized something: Nancy Ducane’s portrait of Louisa Wallace, which he had seen a few minutes earlier, was not dated. As an appreciator of art, I have attended countless exhibition premieres in London. I have seen the work of Mrs. Ducane before, many times. Her pictures always have the date in the bottom right-hand corner, as well as her initials: NAED.”

“You pay more attention than most who attend the exhibitions,” Nancy said.

“Hercule Poirot always pays attention—to everything. I believe, madame, that your portrait of Louisa Wallace was dated, until you painted out the date. Why? Because it was not a recent one. You needed me to believe that you had delivered the portrait to Lady Wallace on the night of the murders, and that, therefore, it was a newly completed portrait. I asked myself why you did not paint on a new, false date, and the answer was obvious: if your work survives for hundreds of years, and if art historians take an interest in it, as they surely will, you do not wish actively to mislead them, these people who care about your work. No, the only people you wish to mislead are Hercule Poirot and the police!”

Nancy Ducane tilted her head to one side. In a thoughtful voice, she said, “How perceptive you are, Monsieur Poirot. You really do understand, don’t you?”

“Oui, madame. I understand that you found employment for Jennie Hobbs in the home of your friend Louisa Wallace—to help Jennie, when she came to London and needed a job. I understand that Jennie was never part of any plan to frame you for murder, though she allowed Richard Negus to believe otherwise. In fact, ladies and gentleman, Jennie Hobbs and Nancy Ducane have been friends and allies ever since they both lived in Great Holling. The two women who loved Patrick Ive unconditionally and beyond reason are the ones who formulated a plan nearly clever enough to fool me, Hercule Poirot—but not quite clever enough!”

“Lies, all lies!” Jennie wept.

Nancy said nothing.