We know from the conductor that he made up the berth for the first compartment, but he did not go into the second compartment, and that a man could quite well have been concealed from him. So far the Comte could have been hidden to a marvel. No one knows of his presence on the train except Madame; he has been careful that the maid did not see his face. All that she could say is that he was tall and dark. It is all most conveniently vague. They are aloneand the train rushes through the night. There would be no outcry, no struggle, for the man is, so she thinks, her lover. He turned gently to Van Aldin. Death, Monsieur, must have been almost instantaneous. We will pass over that quickly. The Comte takes the jewelcase which lies ready to his hand. Shortly afterwards the train draws into Lyons. M. Carrge nodded his approval. Precisely. The conductor without descends. It would be easy for our man to leave the train unseen; it would be easy to catch a train back to Paris or anywhere he pleases. And the crime would be put down as an ordinary train robbery. But for the letter found in Madames bag, the Comte would not have been mentioned. It was an oversight on his part not to search that bag, declared the Commissary. Without doubt he thought she had destroyed that letter. It waspardon me, Monsieurit was an indiscretion of the first water to keep it. And yet, murmured Poirot, it was an indiscretion the Comte might have foreseen. You mean? I mean we are all agreed on one point, and that is that the Comte de la Roche knows one subject  fond Women. How was it that, knowing women as he does, he did not foresee that Madame would have kept that letter? Yesyes, said the Examining Magistrate doubtfully, there is something in what you say. But at such times, you understand, a man is not master of himself. He does not reason calmly. Mon Dieu! he added, with feeling, if our criminals kept their heads and acted with intelligence, how should we capture them? Poirot smiled to himself. It seems to me a clear case, said the other, but a difficult one to prove. The Comte is a slippery customer, and unless the maid can identify him Which is most unlikely, said Poirot. True, true. The Examining Magistrate rubbed his chin. It is going to be difficult. If he did indeed commit the crime began Poirot. M. Caux interrupted. Ifyou say if? Yes, Monsieur le Commissaire, I say if. The other looked at him sharply. You are right, he said at last, we go too fast. It is possible that the Comte may have an alibi. Then we should look foolish. Ah, a par exemple, replied Poirot, that is of no importance whatever. Naturally, if he committed the crime he will have an alibi. A man with the Comtes experience does not neglect to take precautions. No, I said if for a very definite reason. And what was that? Poirot wagged an emphatic forefinger. The psychology. Eh? said the Commissary. The psychology is at fault. The Comte is a scoundrelyes. The Comte is a swindleryes. The Comte preys upon womenyes. He proposes to steal Madames jewelsagain yes. Is he the kind of man to commit murder? I say no! A man of the type of the Comte is always a coward; he takes no risks. He plays the safe, the mean, what the English call the lowdown game; but murder, a hundred times no! He shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. The Examining Magistrate, however, did not seem disposed to agree with him. The day always comes when such gentry lose their heads and go too far, he observed sagely. Doubtless that is the case here. Without wishing to disagree with you, M. Poirot It was only an opinion, Poirot hastened to explain. The case is, of course, in your hands, and you will do what seems fit to you. I am satisfied in my own mind the Comte de la Roche is the man we need to get hold of, said M. Carrge. You agree with me, Monsieur le Commissaire? Perfectly. And you, M. Van Aldin? Yes, said the millionaire. Yes; the man is a thoroughpaced villain, no doubt about it. It will be difficult to lay hands on him, I am afraid, said the Magistrate, but we will do our best. Telegraphed instructions shall go out at once. Permit me to assist you, said Poirot. There need be no difficulty. Eh? The others stared at him. The little man smiled beamingly back at them. It is my business to know things, he explained. The Comte is a man of intelligence. He is at present at a villa he has leased, the Villa Marina at Antibes. XVI Poirot Discusses the Case Everybody looked respectfully at Poirot. Undoubtedly the little man had scored heavily. The Commissary laughedon a rather hollow note. You teach us all our business, he cried. M. Poirot knows more than the police. Poirot gazed complacently at the ceiling, adopting a mockmodest air. What will you; it is my little hobby, he murmured, to know things. Naturally I have the time to indulge it. I am not overburdened with affairs. Ah! said the Commissary shaking his head portentously. As for me He made an exaggerated gesture to represent the cares that lay on his shoulders. Poirot turned suddenly to Van Aldin. You agree, Monsieur, with this view? You feel certain that the Comte de la Roche is the murderer? Why, it would seem soyes, certainly. Something guarded in the answer made the Examining Magistrate look at the American curiously. Van Aldin seemed aware of his scrutiny and made an effort as though to shake off some preoccupation. What about my soninlaw? he asked. You have acquainted him with the news? He is in Nice, I understand. Certainly, Monsieur. The Commissary hesitated, and then murmured very discreetly You are doubtless aware, M. Van Aldin, that M. Kettering was also one of the passengers on the Blue Train that night? The millionaire nodded. Heard it just before I left London, he vouchsafed laconically. He tells us, continued the Commissary, that he had no idea his wife was travelling on the train. I bet he hadnt, said Van Aldin grimly. It would have been rather a nasty shock to him if hed come across her on it. The three men looked at him questioningly. Im not going to mince matters, said Van Aldin savagely. No one knows what my poor girl has had to put up with. Derek Kettering wasnt alone. He had a lady with him. Ah? Mirellethe dancer. M. Carrge and the Commissary looked at each other and nodded as though confirming some previous conversation. M. Carrge leaned back in his chair, joined his hands, and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. Ah! he murmured again. One wondered. He coughed. One has heard rumours. The lady, said M. Caux, is very notorious. And also, murmured Poirot softly, very expensive. Van Aldin had gone very red in the face. He leant forward and hit the table a bang with his fist. See here, he cried, my soninlaw is a damned scoundrel! He glared at them, looking from one face to another. Oh, I dont know, he went on. Good looks and a charming, easy manner. It took me in once upon a time. I suppose he pretended to be brokenhearted when you broke the news to himthat is, if he didnt know it already. Oh, it came as a surprise to him. He was overwhelmed. Darned young hypocrite, said Van Aldin. Simulated great grief, I suppose? Nno, said the Commissary cautiously. I would not quite say thateh, M. Carrge? The Magistrate brought the tips of his fingers together, and half closed his eyes. Shock, bewilderment, horrorthese things, yes, he declared judicially. Great sorrownoI should not say that. Hercule Poirot spoke once more. Permit me to ask, M. Van Aldin, does M. Kettering benefit by the death of his wife? He benefits to the tune of a couple of millions, said Van Aldin. Dollars? Pounds. I settled that sum on Ruth absolutely on her marriage. She made no will and leaves no children, so the money will go to her husband. Whom she was on the point of divorcing, murmured Poirot. Ah, yesprcisment. The Commissary turned and looked sharply at him. Do you mean? he began. I mean nothing, said Poirot. I arrange the facts, that is all. Van Aldin stared at him with awakening interest. The little man rose to his feet. I do not think I can be of any further service to you, M. le Juge, he said politely, bowing to M. Carrge. You will keep me informed of the course of events? It will be a kindness. But certainlymost certainly. Van Aldin rose also. You dont want me any more at present? No, Monsieur; we have all the information we need for the moment. Then I will walk a little way with M. Poirot. That is, if he does not object? Enchanted, Monsieur, said the little man, with a bow. Van Aldin lighted a large cigar, having first offered one to Poirot, who declined it and lit one of his own tiny cigarettes. A man of great strength of character, Van Aldin already appeared to be his everyday, normal self once more. After strolling along for a minute or two in silence, the millionaire spoke I take it, M. Poirot, that you no longer exercise your profession? That is so, Monsieur. I enjoy the world. Yet you are assisting the police in this affair? Monsieur, if a doctor walks along the street and an accident happens, does he say, I have retired from my profession, I will continue my walk, when there is someone bleeding to death at his feet? If I had been already in Nice, and the police had sent to me and asked me to assist them, I should have refused. But this affair, the good God thrust it upon me. You were on the spot, said Van Aldin thoughtfully. You examined the compartment, did you not? Poirot nodded. Doubtless you found things that were, shall we say, suggestive to you? Perhaps, said Poirot. I hope you see what I am leading up to? said Van Aldin. It seems to me that the case against this Comte de la Roche is perfectly clear, but I am not a fool. I have been watching you for this last hour or so, and I realise that for some reason of your own you dont agree with that theory? Poirot shrugged his shoulders. I may be wrong. So we come to the favour I want to ask you. Will you act in this matter for me? For you, personally? That was my meaning. Poirot was silent for a moment or two. Then he said You realise what you are asking? I guess so, said Van Aldin. Very well, said Poirot. I accept. But in that case, I must have frank answers to my questions. Why, certainly. That is understood. Poirots manner changed. He became suddenly brusque and businesslike. This question of a divorce, he said. It was you who advised your daughter to bring the suit? Yes. When? About ten days ago. I had had a letter from her complaining of her husbands behaviour, and I put it to her very strongly that divorce was the only remedy. In what way did she complain of his behaviour? He was being seen about with a very notorious ladythe one we have been speaking ofMirelle. The dancer. Ahha! And Madame Kettering objected? Was she very devoted to her husband? I would not say that, said Van Aldin, hesitating a little. It was not her heart that suffered, it was her prideis that what you would say? Yes, I suppose you might put it like that. I gather that the marriage has not been a happy one from the beginning? Derek Kettering is rotten to the core, said Van Aldin. He is incapable of making any woman happy. He is, as you say in England, a bad lot. That is right, is it not? Van Aldin nodded. Trs bien! You advise Madame to seek a divorce, she agrees; you consult your solicitors. When does M. Kettering get news of what is in the wind? I sent for him myself, and explained the course of action I proposed to take. And what did he say? murmured Poirot softly. Van Aldins face darkened at the remembrance. He was infernally impudent. Excuse the question, Monsieur, but did he refer to the Comte de la Roche? Not by name, growled the other unwillingly, but he showed himself cognizant of the affair. What, if I may ask, was M. Ketterings financial position at the time? How do you suppose I should know that? asked Van Aldin, after a very brief hesitation. It seemed likely to me that you would inform yourself on that point. Wellyou are quite right, I did. I discovered that Kettering was on the rocks. And now he has inherited two million pounds! La vieit is a strange thing, is it not? Van Aldin looked at him sharply. What do you mean? I moralise, said Poirot, I reflect, I speak the philosophy. But to return to where we were. Surely M. Kettering did not propose to allow himself to be divorced without making a fight for it? Van Aldin did not answer for a minute or two, then he said I dont exactly know what his intentions were. Did you hold any further communications with him? Again a slight pause, then Van Aldin said No. Poirot stopped dead, took off his hat, and held out his hand. I must wish you good day, Monsieur. I can do nothing for you. What are you getting at? demanded Van Aldin angrily. If you do not tell me the truth, I can do nothing. I dont know what you mean. I think you do. You may rest assured, M. Van Aldin, that I know how to be discreet. Very well, then, said the millionaire. Ill admit that I was not speaking the truth just now. I did have further communication with my soninlaw. Yes? To be exact, I sent my secretary, Major Knighton, to see him, with instructions to offer him the sum of one hundred thousand pounds in cash if the divorce went through undefended. A pretty sum of money, said Poirot appreciatively; and the answer of Monsieur your soninlaw? He sent back word that I could go to hell, replied the millionaire succinctly. Ah! said Poirot. He betrayed no emotion of any kind. At the moment he was engaged in methodically recording facts. Monsieur Kettering has told the police that he neither saw nor spoke to his wife on the journey from England. Are you inclined to believe that statement, Monsieur? Yes, I am, said Van Aldin. He would take particular pains to keep out of her way, I should say. Why? Because he had got that woman with him. Mirelle? Yes. How did you come to know that fact? A man of mine, whom I had put on to watch him, reported to me that they both left by that train. I see, said Poirot. In that case, as you said before, he would not be likely to attempt to hold any communication with Madame Kettering. The little man fell silent for some time. Van Aldin did not interrupt his meditation. XVII An Aristocratic Gentleman You have been to the Riviera before, Georges? said Poirot to his valet the following morning. George was an intensely English, rather woodenfaced individual. Yes, sir. I was here two years ago when I was in the service of Lord Edward Frampton. And today, murmured his master, you are here with Hercule Poirot. How one mounts in the world! The valet made no reply to this observation. After a suitable pause he asked The brown lounge suit, sir? The wind is somewhat chilly today. There is a grease spot on the waistcoat, objected Poirot. A morceau of Filet de sole  la Jeanette alighted there when I was lunching at the Ritz last Tuesday. There is no spot there now, sir, said George reproachfully. I have removed it. Trs bien! said Poirot. I am pleased with you, Georges. Thank you, sir. There was a pause, and then Poirot murmured dreamily Supposing, my good Georges, that you had been born in the same social sphere as your late master, Lord Edward Framptonthat, penniless yourself, you had married an extremely wealthy wife, but that wife proposed to divorce you, with excellent reasons, what would you do about it? I should endeavour, sir, replied George, to make her change her mind. By peaceful or by forcible methods? George looked shocked. You will excuse me, sir, he said, but a gentleman of the aristocracy would not behave like a Whitechapel coster. He would not do anything low. Would he not, Georges? I wonder now. Well, perhaps you are right. There was a knock on the door. George went to it and opened it a discreet inch or two. A low murmured colloquy went on, and then the valet returned to Poirot. A note, sir. Poirot took it. It was from M. Caux, the Commissary of Police. We are about to interrogate the Comte de la Roche. The Juge dInstruction begs that you will be present. Quickly, my suit, Georges! I must hasten myself. A quarter of an hour later, spick and span in his brown suit, Poirot entered the Examining Magistrates room. M. Caux was already there, and both he and M. Carrge greeted Poirot with polite empressement. The affair is somewhat discouraging, murmured M. Caux. It appears that the Comte arrived in Nice the day before the murder. If that is true, it will settle your affair nicely for you, responded Poirot. M. Carrge cleared his throat. We must not accept this alibi without very cautious inquiry, he declared. He struck the bell upon the table with his hand. In another minute a tall dark man, exquisitely dressed, with a somewhat haughty cast of countenance, entered the room. So very aristocraticlooking was the Count, that it would have seemed sheer heresy even to whisper that his father had been an obscure cornchandler in Nanteswhich, as a matter of fact, was the case. Looking at him, one would have been prepared to swear that innumerable ancestors of his must have perished by the guillotine in the French Revolution. I am here, gentlemen, said the Count haughtily. May I ask why you wish to see me? Pray be seated, Monsieur le Comte, said the Examining Magistrate politely. It is the affair of the death of Madame Kettering that we are investigating. The death of Madame Kettering? I do not understand. You wereahem!acquainted with the lady, I believe, Monsieur le Comte? Certainly I was acquainted with her. What has that to do with the matter? Sticking an eyeglass in his eye, he looked coldly round the room, his glance resting longest on Poirot, who was gazing at him with a kind of simple, innocent admiration which was most pleasing to the Counts vanity. M. Carrge leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. You do not perhaps know, Monsieur le Comtehe pausedthat Madame Kettering was murdered? Murdered? Mon Dieu, how terrible! The surprise and the sorrow were excellently doneso well done, indeed, as to seem wholly natural. Madame Kettering was strangled between Paris and Lyons, continued M. Carrge, and her jewels were stolen. It is iniquitous! cried the Count warmly; the police should do something about these train bandits. Nowadays no one is safe. In Madames handbag, continued the Judge, we found a letter to her from you. She had, it seemed, arranged to meet you? The Count shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. Of what use are concealments, he said frankly. We are all men of the world. Privately and between ourselves, I admit the affair. You met her in Paris and travelled down with her, I believe? said M. Carrge. That was the original arrangement, but by Madames wish it was changed. I was to meet her at Hyres. You did not meet her on the train at Gare de Lyon on the evening of the fourteenth? On the contrary, I arrived in Nice on the morning of that day, so what you suggest is impossible. Quite so, quite so, said M. Carrge. As a matter of form, you would perhaps give me an account of your movements during the evening and night of the fourteenth. The Count reflected for a minute. I dined in Monte Carlo at the Caf de Paris. Afterwards I went to the Le Sporting. I won a few thousands francs, he shrugged his shoulders. I returned home at perhaps one oclock. Pardon me, Monsieur, but how did you return home? In my own twoseater car. No one was with you? No one. You could produce witnesses in support of this statement? Doubtless many of my friends saw me there that evening. I dined alone. Your servant admitted you on your return to your villa? I let myself in with my own latchkey. Ah! murmured the Magistrate. Again he struck the bell on the table with his hand. The door opened, and a messenger appeared. Bring in the maid, Mason, said M. Carrge. Very good, Monsieur le Juge. Ada Mason was brought in. Will you be so good, Mademoiselle, as to look at this gentleman. To the best of your ability was it he who entered your mistresss compartment in Paris? The woman looked long and searchingly at the Count, who was, Poirot fancied, rather uneasy under this scrutiny. I could not say, sir, I am sure, said Mason at last. It might be and again it might not. Seeing as how I only saw his back, its hard to say. I rather think it was the gentleman. But you are not sure? Noo, said Mason unwillingly; nno, I am not sure. You have seen this gentleman before in Curzon Street? Mason shook her head. I should not be likely to see any visitors that come to Curzon Street, she explained, unless they were staying in the house. Very well, that will do, said the Examining Magistrate sharply. Evidently he was disappointed. One moment, said Poirot. There is a question I would like to put to Mademoiselle, if I may? Certainly, M. Poirotcertainly, by all means. Poirot addressed himself to the maid. What happened to the tickets? The tickets, sir? Yes; the tickets from London to Nice. Did you or your mistress have them? The mistress had her own Pullman ticket, sir; the others were in my charge. What happened to them? I gave them to the conductor on the French train, sir; he said it was usual. I hope I did right, sir? Oh, quite right, quite right. A mere matter of detail. Both M. Caux and the Examining Magistrate looked at him curiously. Mason stood uncertainly for a minute or two, and then the magistrate gave her a brief nod of dismissal, and she went out. Poirot scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it across to M. Carrge. The latter read it and his brow cleared. Well, gentlemen, demanded the Count haughtily, am I to be detained further? Assuredly not, assuredly not, M. Carrge hastened to say, with a great deal of amiability. Everything is now cleared up as regards your own position in this affair. Naturally, in view of Madames letter, we were bound to question you. The Count rose, picked up his handsome stick from the corner, and, with rather a curt bow, left the room. And that is that, said M. Carrge. You were quite right, M. Poirotmuch better to let him feel he is not suspected. Two of my men will shadow him night and day, and at the same time we will go into the question of the alibi. It seems to me ratherera fluid one. Possibly, agreed Poirot thoughtfully. I asked M. Kettering to come here this morning, continued the Magistrate, though really I doubt if we have much to ask him, but there are one or two suspicious circumstances He paused, rubbing his nose. Such as? asked Poirot. Wellthe Magistrate coughedthis lady with whom he is said to be travellingMademoiselle Mirelle. She is staying at one hotel and he at another. That strikes meeras rather odd. It looks, said M. Caux, as though they were being careful. Exactly, said M. Carrge triumphantly; and what should they have to be careful about? An excess of caution is suspicious, eh? said Poirot. Prcisment. We might, I think, murmured Poirot, ask M. Kettering one or two questions. The Magistrate gave instructions. A moment or two later, Derek Kettering, debonair as ever, entered the room. Good morning, Monsieur, said the Judge politely. Good morning, said Derek Kettering curtly. You sent for me. Has anything fresh turned up? Pray sit down, Monsieur. Derek took a seat and flung his hat and stick on the table. Well? he asked impatiently. We have, so far, no fresh data, said M. Carrge cautiously. Thats very interesting, said Derek drily. Did you send for me here in order to tell me that? We naturally thought, Monsieur, that you would like to be informed of the progress of the case, said the Magistrate severely. Even if the progress is nonexistent. We also wished to ask you a few questions. Ask away. You are quite sure that you neither saw nor spoke with your wife on the train. Ive answered that already. I did not. You had, no doubt, your reasons. Derek stared at him suspiciously. Ididnotknowshewasonthetrain, he explained, spacing his words elaborately, as though to someone dull of intellect. That is what you say, yes, murmured M. Carrge. A quick frown suffused Dereks face. I should like to know what you are driving at. Do you know what I think, M. Carrge? What do you think, Monsieur? I think the French police are vastly overrated. Surely you must have some data as to these gangs of train robbers. Its outrageous that such a thing could happen on a train de luxe like that, and that the French police should be helpless to deal with the matter. We are dealing with it, Monsieur, never fear. Madame Kettering, I understand, did not leave a will, interposed Poirot suddenly. His fingertips were joined together, and he was looking intently at the ceiling. I dont think she ever made one, said Kettering. Why? It is a very pretty little fortune that you inherit there, said Poirota very pretty little fortune. Although his eyes were still on the ceiling, he managed to see the dark flush that rose to Derek Ketterings face. What do you mean, and who are you? Poirot gently uncrossed his knees, withdrew his gaze from the ceiling, and looked the young man full in the face. My name is Hercule Poirot, he said quietly, and I am probably the greatest detective in the world. You are quite sure that you did not see or speak to your wife on that train? What are you getting at? Do youdo you mean to insinuate that II killed her? He laughed suddenly. I mustnt lose my temper; its too palpably absurd. Why, if I killed her I should have had no need to steal her jewels, would I? That is true, murmured Poirot, with a rather crestfallen air. I did not think of that. If ever there were a clear case of murder and robbery this is it, said Derek Kettering. Poor Ruth, it was those damned rubies did for her. It must have got about she had them with her. There has been murder done for those same stones before now, I believe. Poirot sat up suddenly in his chair. A very faint green light glowed in his eyes. He looked extraordinarily like a sleek, wellfed cat. One more question, M. Kettering, he said. Will you give me the date when you last saw your wife? Let me see, Kettering reflected. It must have beenyes, over three weeks ago. I am afraid I cant give you the date exactly. No matter, said Poirot drily; that is all I wanted to know. Well, said Derek Kettering impatiently, anything further? He looked towards M. Carrge. The latter sought inspiration from Poirot, and received it in a very faint shake of the head. No, M. Kettering, he said politely; no, I do not think we need trouble you any further. I wish you good morning. Good morning, said Kettering. He went out, banging the door behind him. Poirot leaned forward and spoke sharply, as soon as the young man was out of the room. Tell me, he said peremptorily, when did you speak of these rubies to M. Kettering? I have not spoken of them, said M. Carrge. It was only yesterday afternoon that we learnt about them from M. Van Aldin. Yes; but there was a mention of them in the Comtes letter. M. Carrge looked pained. Naturally I did not speak of that letter to M. Kettering, he said in a shocked voice. It would have been most indiscreet at the present juncture of affairs. Poirot leaned forward and tapped the table. Then how did he know about them? he demanded softly. Madame could not have told him, for he has not seen her for three weeks. It seems unlikely that either M. Van Aldin or his secretary would have mentioned them; their interviews with him have been on entirely different lines, and there has not been any hint or reference to them in the newspapers. He got up and took his hat and stick. And yet, he murmured to himself, our gentleman knows all about them. I wonder now, yes, I wonder! XVIII Derek Lunches Derek Kettering went straight to the Negresco, where he ordered a couple of cocktails and disposed of them rapidly; then he stared moodily out over the dazzling blue sea. He noted the passersby mechanicallya damned dull crowd, badly dressed, and painfully uninteresting; one hardly ever saw anything worthwhile nowadays. Then he corrected this last impression rapidly, as a woman placed herself at a table a little distance away from him. She was wearing a marvellous confection of orange and black, with a little hat that shaded her face. He ordered a third cocktail; again he stared out to sea, and then suddenly he started. A wellknown perfume assailed his nostrils, and he looked up to see the orangeandblack lady standing beside him. He saw her face now, and recognised her. It was Mirelle. She was smiling that insolent, seductive smile he knew so well. Derek! she murmured. You are pleased to see me, no? She dropped into a seat the other side of the table. But welcome me, then, stupid one, she mocked. This is an unexpected pleasure, said Derek. When did you leave London? She shrugged her shoulders. A day or two ago. And the Parthenon? I have, how do you say it?given them the chuck! Really? You are not very amiable, Dereek. Do you expect me to be? Mirelle lit a cigarette and puffed at it for a few minutes before saying You think, perhaps, that it is not prudent so soon? Derek stared at her, then he shrugged his shoulders, and remarked formally You are lunching here? Mais oui. I am lunching with you. I am exceedingly sorry, said Derek. I have a very important engagement. Mon Dieu! But you men are like children, exclaimed the dancer. But yes, it is the spoilt child that you act to me, ever since that day in London when you flung yourself out of my flat, you sulk. Ah! mais cest inou! My dear girl, said Derek, I really dont know what you are talking about. We agreed in London that rats desert a sinking ship, that is all that there is to be said. In spite of his careless words, his face looked haggard and strained. Mirelle leaned forward suddenly. You cannot deceive me, she murmured. I knowI know what you have done for me. He looked up at her sharply. Some undercurrent in her voice arrested his attention. She nodded her head at him. Ah! have no fear; I am discreet. You are magnificent! You have a superb courage, but, all the same, it was I who gave you the idea that day, when I said to you in London that accidents sometimes happened. And you are not in danger? The police do not suspect you? What the devil Hush! She held up a slim olive hand with one big emerald on the little finger. You are right; I should not have spoken so in a public place. We will not speak of the matter again, but our troubles are ended; our life together will be wonderfulwonderful! Derek laughed suddenlya harsh, disagreeable laugh. So the rats come back, do they? Two million makes a differenceof course it does. I ought to have known that. He laughed again. You will help me to spend that two million, wont you, Mirelle? You know how, no woman better. He laughed again. Hush! cried the dancer. What is the matter with you, Derek? Seepeople are turning to stare at you. Me? I will tell you what is the matter. I have finished with you, Mirelle. Do you hear? Finished! Mirelle did not take it as he expected her to do. She looked at him for a minute or two, and then she smiled softly. But what a child! You are angryyou are sore, and all because I am practical. Did I not always tell you that I adored you? She leaned forward. But I know you, Derek. Look at mesee, it is Mirelle who speaks to you. You cannot live without her, you know it. I loved you before, I will love you a hundred times more now. I will make life wonderful for youbut wonderful. There is no one like Mirelle. Her eyes burned into his. She saw him grow pale and draw in his breath, and she smiled to herself contentedly. She knew her own magic and power over men. That is settled, she said softly, and gave a little laugh. And now, Dereek, will you give me lunch? No. He drew in his breath sharply and rose to his feet. I am sorry, but I told youI have got an engagement. You are lunching with someone else? Bah! I dont believe it. I am lunching with that lady over there. He crossed abruptly to where a lady in white had just come up the steps. He addressed her a little breathlessly.


Miss Grey, will youwill you have lunch with me? You met me at Lady Tamplins, if you remember. Katherine looked at him for a minute or two with those thoughtful grey eyes that said so much. Thank you, she said, after a moments pause; I should like to very much. XIX An Unexpected Visitor The Comte de la Roche had just finished djeuner, consisting of an omelette fines herbes, an entrecte Bearnaise, and a Savarin au Rhum. Wiping his fine black moustache delicately with his table napkin, the Comte rose from the table. He passed through the salon of the villa, noting with appreciation the few objets dart which were carelessly scattered about. The Louis XV snuffbox, the satin shoe worn by Marie Antoinette, and the other historic trifles were part of the Comtes miseenscne. They were, he would explain to his fair visitors, heirlooms in his family. Passing through on to the terrace, the Comte looked out on to the Mediterranean with an unseeing eye. He was in no mood for appreciating the beauties of scenery. A fully matured scheme had been rudely brought to naught, and his plans had to be cast afresh. Stretching himself out in a basket chair, a cigarette held between his white fingers, the Comte pondered deeply. Presently Hipolyte, his manservant, brought out coffee and a choice of liqueurs. The Comte selected some very fine old brandy. As the manservant was preparing to depart, the Comte arrested him with a slight gesture. Hipolyte stood respectfully to attention. His countenance was hardly a prepossessing one, but the correctitude of his demeanour went far to obliterate the fact. He was now the picture of respectful attention. It is possible, said the Comte, that in the course of the next few days various strangers may come to the house. They will endeavour to scrape acquaintance with you and with Marie. They will probably ask you various questions concerning me. Yes, Monsieur le Comte. Perhaps this has already happened? No, Monsieur le Comte. There have been no strangers about the place? You are certain? There has been no one, Monsieur le Comte. That is well, said the Comte drily; nevertheless they will comeI am sure of it. They will ask questions. Hipolyte looked at his master in intelligent anticipation. The Comte spoke slowly, without looking at Hipolyte. As you know, I arrived here last Tuesday morning. If the police or any other inquirer should question you, do not forget that fact. I arrived on Tuesday, the fourteenthnot Wednesday, the fifteenth. You understand? Perfectly, Monsieur le Comte. In an affair where a lady is concerned, it is always necessary to be discreet. I feel certain, Hipolyte, that you can be discreet. I can be discreet, Monsieur. And Marie? Marie also. I will answer for her. That is well then, murmured the Comte. When Hipolyte had withdrawn, the Comte sipped his black coffee with a reflective air. Occasionally he frowned, once he shook his head slightly, twice he nodded it. Into the midst of these cogitations came Hipolyte once more. A lady, Monsieur. A lady? The Comte was surprised. Not that a visit from a lady was an unusual thing at the Villa Marina, but at this particular moment the Comte could not think who the lady was likely to be. She is, I think, a lady not known to Monsieur, murmured the valet helpfully. The Comte was more and more intrigued. Show her out here, Hipolyte, he commanded. A moment later a marvellous vision in orange and black stepped out on the terrace, accompanied by a strong perfume of exotic blossoms. Monsieur le Comte de la Roche? At your service, Mademoiselle, said the Comte, bowing. My name is Mirelle. You may have heard of me. Ah, indeed, Mademoiselle, but who has not been enchanted by the dancing of Mademoiselle Mirelle? Exquisite! The dancer acknowledged this compliment with a brief mechanical smile. My descent upon you is unceremonious, she began. But seat yourself, I beg of you, Mademoiselle, cried the Comte, bringing forward a chair. Behind the gallantry of his manner he was observing her narrowly. There were very few things that the Comte did not know about women. True, his experience had not lain much in ladies of Mirelles class, who were themselves predatory. He and the dancer were, in a sense, birds of a feather. His arts, the Comte knew, would be thrown away on Mirelle. She was a Parisienne, and a shrewd one. Nevertheless, there was one thing that the Comte could recognise infallibly when he saw it. He knew at once that he was in the presence of a very angry woman, and an angry woman, as the Comte was well aware, always says more than is prudent, and is occasionally a source of profit to a levelheaded gentleman who keeps cool. It is most amiable of you, Mademoiselle, to honour my poor abode thus. We have mutual friends in Paris, said Mirelle. I have heard of you from them, but I come to see you today for another reason. I have heard of you since I came to Nicein a different way, you understand. Ah? said the Comte softly. I will be brutal, continued the dancer; nevertheless, believe that I have your welfare at heart. They are saying in Nice, Monsieur le Comte, that you are the murderer of the English lady, Madame Kettering. I!the murderer of Madame Kettering? Bah! But how absurd! He spoke more languidly than indignantly, knowing that he would thus provoke her further. But yes, she insisted; it is as I tell you. It amuses people to talk, murmured the Comte indifferently. It would be beneath me to take such wild accusations seriously. You do not understand. Mirelle bent forward, her dark eyes flashing. It is not the idle talk of those in the streets. It is the police. The policeah? The Comte sat up, alert once more. Mirelle nodded her head vigorously several times. Yes, yes. You comprehend meI have friends everywhere. The Prefect himself She left the sentence unfinished, with an eloquent shrug of the shoulders. Who is not indiscreet where a beautiful woman is concerned? murmured the Count politely. The police believe that you killed Madame Kettering. But they are wrong. Certainly they are wrong, agreed the Comte easily. You say that, but you do not know the truth. I do. The Comte looked at her curiously. You know who killed Madame Kettering? Is that what you would say, Mademoiselle? Mirelle nodded vehemently. Yes. Who was it? asked the Comte sharply. Her husband. She leant across to the Comte, speaking in a low voice that vibrated with anger and excitement. It was her husband who killed her. The Comte leaned back in his chair. His face was a mask. Let me ask you, Mademoisellehow do you know this? How do I know it? Mirelle sprang to her feet, with a laugh. He boasted of it beforehand. He was ruined, bankrupt, dishonoured. Only the death of his wife could save him. He told me so. He travelled on the same trainbut she was not to know it. Why was that, I ask you? So that he might creep upon her in the nightAh!she shut her eyesI can see it happening  The Count coughed. Perhapsperhaps, he murmured. But surely, Mademoiselle, in that case he would not steal the jewels? The jewels! breathed Mirelle. The jewels. Ah! Those rubies  Her eyes grew misty, a faraway light in them. The Comte looked at her curiously, wondering for the hundredth time at the magical influence of precious stones on the female sex. He recalled her to practical matters. What do you want me to do, Mademoiselle? Mirelle became alert and businesslike once more. Surely it is simple. You will go to the police. You will say to them that M. Kettering committed this crime. And if they do not believe me? If they ask for proof? He was eyeing her closely. Mirelle laughed softly, and drew her orangeandblack wrap closer round her. Send them to me, Monsieur le Comte, she said softly; I will give them the proof they want. Upon that she was gone, an impetuous whirlwind, her errand accomplished. The Comte looked after her, his eyebrows delicately raised. She is in a fury, he murmured. What has happened now to upset her? But she shows her hand too plainly. Does she really believe that Mr. Kettering killed his wife? She would like me to believe it. She would even like the police to believe it. He smiled to himself. He had no intention whatsoever of going to the police. He saw various other possibilities; to judge by his smile, an agreeable vista of them. Presently, however, his brow clouded. According to Mirelle, he was suspected by the police. That might be true or it might not. An angry woman of the type of the dancer was not likely to bother about the strict veracity of her statements. On the other hand, she might easily have obtainedinside information. In that casehis mouth set grimlyin that case he must take certain precautions. He went into the house and questioned Hipolyte closely once more as to whether any strangers had been to the house. The valet was positive in his assurances that this was not the case. The Comte went up to his bedroom and crossed over to an old bureau that stood against the wall. He let down the lid of this, and his delicate fingers sought for a spring at the back of one of the pigeonholes. A secret drawer flew out; in it was a small brown paper package. The Comte took this out and weighed it in his hand carefully for a minute or two. Raising his hand to his head, with a slight grimace he pulled out a single hair. This he placed on the lip of the drawer and shut it carefully. Still carrying the small parcel in his hand, he went downstairs and out of the house to the garage, where stood a scarlet twoseater car. Ten minutes later he had taken the road for Monte Carlo. He spent a few hours at the Casino, then sauntered out into the town. Presently he reentered the car and drove off in the direction of Mentone. Earlier in the afternoon he had noticed an inconspicuous grey car some little distance behind him. He noticed it again now. He smiled to himself. The road was climbing steadily upwards. The Comtes foot pressed hard on the accelerator. The little red car had been specially built to the Comtes design, and had a far more powerful engine than would have been suspected from its appearance. It shot ahead. Presently he looked back and smiled; the grey car was following behind. Smothered in dust, the little red car leaped along the road. It was travelling now at a dangerous pace, but the Comte was a firstclass driver. Now they were going downhill, twisting and curving unceasingly. Presently the car slackened speed, and finally came to a standstill before a Bureau de Poste. The Comte jumped out, lifted the lid of the tool chest, extracted the small brown paper parcel and hurried into the post office. Two minutes later he was driving once more in the direction of Mentone. When the grey car arrived there, the Comte was drinking English five oclock tea on the terrace of one of the hotels. Later, he drove back to Monte Carlo, dined there, and reached home once more at eleven oclock. Hipolyte came out to meet him with a disturbed face. Ah! Monsieur le Comte has arrived. Monsieur le Comte did not telephone me, by any chance? The Comte shook his head. And yet at three oclock I received a summons from Monsieur le Comte, to present myself to him at Nice, at the Negresco. Really, said the Comte; and you went? Certainly, Monsieur, but at the Negresco they knew nothing of Monsieur le Comte. He had not been there. Ah, said the Comte, doubtless at that hour Marie was out doing her afternoon marketing? That is so, Monsieur le Comte. Ah, well, said the Comte, it is of no importance. A mistake. He went upstairs, smiling to himself. Once within his own room, he bolted his door and looked sharply round. Everything seemed as usual. He opened various drawers and cupboards. Then he nodded to himself. Things had been replaced almost exactly as he had left them, but not quite. It was evident that a very thorough search had been made. He went over to the bureau and pressed the hidden spring. The drawer flew open, but the hair was no longer where he had placed it. He nodded his head several times. They are excellent, our French police, he murmured to himselfexcellent. Nothing escapes them. XX Katherine Makes a Friend On the following morning Katherine and Lenox were sitting on the terrace of the Villa Marguerite. Something in the nature of a friendship was springing up between them, despite the difference in age. But for Lenox, Katherine would have found life at the Villa Marguerite quite intolerable. The Kettering case was the topic of the moment. Lady Tamplin frankly exploited her guests connection with the affair for all it was worth. The most persistent rebuffs that Katherine could administer quite failed to pierce Lady Tamplins selfesteem. Lenox adopted a detached attitude, seemingly amused at her mothers manoeuvres, and yet with a sympathetic understanding of Katherines feelings. The situation was not helped by Chubby, whose naive delight was unquenchable, and who introduced Katherine to all and sundry as This is Miss Grey. You know that Blue Train business? She was in it up to the ears! Had a long talk with Ruth Kettering a few hours before the murder! Bit of luck for her, eh? A few remarks of this kind had provoked Katherine that morning to an unusually tart rejoinder, and when they were alone together Lenox observed in her slow drawl Not used to exploitation, are you? You have a lot to learn, Katherine. I am sorry I lost my temper. I dont, as a rule. It is about time you learnt to blow off steam. Chubby is only an ass; there is no harm in him. Mother, of course, is trying, but you can lose your temper with her until Kingdom come, and it wont make any impression. She will open large, sad blue eyes at you and not care a bit. Katherine made no reply to this filial observation, and Lenox presently went on I am rather like Chubby. I delight in a good murder, and besideswell, knowing Derek makes a difference. Katherine nodded. So you lunched with him yesterday, pursued Lenox reflectively. Do you like him, Katherine? Katherine considered for a minute or two. I dont know, she said very slowly. He is very attractive. Yes, he is attractive. What dont you like about him? Katherine did not reply to the question, or at any rate not directly. He spoke of his wifes death, she said. He said he would not pretend that it had been anything but a bit of most marvellous luck for him. And that shocked you, I suppose, said Lenox. She paused, and then added in rather a queer tone of voice He likes you, Katherine. He gave me a very good lunch, said Katherine, smiling. Lenox refused to be sidetracked. I saw it the night he came here, she said thoughtfully. The way he looked at you; and you are not his usual typejust the opposite. Well, I suppose it is like religionyou get it at a certain age. Mademoiselle is wanted at the telephone, said Marie, appearing at the window of the salon. M. Hercule Poirot desires to speak with her. More blood and thunder. Go on, Katherine; go and dally with your detective. M. Hercule Poirots voice came neat and precise in its intonation to Katherines ear. That is Mademoiselle Grey who speaks? Bon. Mademoiselle, I have a word for you from M. Van Aldin, the father of Madame Kettering. He wishes very much to speak with you, either at the Villa Marguerite or at his hotel, whichever you prefer. Katherine reflected for a moment, but she decided that for Van Aldin to come to the Villa Marguerite would be both painful and unnecessary. Lady Tamplin would have hailed his advent with far too much delight. She never lost a chance of cultivating millionaires. She told Poirot that she would much rather come to Nice. Excellent, Mademoiselle. I will call for you myself in an auto. Shall we say in about threequarters of an hour? Punctually to the moment Poirot appeared. Katherine was waiting for him, and they drove off at once. Well, Mademoiselle, how goes it? She looked at his twinkling eyes, and was confirmed in her first impression that there was something very attractive about M. Hercule Poirot. This is our own roman policier, is it not? said Poirot. I made you the promise that we should study it together. And me, I always keep my promises. You are too kind, murmured Katherine. Ah, you mock yourself at me; but do you want to hear the developments of the case, or do you not? Katherine admitted that she did, and Poirot proceeded to sketch for her a thumbnail portrait of the Comte de la Roche. You think he killed her, said Katherine thoughtfully. That is the theory, said Poirot guardedly. Do you yourself believe that? I did not say so. And you, Mademoiselle, what do you think? Katherine shook her head. How should I know? I dont know anything about those things, but I should say that Yes, said Poirot encouragingly. Wellfrom what you say the Count does not sound the kind of man who would actually kill anybody. Ah! Very good, cried Poirot. You agree with me; that is just what I have said. He looked at her sharply. But tell me, you have met Mr. Derek Kettering? I met him at Lady Tamplins, and I lunched with him yesterday. A mauvais sujet, said Poirot, shaking his head; but les femmesthey like that, eh? He twinkled at Katherine and she laughed. He is the kind of man one would notice anywhere, continued Poirot. Doubtless you observed him on the Blue Train? Yes, I noticed him. In the restaurant car? No. I didnt notice him at meals at all. I only saw him oncegoing into his wifes compartment. Poirot nodded. A strange business, he murmured. I believe you said you were awake, Mademoiselle, and looked out of your window at Lyons? You saw no tall dark man such as the Comte de la Roche leave the train? Katherine shook her head. I dont think I saw anyone at all, she said. There was a youngish lad in a cap and overcoat who got out, but I dont think he was leaving the train, only walking up and down the platform. There was a fat Frenchman with a beard, in pyjamas and an overcoat, who wanted a cup of coffee. Otherwise, I think there were only the train attendants. Poirot nodded his head several times. It is like this, you see, he confided, the Comte de la Roche has an alibi. An alibi, it is a very pestilential thing, and always open to the gravest suspicion. But here we are! They went straight up to Van Aldins suite, where they found Knighton. Poirot introduced him to Katherine. After a few commonplaces had been exchanged, Knighton said I will tell Mr. Van Aldin that Miss Grey is here. He went through a second door into an adjoining room. There was a low murmur of voices, and then Van Aldin came into the room and advanced towards Katherine with outstretched hand, giving her at the same time a shrewd and penetrating glance. I am pleased to meet you, Miss Grey, he said simply. I have been wanting very badly to hear what you can tell me about Ruth. The quiet simplicity of the millionaires manner appealed to Katherine strongly. She felt herself in the presence of a very genuine grief, the more real for its absence of outward sign. He drew forward a chair. Sit here, will you, and just tell me all about it. Poirot and Knighton retired discreetly into the other room, and Katherine and Van Aldin were left alone together. She found no difficulty in her task. Quite simply and naturally she related her conversation with Ruth Kettering, word for word as nearly as she could. He listened in silence, leaning back in his chair, with one hand shading his eyes. When she had finished he said quietly Thank you, my dear. They both sat silent for a minute or two. Katherine felt that words of sympathy would be out of place. When the millionaire spoke, it was in a different tone I am very grateful to you, Miss Grey. I think you did something to ease my poor Ruths mind in the last hours of her life. Now I want to ask you something. You knowM. Poirot will have told youabout the scoundrel that my poor girl had got herself mixed up with. He was the man of whom she spoke to youthe man she was going to meet. In your judgment, do you think she might have changed her mind after her conversation with you? Do you think she meant to go back on her word? I cant honestly tell you. She had certainly come to some decision, and seemed more cheerful in consequence of it. She gave you no idea where she intended to meet the skunkwhether in Paris or at Hyres? Katherine shook her head. She said nothing as to that. Ah! said Van Aldin thoughtfully, and that is the important point. Well, time will show. He got up and opened the door of the adjoining room. Poirot and Knighton came back. Katherine declined the millionaires invitation to lunch, and Knighton went down with her and saw her into the waiting car. He returned to find Poirot and Van Aldin deep in conversation. If we only knew, said the millionaire thoughtfully, what decision Ruth came to. It might have been any of half a dozen. She might have meant to leave the train at Paris and cable to me. She may have meant to have gone on to the south of France and have an explanation with the Count there. We are in the darkabsolutely in the dark. But we have the maids word for it that she was both startled and dismayed at the Counts appearance at the station in Paris. That was clearly not part of the preconceived plan. You agree with me, Knighton? The secretary started. I beg your pardon, Mr. Van Aldin. I was not listening. Daydreaming, eh? said Van Aldin. Thats not like you. I believe that girl has bowled you over. Knighton blushed. She is a remarkably nice girl, said Van Aldin thoughtfully, very nice. Did you happen to notice her eyes? Any man, said Knighton, would be bound to notice her eyes. XXI At the Tennis Several days had elapsed. Katherine had been for a walk by herself one morning, and came back to find Lenox grinning at her expectantly. Your young man has been ringing you up, Katherine! Who do you call my young man? A new oneRufus Van Aldins secretary. You seem to have made rather an impression there. You are becoming a serious breaker of hearts, Katherine. First Derek Kettering, and now this young Knighton. The funny thing is that I remember him quite well. He was in Mothers War Hospital that she ran out here. I was only a kid of about eight at the time. Was he badly wounded? Shot in the leg, if I remember rightlyrather a nasty business. I think the doctors messed it up a bit. They said he wouldnt limp or anything, but when he left here he was still completely dotandgoone. Lady Tamplin came out and joined them. Have you been telling Katherine about Major Knighton? she asked. Such a dear fellow! Just at first I didnt remember himone had so manybut now it all comes back. He was a bit too unimportant to be remembered before, said Lenox. Now that he is a secretary to an American millionaire, it is a very different matter. Darling! said Lady Tamplin in her vague reproachful voice. What did Major Knighton ring up about? inquired Katherine. He asked if you would like to go to the tennis this afternoon. If so, he would call for you in a car. Mother and I accepted for you with empressement. Whilst you dally with a millionaires secretary, you might give me a chance with the millionaire, Katherine. He is about sixty, I suppose, so that he will be looking about for a nice sweet young thing like me. I should like to meet Mr. Van Aldin, said Lady Tamplin earnestly; one has heard so much of him. Those fine rugged figures of the Western worldshe broke offso fascinating, she murmured. Major Knighton was very particular to say it was Mr. Van Aldins invitation, said Lenox. He said it so often that I began to smell a rat. You and Knighton would make a very nice pair, Katherine. Bless you, my children. Katherine laughed, and went upstairs to change her clothes. Knighton arrived soon after lunch and endured manfully Lady Tamplins transports of recognition. When they were driving together towards Cannes he remarked to Katherine Lady Tamplin has changed wonderfully little. In manner or appearance? Both. She must be, I suppose, well over forty, but she is a remarkably beautiful woman still. She is, agreed Katherine. I am very glad that you could come today, went on Knighton. M. Poirot is going to be there also. What an extraordinary little man he is. Do you know him well, Miss Grey? Katherine shook her head. I met him on the train on the way here. I was reading a detective novel, and I happened to say something about such things not happening in real life. Of course, I had no idea of who he was. He is a very remarkable person, said Knighton slowly, and has done some very remarkable things. He has a kind of genius for going to the root of the matter, and right up to the end no one has any idea of what he is really thinking. I remember I was staying at a house in Yorkshire, and Lady Clanravons jewels were stolen. It seemed at first to be a simple robbery, but it completely baffled the local police. I wanted them to call in Hercule Poirot, and said he was the only man who could help them, but they pinned their faith to Scotland Yard. And what happened? said Katherine curiously. The jewels were never recovered, said Knighton drily. You really do believe in him? I do indeed. The Comte de la Roche is a pretty wily customer. He has wriggled out of most things. But I think he has met his match in Hercule Poirot. The Comte de la Roche, said Katherine thoughtfully; so you really think he did it? Of course. Knighton looked at her in astonishment. Dont you? Oh yes, said Katherine hastily; that is, I mean, if it was not just an ordinary train robbery. It might be, of course, agreed the other, but it seems to me that the Comte de la Roche fits into this business particularly well. And yet he has an alibi. Oh, alibis! Knighton laughed, his face broke into his attractive boyish smile. You confess that you read detective stories, Miss Grey. You must know that anyone who has a perfect alibi is always open to grave suspicion. Do you think that real life is like that? asked Katherine, smiling. Why not? Fiction is founded on fact. But is rather superior to it, suggested Katherine. Perhaps. Anyway, if I was a criminal I should not like to have Hercule Poirot on my track. No more should I, said Katherine, and laughed. They were met on arrival by Poirot. As the day was warm he was attired in a white duck suit, with a white camellia in his buttonhole. Bon jour, Mademoiselle, said Poirot. I look very English, do I not? You look wonderful, said Katherine tactfully. You mock yourself at me, said Poirot genially. But no matter. Papa Poirot, he always laughs the last. Where is Mr. Van Aldin? asked Knighton. He will meet us at our seats. To tell you the truth, my friend, he is not too well pleased with me. Oh, those Americansthe repose, the calm, they know it not! Mr. Van Aldin, he would that I fly myself in the pursuit of criminals through all the byways of Nice. I should have thought myself that it would not have been a bad plan, observed Knighton. You are wrong, said Poirot; in these matters one needs not energy but finesse. At the tennis one meets everyone. That is so important. Ah, there is Mr. Kettering. Derek came abruptly up to them. He looked reckless and angry, as though something had arisen to upset him. He and Knighton greeted each other with some frigidity. Poirot alone seemed unconscious of any sense of strain, and chatted pleasantly in a laudable attempt to put everyone at their ease. He paid little compliments. It is amazing, M. Kettering, how well you speak the French, he observedso well that you could be taken for a Frenchman if you chose. That is a very rare accomplishment among Englishmen. I wish I did, said Katherine. I am only too well aware that my French is of a painfully British order. They reached their seats and sat down, and almost immediately Knighton perceived his employer signalling to him from the other end of the court, and went off to speak to him. Me, I approve of that young man, said Poirot, sending a beaming smile after the departing secretary; and you, Mademoiselle? I like him very much. And you, M. Kettering? Some quick rejoinder was springing to Dereks lips, but he checked it as though something in the little Belgians twinkling eyes had made him suddenly alert. He spoke carefully, choosing his words. Knighton is a very good fellow, he said. Just for a moment Katherine fancied that Poirot looked disappointed. He is a great admirer of yours, M. Poirot, she said, and she related some of the things that Knighton had said. It amused her to see the little man plume himself like a bird, thrusting out his chest, and assuming an air of mock modesty that would have deceived no one. That reminds me, Mademoiselle, he said suddenly, I have a little matter of business I have to speak to you about. When you were sitting talking to that poor lady in the train, I think you must have dropped a cigarette case. Katherine looked rather astonished. I dont think so, she said. Poirot drew from his pocket a cigarette case of soft blue leather, with the initial K on it in gold. No, that is not mine, Katherine said. Ah, a thousand apologies. It was doubtless Madames own. K, of course, stands for Kettering. We were doubtful, because she had another cigarette case in her bag, and it seemed odd that she should have two. He turned to Derek suddenly. You do not know, I suppose, whether this was your wifes case or not? Derek seemed momentarily taken aback. He stammered a little in his reply II dont know. I suppose so. It is not yours by any chance? Certainly not. If it were mine it would hardly have been in my wifes possession. Poirot looked more ingenuous and childlike than ever. I thought perhaps you might have dropped it when you were in your wifes compartment, he explained guilelessly. I never was there. I have already told the police that a dozen times. A thousand pardons, said Poirot, with his most apologetic air. It was Mademoiselle here who mentioned having seen you going in. He stopped with an air of embarrassment. Katherine looked at Derek. His face had gone rather white, but perhaps that was her fancy. His laugh, when it came, was natural enough. You made a mistake, Miss Grey, he said easily. From what the police have told me, I gather that my own compartment was only a door or two away from that of my wifesthough I never suspected the fact at the time. You must have seen me going into my own compartment. He got up quickly as he saw Van Aldin and Knighton approaching. Im going to leave you now, he announced. I cant stand my fatherinlaw at any price. Van Aldin greeted Katherine very courteously, but was clearly in a bad humour. You seem fond of watching tennis, M. Poirot, he growled. It is a pleasure to me, yes, replied Poirot placidly. It is as well you are in France, said Van Aldin. We are made of sterner stuff in the States. Business comes before pleasure there. Poirot did not take offence; indeed, he smiled gently and confidingly at the irate millionaire. Do not enrage yourself, I beg of you. Everyone his own methods. Me, I have always found it a delightful and pleasing idea to combine business and pleasure together. He glanced at the other two. They were deep in conversation, absorbed in each other. Poirot nodded his head in satisfaction, and then leant towards the millionaire, lowering his voice as he did so. It is not only for pleasure that I am here, M. Van Aldin. Observe just opposite us that tall old manthe one with the yellow face and the venerable beard. Well, what of him? That, Poirot said, is M. Papopolous. A Greek, eh? As you saya Greek. He is a dealer in antiques of worldwide reputation. He has a small shop in Paris, and he is suspected by the police of being something more. What? A receiver of stolen goods, especially jewels. There is nothing as to the recutting and resetting of gems that he does not know. He deals with the highest in Europe and with the lowest of the riffraff of the underworld. Van Aldin was looking at Poirot with suddenly awakened attention. Well? he demanded, a new note in his voice.


I ask myself, said Poirot, I, Hercule Poirothe thumped himself dramatically on the chestask myself why is M. Papopolous suddenly come to Nice? Van Aldin was impressed. For a moment he had doubted Poirot and suspected the little man of being past his job, a poseur only. Now, in a moment, he switched back to his original opinion. He looked straight at the little detective. I must apologise to you, M. Poirot. Poirot waved the apology aside with an extravagant gesture. Bah! he cried, all that is of no importance. Now listen, M. Van Aldin; I have news for you. The millionaire looked sharply at him, all his interest aroused. Poirot nodded. It is as I say. You will be interested. As you know, M. Van Aldin, the Comte de la Roche has been under surveillance ever since his interview with the Juge dInstruction. The day after that, during his absence, the Villa Marina was searched by the police. Well, said Van Aldin, did they find anything? I bet they didnt. Poirot made him a little bow. Your acumen is not at fault, M. Van Aldin. They found nothing of an incriminating nature. It was not to be expected that they would. The Comte de la Roche, as your expressive idiom has it, was not born on the preceding day. He is an astute gentleman with great experience. Well, go on, growled Van Aldin. It may be, of course, that the Comte had nothing of a compromising nature to conceal. But we must not neglect the possibility. If, then, he has something to conceal, where is it? Not in his housethe police searched thoroughly. Not on his person, for he knows that he is liable to arrest at any minute. There remainshis car. As I say, he was under surveillance. He was followed on that day to Monte Carlo. From there he went by road to Mentone, driving himself. His car is a very powerful one, it outdistanced his pursuers, and for about a quarter of an hour they completely lost sight of him. And during that time you think he concealed something by the roadside? asked Van Aldin, keenly interested. By the roadside, no. a nest pas pratique. But listen nowme, I have made a little suggestion to M. Carrge. He is graciously pleased to approve of it. In each Bureau de Poste in the neighbourhood it has been seen to that there is someone who knows the Comte de la Roche by sight. Because, you see, Messieurs, the best way of hiding a thing is by sending it away by the post. Well? demanded Van Aldin; his face was keenly alight with interest and expectation. Wellvoil! With a dramatic flourish Poirot drew out from his pocket a loosely wrapped brown paper package from which the string had been removed. During that quarter of an hours interval, our good gentleman mailed this. The address? asked the other sharply. Poirot nodded his head. Might have told us something, but unfortunately it does not. The package was addressed to one of these little newspaper shops in Paris where letters and parcels are kept until called for on payment of a small commission. Yes, but what is inside? demanded Van Aldin impatiently. Poirot unwrapped the brown paper and disclosed a square cardboard box. He looked round him. It is a good moment, he said quietly. All eyes are on the tennis. Look, Monsieur! He lifted the lid of the box for the fraction of a second. An exclamation of utter astonishment came from the millionaire. His face turned as white as chalk. My God! he breathed, the rubies. He sat for a minute as though dazed. Poirot restored the box to his pocket and beamed placidly. Then suddenly the millionaire seemed to come out of his trance; he leaned across to Poirot and wrung his hand so heartily that the little man winced with pain. This is great, said Van Aldin. Great! You are the goods, M. Poirot. Once and for all, you are the goods. It is nothing, said Poirot modestly. Order, method, being prepared for eventualities beforehandthat is all there is to it. And now, I suppose, the Comte de la Roche has been arrested? continued Van Aldin eagerly. No, said Poirot. A look of utter astonishment came over Van Aldins face. But why? What more do you want? The Comtes alibi is still unshaken. But that is nonsense. Yes, said Poirot; I rather think it is nonsense, but unfortunately we have to prove it so. In the meantime he will slip through your fingers. Poirot shook his head very energetically. No, he said, he will not do that. The one thing the Comte cannot afford to sacrifice is his social position. At all costs he must stop and brazen it out. Van Aldin was still dissatisfied. But I dont see Poirot raised a hand. Grant me a little moment, Monsieur. Me, I have a little idea. Many people have mocked themselves at the little ideas of Hercule Poirotand they have been wrong. Well, said Van Aldin, go ahead. What is this little idea? Poirot paused for a moment and then he said I will call upon you at your hotel at eleven oclock tomorrow morning. Until then, say nothing to anyone. XXII M. Papopolous Breakfasts M. Papopolous was at breakfast. Opposite him sat his daughter, Zia. There was a knock at the sittingroom door, and a chasseur entered with a card which he brought to M. Papopolous. The latter scrutinised it, raised his eyebrows, and passed it over to his daughter. Ah! said M. Papopolous, scratching his left ear thoughtfully, Hercule Poirot. I wonder now. Father and daughter looked at each other. I saw him yesterday at the tennis, said M. Papopolous. Zia, I hardly like this. He was very useful to you once, his daughter reminded him. That is true, acknowledged M. Papopolous; also he has retired from active work, so I hear. These interchanges between father and daughter had passed in their own language. Now M. Papopolous turned to the chasseur and said in French Fates monter ce monsieur. A few minutes later Hercule Poirot, exquisitely attired, and swinging a cane with a jaunty air, entered the room. My dear M. Papopolous. My dear M. Poirot. And Mademoiselle Zia. Poirot swept her a low bow. You will excuse us going on with our breakfast, said M. Papopolous, pouring himself out another cup of coffee. Your call isahem!a little early. It is scandalous, said Poirot, but you see, I am pressed. Ah! murmured M. Papopolous, you are on an affair then? A very serious affair, said Poirot; the death of Madame Kettering. Let me see, M. Papopolous looked innocently up at the ceiling, that was the lady who died on the Blue Train, was it not? I saw a mention of it in the papers, but there was no suggestion of foul play. In the interests of justice, said Poirot, it was thought best to suppress that fact. There was a pause. And in what way can I assist you, M. Poirot? asked the dealer politely. Voil, said Poirot, I shall come to the point. He took from his pocket the same box that he had displayed at Cannes, and, opening it, he took out the rubies and pushed them across the table to Papopolous. Although Poirot was watching him narrowly, not a muscle of the old mans face moved. He took up the jewels and examined them with a kind of detached interest, then he looked across at the detective inquiringly Superb, are they not? asked Poirot. Quite excellent, said M. Papopolous. How much should you say they are worth? The Greeks face quivered a little. Is it really necessary to tell you, M. Poirot? he asked. You are shrewd, M. Papopolous. No, it is not. They are not, for instance, worth five hundred thousand dollars. Papopolous laughed, and Poirot joined with him. As an imitation, said Papopolous, handing them back to Poirot, they are, as I said, quite excellent. Would it be indiscreet to ask, M. Poirot, where you came across them? Not at all, said Poirot; I have no objection to telling an old friend like yourself. They were in the possession of the Comte de la Roche. M. Papopolous eyebrows lifted themselves eloquently. Indeed, he murmured. Poirot leaned forward and assumed his most innocent and beguiling air. M. Papopolous, he said, I am going to lay my cards upon the table. The original of these jewels was stolen from Madame Kettering on the Blue Train. Now I will say to you first this I am not concerned with the recovery of these jewels. That is the affair of the police. I am working not for the police but for M. Van Aldin. I want to lay hands on the man who killed Madame Kettering. I am interested in the jewels only in so far as they may lead me to the man. You understand? The last two words were uttered with great significance. M. Papopolous, his face quite unmoved, said quietly Go on. It seems to me probable, Monsieur, that the jewels will change hands in Nicemay already have done so. Ah! said M. Papopolous. He sipped his coffee reflectively, and looked a shade more noble and patriarchal than usual. I say to myself, continued Poirot, with animation, what good fortune! My old friend, M. Papopolous, is in Nice. He will aid me. And how do you think I can aid you? inquired M. Papopolous coldly. I said to myself, without doubt M. Papopolous is in Nice on business. Not at all, said M. Papopolous, I am here for my healthby the doctors orders. He coughed hollowly. I am desolated to hear it, replied Poirot, with somewhat insincere sympathy. But to continue. When a Russian Grand Duke, an Austrian Archduchess, or an Italian Prince wish to dispose of their family jewelsto whom do they go? To M. Papopolous, is it not? He who is famous all over the world for the discretion with which he arranges these things. The other bowed. You flatter me. It is a great thing, discretion, mused Poirot, and was rewarded by the fleeting smile which passed across the Greeks face. I, too, can be discreet. The eyes of the two men met. Then Poirot went on speaking very slowly, and obviously picking his words with care. I say to myself, this if these jewels have changed hands in Nice, M. Papopolous would have heard of it. He has knowledge of all that passes in the jewel world. Ah! said M. Papopolous, and helped himself to a croissant. The police, you understand, said M. Poirot, do not enter into the matter. It is a personal affair. One hears rumours, admitted M. Papopolous cautiously. Such as? prompted Poirot. Is there any reason why I should pass them on? Yes, said Poirot, I think there is. You may remember, M. Papopolous, that seventeen years ago there was a certain article in your hands, left there as security by a veryerProminent Person. It was in your keeping and it unaccountably disappeared. You were, if I may use the English expression, in the soup. His eyes came gently round to the girl. She had pushed her cup and plate aside, and with both elbows on the table and her chin resting on her hands was listening eagerly. Still keeping an eye on her he went on I am in Paris at the time. You send for me. You place yourself in my hands. If I restore to you thatarticle, you say I shall earn your undying gratitude. Eh bien! I did restore it to you. A long sigh came from M. Papopolous. It was the most unpleasant moment of my career, he murmured. Seventeen years is a long time, said Poirot thoughtfully, but I believe that I am right in saying, Monsieur, that your race does not forget. A Greek? murmured Papopolous, with an ironical smile. It was not as a Greek I meant, said Poirot. There was a silence, and then the old man drew himself up proudly. You are right, M. Poirot, he said quietly. I am a Jew. And, as you say, our race does not forget. You will aid me then? As regards the jewels, Monsieur, I can do nothing. The old man, as Poirot had done just now, picked his words carefully. I know nothing. I have heard nothing. But I can perhaps do you a good turnthat is, if you are interested in racing. Under certain circumstances I might be, said Poirot, eyeing him steadily. There is a horse running at Longchamps that would, I think, repay attention. I cannot say for certain, you understand; this news passed through so many hands. He stopped, fixing Poirot with his eye, as though to make sure that the latter was comprehending him. Perfectly, perfectly, said Poirot, nodding. The name of the horse, said M. Papopolous, leaning back and joining the tips of his fingers together, is the Marquis. I think, but I am not sure, that it is an English horse, eh, Zia? I think so too, said the girl. Poirot got up briskly. I thank you, Monsieur, he said. It is a great thing to have what the English call a tip from the stable. Au revoir, Monsieur, and many thanks. He turned to the girl. Au revoir, Mademoiselle Zia. It seems to me but yesterday that I saw you in Paris. One would say that two years had passed at most. There is a difference between sixteen and thirtythree, said Zia ruefully. Not in your case, declared Poirot gallantly. You and your father will perhaps dine with me one night. We shall be delighted, replied Zia. Then we will arrange it, declared Poirot, and nowje me sauve. Poirot walked along the street humming a little tune to himself. He twirled his stick with a jaunty air, once or twice he smiled to himself quietly. He turned into the first Bureau de Poste he came to and sent off a telegram. He took some time in wording it, but it was in code and he had to call upon his memory. It purported to deal with a missing scarfpin, and was addressed to Inspector Japp, Scotland Yard. Decoded, it was short and to the point. Wire me everything known about man whose soubriquet is the Marquis. XXIII A New Theory It was exactly eleven oclock when Poirot presented himself at Van Aldins hotel. He found the millionaire alone. You are punctual, M. Poirot, he said, with a smile, as he rose to greet the detective. I am always punctual, said Poirot. The exactitudealways do I observe it. Without order and method He broke off. Ah, but it is possible that I have said these things to you before. Let us come at once to the object of my visit. Your little idea? Yes, my little idea. Poirot smiled. First of all, Monsieur, I should like to interview once more the maid, Ada Mason. She is here? Yes, shes here. Ah! Van Aldin looked at him curiously. He rang the bell, and a messenger was despatched to find Mason. Poirot greeted her with his usual politeness, which was never without effect on that particular class. Good afternoon, Mademoiselle, he said cheerfully. Be seated, will you not, if Monsieur permits. Yes, yes, sit down, my girl, said Van Aldin. Thank you, sir, said Mason primly, and she sat down on the extreme edge of a chair. She looked bonier and more acid than ever. I have come to ask you yet more questions, said Poirot. We must get to the bottom of this affair. Always I return to the question of the man in the train. You have been shown the Comte de la Roche. You say that it is possible he was the man, but you are not sure. As I told you, sir, I never saw the gentlemans face. That is what makes it so difficult. Poirot beamed and nodded. Precisely, exactly. I comprehend well the difficulty. Now, Mademoiselle, you have been in the service of Madame Kettering two months, you say. During that time, how often did you see your master? Mason reflected a minute or two, and then said Only twice, sir. And was that near to, or far away? Well once, sir, he came to Curzon Street. I was upstairs, and I looked over the banisters and saw him in the hall below. I was a bit curious like, you understand, knowing the way thingserwere. Mason finished up with her discreet cough. And the other time? I was in the Park, sir, with Annieone of the housemaids, sir, and she pointed out the master to me walking with a foreign lady. Again Poirot nodded. Now listen, Mason, this man whom you saw in the carriage talking to your mistress at the Gare de Lyon, how do you know it was not your master? The master, sir? Oh, I dont think it could have been. But you are not sure, Poirot persisted. WellI never thought of it, sir. Mason was clearly upset at the idea. You have heard that your master was also on the train. What more natural than that it should be he who came along the corridor? But the gentleman who was talking to the mistress must have come from outside, sir. He was dressed for the street. In an overcoat and soft hat. Just so, Mademoiselle, but reflect a minute. The train has just arrived at the Gare de Lyon. Many of the passengers promenade themselves upon the quay. Your mistress was about to do so, and for that purpose had doubtless put on her fur coat, eh? Yes, sir, agreed Mason. Your master, then, does the same. The train is heated, but outside in the station it is cold. He puts on his overcoat and his hat and he walks along beside the train, and looking up at the lighted windows he suddenly sees Madame Kettering. Until then he has had no idea that she was on the train. Naturally, he mounts the carriage and goes to her compartment. She gives an exclamation of surprise at seeing him and quickly shuts the door between the two compartments since it is possible that their conversation may be of a private nature. He leaned back in his chair and watched the suggestion slowly take effect. No one knew better than Hercule Poirot that the class to which Mason belongs cannot be hurried. He must give her time to get rid of her own preconceived ideas. At the end of three minutes she spoke Well, of course, sir, it might be so. I never thought of it that way. The master is tall and dark, and just about that build. It was seeing the hat and coat that made me say it was a gentleman from outside. Yes, it might have been the master. I would not like to say either way Im sure. Thank you very much, Mademoiselle. I shall not require you any further. Ah, just one thing more. He took from his pocket the cigarette case he had already shown to Katherine. Is that your mistresss case? he said to Mason. No, sir, it is not the mistresssat least She looked suddenly startled. An idea was clearly working its way to the forefront of her mind. Yes? said Poirot encouragingly. I think, sirI cant be sure, but I thinkit is a case that the mistress bought to give to the master. Ah, said Poirot in a noncommittal manner. But whether she ever did give it to him or not, I cant say, of course. Precisely, said Poirot, precisely. That is all, I think, Mademoiselle. I wish you good afternoon. Ada Mason retired discreetly, closing the door noiselessly behind her. Poirot looked across at Van Aldin, a faint smile upon his face. The millionaire looked thunderstruck. You thinkyou think it was Derek? he queried, buteverything points the other way. Why, the Count has actually been caught redhanded with the jewels on him. No. But you told me What did I tell you? That story about the jewels. You showed them to me. No. Van Aldin stared at him. You mean to say you didnt show them to me? No. Yesterdayat the tennis? No. Are you crazy, M. Poirot, or am I? Neither of us is crazy, said the detective. You ask me a question; I answer it. You say have I not shown you the jewels yesterday? I replyno. What I showed you, M. Van Aldin, was a firstclass imitation, hardly to be distinguished except by an expert from the real ones. XXIV Poirot Gives Advice It took the millionaire some few minutes to take the thing in. He stared at Poirot as though dumbfounded. The little Belgian nodded at him gently. Yes, he said, it alters the position, does it not? Imitation! He leaned forward. All along, M. Poirot, you have had this idea? All along this is what you have been driving at? You never believed that the Comte de la Roche was the murderer? I have had doubts, said Poirot quietly. I said as much to you. Robbery with violence and murderhe shook his head energeticallyno, it is difficult to picture. It does not harmonise with the personality of the Comte de la Roche. But you believe that he meant to steal the rubies? Certainly. There is no doubt as to that. See, I will recount to you the affair as I see it. The Comte knew of the rubies and he laid his plans accordingly. He made up a romantic story of a book he was writing, so as to induce your daughter to bring them with her. He provided himself with an exact duplicate. It is clear, is it not, that substitution is what he was after. Madame, your daughter, was not an expert on jewels. It would probably be a long time before she discovered what had occurred. When she did sowellI do not think she would prosecute the Comte. Too much would come out. He would have in his possession various letters of hers. Oh yes, a very safe scheme from the Comtes point of viewone that he has probably carried out before. It seems clear enough, yes, said Van Aldin musingly. It accords with the personality of the Comte de la Roche, said Poirot. Yes, but now Van Aldin looked searchingly at the other. What actually happened? Tell me that, M. Poirot. Poirot shrugged his shoulders. It is quite simple, he said; someone stepped in ahead of the Comte. There was a long pause. Van Aldin seemed to be turning things over in his mind. When he spoke it was without beating about the bush. How long have you suspected my soninlaw, M. Poirot? From the very first. He had the motive and the opportunity. Everyone took for granted that the man in Madames compartment in Paris was the Comte de la Roche. I thought so, too. Then you happened to mention that you had once mistaken the Comte for your soninlaw. That told me that they were of the same height and build, and alike in colouring. It put some curious ideas in my head. The maid had only been with your daughter a short time. It was unlikely that she would know Mr. Kettering well by sight, since he had not been living in Curzon Street; also the man was careful to keep his face turned away. You believe hemurdered her? said Van Aldin hoarsely. Poirot raised a hand quickly. No, no, I did not say thatbut it is a possibilitya very strong possibility. He was in a tight corner, a very tight corner, threatened with ruin. This was the one way out. But why take the jewels? To make the crime appear an ordinary one committed by train robbers. Otherwise suspicion might have fallen on him straight away. If that is so, what has he done with the rubies? That remains to be seen. There are several possibilities. There is a man in Nice who may be able to help, the man I pointed out at the tennis. He rose to his feet and Van Aldin rose also and laid his hand on the little mans shoulder. His voice when he spoke was harsh with emotion. Find Ruths murderer for me, he said, that is all I ask. Poirot drew himself up. Leave it in the hands of Hercule Poirot, he said superbly; have no fears. I will discover the truth. He brushed a speck of fluff from his hat, smiled reassuringly at the millionaire, and left the room. Nevertheless, as he went down the stairs some of the confidence faded from his face. It is all very well, he murmured to himself, but there are difficulties. Yes, there are great difficulties. As he was passing out of the hotel he came to a sudden halt. A car had drawn up in front of the door. In it was Katherine Grey, and Derek Kettering was standing beside it talking to her earnestly. A minute or two later the car drove off and Derek remained standing on the pavement looking after it. The expression on his face was an odd one. He gave a sudden impatient gesture of the shoulders, sighed deeply, and turned to find Hercule Poirot standing at his elbow. In spite of himself he started. The two men looked at each other. Poirot steadily and unwaveringly and Derek with a kind of lighthearted defiance. There was a sneer behind the easy mockery of his tone when he spoke, raising his eyebrows slightly as he did so. Rather a dear, isnt she? he asked easily. His manner was perfectly natural. Yes, said Poirot thoughtfully, that describes Mademoiselle Katherine very well. It is very English, that phrase there, and Mademoiselle Katherine, she also is very English. Derek remained perfectly still without answering. And yet she is sympathique, is it not so? Yes, said Derek; there are not many like her. He spoke softly, almost as though to himself. Poirot nodded significantly. Then he leant towards the other and spoke in a different tone, a quiet, grave tone that was new to Derek Kettering. You will pardon an old man, Monsieur, if he says to you something that you may consider impertinent. There is one of your English proverbs that I would quote to you. It says that it is well to be off with the old love, before being on with the new.  Kettering turned on him angrily. What the devil do you mean? You enrage yourself at me, said Poirot placidly. I expected as much. As to what I meanI mean, Monsieur, that there is a second car with a lady in it. If you turn your head you will see her. Derek spun round. His face darkened with anger. Mirelle, damn her! he muttered. I will soon Poirot arrested the movement he was about to make. Is it wise what you are about to do there? he asked warningly. His eyes shone softly with a green light in them. But Derek was past noticing the warning signs. In his anger he was completely off his guard. I have broken with her utterly, and she knows it, cried Derek angrily. You have broken with her, yes, but has she broken with you? Derek gave a sudden harsh laugh. She wont break with two million pounds if she can help it, he murmured brutally; trust Mirelle for that. Poirot raised his eyebrows. You have the outlook cynical, he murmured. Have I? There was no mirth in his sudden wide smile. I have lived in the world long enough, M. Poirot, to know that all women are pretty much alike. His face softened suddenly. All save one. He met Poirots gaze defiantly. A look of alertness crept into his eyes, then faded again. That one, he said, and jerked his head in the direction of Cap Martin. Ah! said Poirot. This quiescence was well calculated to provoke the impetuous temperament of the other. I know what you are going to say, said Derek rapidly, the kind of life I have led, the fact that I am not worthy of her. You will say that I have no right to think even of such a thing. You will say that it is not a case of giving a dog a bad nameI know that it is not decent to be speaking like this with my wife dead only a few days, and murdered at that. He paused for breath, and Poirot took advantage of the pause to remark in his plaintive tone But, indeed, I have not said anything at all. But you will. Eh? said Poirot. You will say that I have no earthly chance of marrying Katherine. No, said Poirot, I would not say that. Your reputation is bad, yes, but with womennever does that deter them. If you were a man of excellent character, of strict morality who had done nothing that he should not do, andpossibly everything that he should doeh bien! then I should have grave doubts of your success. Moral worth, you understand, it is not romantic. It is appreciated, however, by widows. Derek Kettering stared at him, then he swung round on his heel and went up to the waiting car. Poirot looked after him with some interest. He saw the lovely vision lean out of the car and speak. Derek Kettering did not stop. He lifted his hat and passed straight on. a y est, said M. Hercule Poirot, it is time, I think, that I return chez moi. He found the imperturbable George pressing trousers. A pleasant day, Georges, somewhat fatiguing, but not without interest, he said. George received these remarks in his usual wooden fashion. Indeed, sir. The personality of a criminal, Georges, is an interesting matter. Many murderers are men of great personal charm. I always heard, sir, that Dr. Crippen was a pleasantspoken gentleman. And yet he cut up his wife like so much mincemeat. Your instances are always apt, Georges. The valet did not reply, and at that moment the telephone rang. Poirot took up the receiver.  Alloalloyes, yes, it is Hercule Poirot who speaks. This is Knighton. Will you hold the line a minute, M. Poirot? Mr. Van Aldin would like to speak to you. There was a moments pause, then the millionaires voice came through. Is that you, M. Poirot? I just wanted to tell you that Mason came to me now of her own accord. She has been thinking it over, and she says that she is almost certain that the man at Paris was Derek Kettering. There was something familiar about him at the time, she says, but at the minute she could not place it. She seems pretty certain now. Ah, said Poirot, thank you, M. Van Aldin. That advances us. He replaced the receiver, and stood for a minute or two with a very curious smile on his face. George had to speak to him twice before obtaining an answer. Eh? said Poirot. What is that that you say to me? Are you lunching here, sir, or are you going out? Neither, said Poirot. I shall go to bed and take a tisane. The expected has happened, and when the expected happens, it always causes me emotion. XXV Defiance As Derek Kettering passed the car, Mirelle leant out. DereekI must speak to you for a moment But, lifting his hat, Derek passed straight on without stopping. When he got back to his hotel, the concierge detached himself from his wooden pen and accosted him. A gentleman is waiting to see you, Monsieur. Who is it? asked Derek. He did not give his name, Monsieur, but he said his business with you was important, and that he would wait. Where is he? In the little salon, Monsieur. He preferred it to the lounge, he said, as being more private. Derek nodded, and turned his steps in that direction. The small salon was empty except for the visitor, who rose and bowed with easy foreign grace as Derek entered. As it chanced, Derek had only seen the Comte de la Roche once, but found no difficulty in recognising that aristocratic nobleman, and he frowned angrily. Of all the consummate impertinence! The Comte de la Roche, is it not? he said. I am afraid you have wasted your time in coming here. I hope not, said the Comte agreeably. His white teeth glittered. The Comtes charm of manner was usually wasted on his own sex. All men, without exception, disliked him heartily. Derek Kettering was already conscious of a distinct longing to kick the Count bodily out of the room. It was only the realisation that scandal would be unfortunate just at present that restrained him. He marvelled anew that Ruth could have cared, as she certainly had, for this fellow. A bounder, and worse than a bounder. He looked with distaste at the Counts exquisitely manicured hands. I called, said the Comte, on a little matter of business. It would be advisable, I think, for you to listen to me. Again Derek felt strongly tempted to kick him out, but again he refrained. The hint of a threat was not lost upon him, but he interpreted it in his own way. There were various reasons why it would be better to hear what the Comte had to say. He sat down and drummed impatiently with his fingers on the table. Well, he said sharply, what is it? It was not the Comtes way to come out into the open at once. Allow me, Monsieur, to offer you my condolences on your recent bereavement. If I have any impertinence from you, said Derek quietly, you go out by that window. He nodded his head towards the window beside the Comte, and the latter moved uneasily. I will send my friends to you, Monsieur, if that is what you desire, he said haughtily. Derek laughed. A duel, eh? My dear Count, I dont take you seriously enough for that. But I should take a good deal of pleasure in kicking you down the Promenade des Anglais. The Comte was not at all anxious to take offence. He merely raised his eyebrows and murmured The English are barbarians. Well, said Derek, what is it you have to say to me? I will be frank, said the Comte, I will come immediately to the point. That will suit us both, will it not? Again he smiled in his agreeable fashion. Go on, said Derek curtly. The Comte looked at the ceiling, joined the tips of his fingers together, and murmured softly You have come into a lot of money, Monsieur. What the devil has that got to do with you? The Comte drew himself up. Monsieur, my name is tarnished! I am suspectedaccusedof foul crime. The accusation does not come from me, said Derek coldly; as an interested party I have not expressed any opinion. I am innocent, said the Comte.