Jane said: 'Courting? What a word!'

'But yes, it is the right word, is it not? For a young man who pays attention to a young lady before asking her hand in marriage? They say, do they not, a courting couple?'

'Your friends seem to say some very funny things.'

Hercule Poirot chanted softly: 'Thirteen, fourteen, maids are courting. See, all around us they are doing it.'

Jane said sharply: 'Yes-I'm just one of the crowd, I suppose...'

She turned suddenly to Poirot.

'I want to apologize to you. I made a mistake the other day. I thought you had wormed your way in and come down to Exsham just to spy on Howard. But afterwards Uncle Alistair told me that he had definitely asked you because he wanted you to clear up this business of that missing woman-Sainsbury Seale. That's right, isn't it?'

'Absolutely.'

'So I'm sorry for what I said to you that evening. But it did look like it, you know. I mean-as though youwere just following Howard and spying on us both.'

'Even if it were true, Mademoiselle-I was an excellent witness to the fact that Mr Raikes bravely saved your uncle's life by springing on his a.s.sailant and preventing him from firing another shot.'

'You've got a funny way of saying things, M. Poirot. I never know whether you're serious or not.'

Poirot said gravely: 'At the moment I am very serious, Miss Olivera.'

Jane said with a slight break in her voice: 'Why do you look at me like that? As though-as though you were sorry for me?'

'Perhaps because I am sorry, Mademoiselle, for the things that I shall have to do so soon...'

'Well, then-don't do them!'

'Alas, Mademoiselle, but I must...'

She stared at him for a minute or two, then she said: 'Have you-found that woman?'

Poirot said: 'Let us say-that I know where she is.'

'Is she dead?'

'I have not said so.'

'She's alive, then?'

'I have not said that either.'

Jane looked at him with irritation. She exclaimed: 'Well, she's got to be one or the other, hasn't she?'

'Actually, it's not quite so simple.'

'I believe you justlike making things difficult!'

'It has been said of me,' admitted Hercule Poirot.

Jane shivered. She said: 'Isn't it funny? It's a lovely warm day-and yet I suddenly feel cold...'

'Perhaps you had better walk on, Mademoiselle.'

Jane rose to her feet. She stood a minute irresolute. She said abruptly: 'Howard wants me to marry him. At once. Without letting anyone know. He says-he says it's the only way I'll ever do it-that I'm weak-' She broke off, then with one hand she gripped Poirot's arm with surprising strength. 'What shall I do about it, M. Poirot?'

'Why ask me to advise you? There are those who are nearer!'

'Mother? She'd scream the house down at the bare idea! Uncle Alistair? He'd be cautious and prosy. Plenty of time, my dear. Got to make quite sure, you know. Bit of an odd fish-this young man of yours. No sense in rushing things-'

'Your friends?' suggested Poirot.

'I haven't got any friends. Only a silly crowd I drink and dance and talk inane catchwords with!

Howard's the onlyreal person I've ever come up against.'

'Still-why askme , Miss Olivera?'

Jane said: 'Because you've got a queer look on your face-as though you were sorry about something-as though you knew something that-that-was-coming...'

She stopped.

'Well?' she demanded. 'What do you say?'

Hercule Poirot slowly shook his head.

IV.

When Poirot reached home, George said: 'Chief Inspector j.a.pp is here, sir.'

j.a.pp grinned in a rueful way as Poirot came into the room.

'Here I am, old boy. Come round to say: "Aren't you a marvel? How do you do it? What makes you think of these things?"'

'All this meaning-? Butpardon , you will have some refreshment? A sirop? Or perhaps the whisky?'

'The whisky is good enough for me.'

A few minutes later he raised his gla.s.s, observing: 'Here's to Hercule Poirot who is always right!'

'No, no,mon ami .'

'Here we had a lovely case of suicide. H.P. says it's murder-wants it to be murder-and dash it all, itis murder!'

'Ah? So you agree at last?'

'Well, n.o.body can say I'm pig-headed. I don't fly in the face of evidence. The trouble was therewasn't any evidence before.'

'But there is now?'

'Yes, and I've come round to make the amend honourable, as you call it, and present the t.i.tbit to you on toast, as it were.'

'I am all agog, my good j.a.pp.'

'All right. Here goes. The pistol that Frank Carter tried to shoot Blunt with on Sat.u.r.day is a twin pistol to the one that killed Morley!'

Poirot stared: 'But this is extraordinary!'

'Yes, it makes it look rather black for Master Frank.'

'It is not conclusive.'

'No, but it's enough to make us reconsider the suicide verdict. They're a foreign make of pistol and rather an uncommon one at that!'

Hercule Poirot stared. His eyebrows looked like crescent moons. He said at last: 'Frank Carter? No-surely not!'

j.a.pp breathed a sigh of exasperation.

'What's the matter with you, Poirot? First you will have it that Morley was murdered and that it wasn't suicide. Then when I come and tell you we're inclined to come round to your views you hem and ha and don't seem to like it.'

'You really believe that Morley was murdered by Frank Carter?'

'It fits. Carter had got a grudge against Morley-that we knew all along. He came to Queen Charlotte Street that morning-and he pretended afterwards that he had come along to tell his young woman he'd got a job-but we've now discovered that hehadn't got the job then. He didn't get it till later in the day. He admits that now. So there's lie No. 1. He can't account for where he was at twenty-five past twelve onwards. Says he was walking in the Marylebone Road, but the first thing he can prove is having a drink in a pub at five past one. And the barman says he was in a regular state-his hand shaking and his face as white as a sheet!'

Hercule Poirot sighed and shook his head. He murmured: 'It does not accord with my ideas.'

'What are these ideas of yours?'

'It is very disturbing what you tell me. Very disturbing indeed. Because, you see, if you are right...'

The door opened softly and George murmured deferentially: 'Excuse me, sir, but...'

He got no further. Miss Gladys Nevill thrust him aside and came agitatedly into the room. She was crying.

'Oh, M. Poirot-'

'Here, I'll be off,' said j.a.pp hurriedly.

He left the room precipitately.

Gladys Nevill paid his back the tribute of a venomous look.

'That's the man-that horrid Inspector from Scotland Yard-it's he who has trumped up a whole case against poor Frank.'

'Now, now, you must not agitate yourself.'

'But he has. First they pretend that he tried to murder this Mr Blunt and not content with that they've accused him or murdering poor Mr Morley.'

Hercule Poirot coughed. He said: 'I was down there, you know, at Exsham, when the shot was fired at Mr Blunt.'

Gladys Nevill said with a somewhat confusing use of p.r.o.nouns: 'But even if Frank did-did do a foolish thing like that-and he's one of those Imperial Shirts, you know-they march with banners and have a ridiculous salute, and of course I suppose Mr Blunt's wife was a very notorious Jewess, and they just work up these poor young men-quite harmless ones like Frank-until they think they are doing something wonderful and patriotic.'

'Is that Mr Carter's defence?' asked Hercule Poirot.

'Ohno . Frank just swears he didn't do anything and had never seen the pistol before. I haven't spoken to him, of course-they wouldn't let me-but he's got a solicitor acting for him and he told me what Frank had said. Frank just says it's all a frame-up.'

Poirot murmured: 'And the solicitor is of opinion that his client had better think of a more plausible story?'

'Lawyers are so difficult. They won't say anythingstraight out . But it's the murder charge I'm worrying about. Oh! M. Poirot, I'm sure Frankcouldn't have killed Mr Morley. I mean really-he hadn't any reason to.'

'Is it true,' said Poirot, 'that when he came round that morning he had not yet got a job of any kind?'

'Well, really, M. Poirot, I don't see what differencethat makes. Whether he got the job in the morning or the afternoon can't matter.'

Poirot said: 'But his story was that he came to tell you about his good luck. Now, it seems, he had as yet had no luck. Why, then, did he come?'

'Well, M. Poirot, the poor boy was dispirited and upset, and to tell the truth I believe he'd been drinking a little. Poor Frank has rather a weak head-and the drink upset him and so he felt like-like making a row, and he came round to Queen Charlotte Street to have it out with Mr Morley, because, you see, Frank is awfully sensitive and it had upset him a lot to feel that Mr Morley disapproved of him, and was what he called poisoning my mind.'

'So he conceived the idea of making a scene in business hours?'

'Well-yes-I suppose thatwas his idea. Of course it was very wrong of Frank to think of such a thing.'

Poirot looked thoughtfully at the tearful blonde young woman in front of him. He said: 'Did you know that Frank Carter had a pistol-or a pair of pistols?'

'Oh no, M. Poirot. I swear I didn't. And I don't believe it's true, either.'

Poirot shook his head slowly in a perplexed manner.

'Oh! M. Poirot, do help us. If I could only feel that you were on our side-'

Poirot said: 'I do not take sides. I am on the side only of the truth.'

V.

After he had got rid of the girl, Poirot rang up Scotland Yard. j.a.pp had not yet returned but Detective Sergeant Beddoes was obliging and informative.

The police had not as yet found any evidence to prove Frank Carter's possession of the pistol before the a.s.sault at Exsham.

Poirot hung up the receiver thoughtfully. It was a point in Carter's favour. But so far it was the only one. He had also learned from Beddoes a few more details as to the statement Frank Carter had made about his employment as gardener at Exsham. He stuck to his story of a Secret Service job. He had been given money in advance and some testimonials as to his gardening abilities and been told to apply to Mr MacAlister, the head gardener, for the post.

His instructions were to listen to the other gardeners' conversations and sound them as to their 'red'

tendencies, and to pretend to be a bit of a 'red' himself. He had been interviewed and instructed in his task by a woman who had told him that she was known as Q.H.56, and that he had been recommended to her as a strong anti-communist. She had interviewed him in a dim light and he did not think he would know her again. She was a red-haired lady with a lot of make-up on. Poirot groaned. The Phillips Oppenheim touch seemed to be reappearing. He was tempted to consult Mr Barnes on the subject.

According to Mr Barnes these things happened.

The last post brought him something which disturbed him more still. A cheap envelope in an unformed handwriting, postmarked Hertfordshire. Poirot opened it and read: Dear Sir,- Hoping as you will forgive me for troubling you, but I am very worried and do not know what to do. I do not want to be mixed up with the police in any way. I know that perhaps I ought to have told something I know before, but as they said the master had shot himself it was all right I thought and I wouldn't have liked to get Miss Nevill's young man into trouble and never thought really for one moment as he had done it but now I see he has been took up for shooting at a gentleman in the country and so perhaps he isn't quite all there and I ought to say but I thought I would write to you, you being a friend of the mistress and asking me so particular the other day if there was anything and of course I wish now I had told you then. But I do hope it won't mean getting mixed up with the police because I shouldn't like that and my mother wouldn't like it either. She has always been most particular. Yours respectfully Agnes Fletcher.