After that I started a small pensionnat out here, taking in rather older girls who wanted to study languages and other things. I did not visit England again, although for a year or two I kept up communication with the country. The two children used to send me a card at Christmastime.” “Did General Ravenscroft and his wife strike you as a happy couple?” “Very happy. They were fond of their children.” “They were very well suited to each other?” “Yes, they seemed to me to have all the necessary qualities to make their marriage a success.” “You said Mrs. Ravenscroft was devoted to her twin sister.
Was the twin sister also devoted to her?” “Well, I had not very much occasion of judging. Frankly, I thought that the sister—Dolly, as they called her—was very definitely a mental case. Once or twice she acted in a very peculiar manner. She was a jealous woman, I think, and I understood that she had at one time thought she was engaged, or was going to be engaged, to Major Ravenscroft. As far as I could see, he’d fallen in love with her first, then later, however, his affections turned towards her sister, which was fortunate, I thought, because Molly Ravenscroft was a well-balanced and very sweet woman. As for Dolly–sometimes I thought she adored her sister, sometimes that she hated her. She was a very jealous woman and she decided too much affection was being shown to the children. There is one who could tell you about all this better than I. Mademoiselle Meauhourat. She lives in Lausanne and she went to the Ravenscrofts about a year and a half to two years after I had to leave. She was with them for some years. Later I believe she went back as companion to Mrs. Ravenscroft when Celia was abroad at school.” “I am going to see her. I have her address,” said Poirot.
“She knows a great deal that I do not, and she is a charming and reliable person. It was a terrible tragedy that happened later. She knows if anyone does what led to it. She is very discreet. She has never told me anything. Whether she will tell you, I do not know. She may do, she may not.” Poirot stood for a moment or two looking at Mademoiselle Meauhourat. He had been impressed by Mademoiselle Rouselle.
He was impressed also by the woman who stood waiting to receive him now. She was not so formidable, she was much younger, at least ten years younger, he thought, and she had a different kind ofimpressiveness. She was alive, still attractive, eyes that watched you and made their own judgment on you, willing to welcome you, looking with kindliness on those who came her way, but without undue softness. Here is someone, thought Hercule Poirot, very remarkable.
“I am Hercule Poirot, mademoiselle.” “I know. I was expecting you either today or tomorrow.” “Ah. You received a letter from me?” “No. It is no doubt still in the post. Our posts are a little uncertain. No, I had a letter from someone else.” “From Celia Ravenscroft?” “No. It was a letter written by someone in close touch with Celia. A boy or a young man, whichever we like to regard him as, called Desmond Burton-Cox. He prepared me for your arrival.” “Ah. I see. He is intelligent and he wastes no time, I think.
He was very urgent that I should come and see you.” “So I gathered. There’s trouble, I understand. Trouble that he wants to resolve, and so does Celia. They think you can help them?” “Yes, and they think that you can help me.” “They are in love with each other and wish to marry.” “Yes, but there are difficulties being put in their way.” “Ah, by Desmond’s mother, I presume. So he lets me understand.” “There are circumstances, or have been circumstances, in Celia’s life that have prejudiced his mother against his early marriage to this particular girl.” “Ah. Because of the tragedy, for it was a tragedy.” “Yes, because of the tragedy. Celia has a godmother who was asked by Desmond’s mother to try and find out from Celia the exact circumstances under which that suicide occurred.” “There’s no sense in that,” said Mademoiselle Meauhourat.