‘When was it she said this, Mademoiselle?’
‘Oh! about a month ago, I think it was.’
‘How did the subject come up?’
Jenny Driver racked her brains for some minutes and finally shook her head.
‘I can’t remember,’ she confessed. ‘His name cropped up or something. It might have been in the newspaper. Anyway, I remember thinking it odd that Carlotta should be so vehement all of a sudden when she didn’t even know the man.’
‘Certainly it is odd,’ agreed Poirot thoughtfully. Then he asked:
‘Do you know if Miss Adams was in the habit of taking veronal?’
‘Not that I knew. I never saw her take it or mention taking it.’
‘Did you ever see in her bag a small gold box with the initials C.A. on it in rubies?’
‘A small gold box—no. I am sure I didn’t.’
‘Do you happen to know where Miss Adams was last November?’
‘Let me see. She went back to the States in November, I think—towards the end of the month. Before that she was in Paris.’
‘Alone?’
‘Alone, of course! Sorry—perhaps you didn’t mean that! I don’t know why any mention of Paris always suggests the worst. And it’s such a nice respectable place really. But Carlotta wasn’t the week-ending sort, if that’s what you’re driving at.’
‘Now, Mademoiselle, I am going to ask you a very important question. Was there any man Miss Adams was specially interested in?’
‘The answer to that is “No,”’ said Jenny slowly. ‘Carlotta, since I’ve known her, has been wrapped up in her work and in her delicate sister. She’s had the “head of the family all depends on me” attitude very strongly. So the answer’s NO—strictly speaking.’
‘Ah! and not speaking so strictly?’
‘I shouldn’t wonder if—lately—Carlotta hadn’t been getting interested in some man.’
‘Ah!’
‘Mind you, that’s entirely guesswork on my part. I’ve gone simply by her manner. She’s been—different—not exactly dreamy, but abstracted. And she’s looked different, somehow. Oh! I can’t explain. It’s the sort of thing that another woman just feels—and, of course, may be quite wrong about.’
Poirot nodded.
‘Thank you, Mademoiselle. One thing more. Is there any friend of Miss Adams whose initial is D?’
‘D,’ said Jenny Driver thoughtfully. ‘D? No, I’m sorry. I can’t think of anyone.’
Chapter 11
The Egoist
I do not think Poirot had expected any other answer to his question. All the same he shook his head sadly. He remained lost in thought. Jenny Driver leant forward, her elbows on the table.
‘And now,’ she said, ‘am I going to be told anything?’
‘Mademoiselle,’ said Poirot. ‘First of all let me compliment you. Your answers to my questions have been singularly intelligent. Clearly you have brains, Mademoiselle. You ask whether I am going to tell you anything. I answer—not very much. I will tell you just a few bare facts, Mademoiselle.’
He paused, and then said quietly:
‘Last night Lord Edgware was murdered in his library. At ten o’clock yesterday evening a lady whom I believe to have been your friend Miss Adams came to the house, asked to see Lord Edgware, and announced herself as Lady Edgware. She wore a golden wig and was made up to resemble the real Lady Edgware who, as you probably know, is Miss Jane Wilkinson, the actress. Miss Adams (if it were she) only remained a few moments. She left the house at five minutes past ten but she did not return home till after midnight. She went to bed, having taken an overdose of veronal. Now, Mademoiselle, you see the point, perhaps, of some of the questions I have been asking you.’
Jenny drew a deep breath.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I see now. I believe you’re right, M. Poirot. Right about its having been Carlotta, I mean. For one thing, she bought a new hat off me yesterday.’
‘A new hat?’
‘Yes. She said she wanted one to shade the left side of her face.’
There I must insert a few words of explanation as I do not know when these words will be read. I have seen many fashions of hats in my time—the cloche that shaded the face so completely that one gave up in despair the task of recognizing one’s friends. The tilted forward hat, the hat attached airily to the back of the head, the beret, and many other styles. In this particular June the hat of the moment was shaped like an inverted soup plate and was worn attached (as if by suction) over one ear, leaving the other side of the face and hair open to inspection.