‘Well -‘ Miss Oglander considered. ‘I really can’t say. I suppose it must have been about ten o’clock. We had had several rubbers, I know.’
‘And you yourself were sitting – where?’
‘Facing the window. I was playing with my mother and had gone one no trump. Suddenly, without any warning, the window burst open, and Miss Saintclair staggered into the room.’
‘You recognized her?’
‘I had a vague idea her face was familiar.’
‘She is still here, is she not?’
‘Yes, but she refuses to see anyone. She is still quite prostrated.’
‘I think she will see me. Will you tell her that I am here at the express request of Prince Paul of Maurania?’
I fancied that the mention of a royal prince rather shook Miss Oglander’s imperturbable calm. But she left the room on her errand without any further remark, and returned almost im-mediately to say that Mademoiselle Saintclair would see us in her room.
We followed her upstairs, and into a fair-sized light bedroom.
On a couch by the window a woman was lying who turned her head as we entered. The contrast between the two women struck me at once, the more so as in actual features and colouring they were not unalike – but oh, the difference! Not a look, not a gesture of Valerie Saintelair’s but expressed drama. She seemed to exhale an atmosphere of romance. A scarlet flannel dressing-gown covered her feet – a homely garment in all conscience; but the charm of her personality invested it with an exotic fiavour, and it seemed an Eastern robe of glowing colour.
Her large dark eyes fastened themselves on Poirot.
‘You come from Paul?’ Her voice matched her appearance – t was full and languid.
‘Yes, mademoiselle. I am here to serve him – and you.’ ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything that happened last night. But everythingl’
She smiled rather wearily.
‘Do you think I should lie? I am not stupid. I see well enough that there can be no concealment. He held a secret of mine, that man who is dead. He threatened me with it. For Paul’s sake, I endeavoured to make terms with him. I could not risk losing Paul ·.. Now that he is dead, I am safe. But for all that, I did not kill him.’
Poirot shook his head with a smile. ‘It is not necessary to tell me that, mademoiselle. Now recount to me what happened last night.’
‘I offered him money. He appeared to be willing to treat with me. He appointed last night at nine o’clock. I was to go to Mort D6sir. I knew the place; I had been there before. I was to go round to the side door into the library, so that the servants should not see me.’
‘Excuse me, mademoiselle, but were you not afraid to trust yourself alone there at night?’
Was it my fancy, or was there a momentary pause before she answered?
‘Perhaps I was. But you see, there was no one I could ask to go with me. And I was desperate. Reedburn admitted me to the library. Oh, that manl I am glad he is dead! He played with me, as a cat does with a mouse. He taunted me. I begged and implored him on my knees. I offered him every jewel I have. All in vain!
Then he named his own terms. Perhaps you can guess what they were. I refused. I told him what I thought of him. I raved at him.
He remained calmly smiling. And then, as I fell to silence at last, there was a sound – from behind the curtain in the window.
He heard it too. He strode to the curtains and flung them wide apart. There was a man there, hiding – a dreadful-looking man, a sort of tramp. He struck at Mr Reedburn – then he struck again, and he went down. The tramp clutched at me with his bloodstained
hand. I tore myself free, slipped through the window, and ran for my life. Then I perceived the lights in this house, and made for them. The blinds were up, and I saw some people playing bridge.