She leaned forward eagerly.
‘I have my little ideas, naturally—my suspicions, shall we say?’
‘Won’t you tell me? Please—please.’
Poirot shook his head.
‘It would be—perhaps—unfair.’
‘Then you have got a definite suspicion of somebody?’
Poirot merely shook his head non-committally.
‘If only I knew a little more,’ pleaded the girl. ‘It would make it so much easier for me. And I might perhaps be able to help you. Yes, really I might be able to help you.’
Her pleading was very disarming, but Poirot continued to shake his head.
‘The Duchess of Merton is still convinced it was my stepmother,’ said the girl thoughtfully. She gave a slight questioning glance at Poirot.
He showed no reaction.
‘But I hardly see how that can be.’
‘What is your opinion of her? Of your stepmother?’
‘Well—I hardly know her. I was at school in Paris when my father married her. When I came home, she was quite kind. I mean, she just didn’t notice I was there. I thought her very empty-headed and—well, mercenary.’
Poirot nodded.
‘You spoke of the Duchess of Merton. You have seen much of her?’
‘Yes. She has been very kind to me. I have been with her a great deal during the last fortnight. It has been terrible—with all the talk, and the reporters, and Ronald in prison and everything.’ She shivered. ‘I feel I have no real friends. But the Duchess has been wonderful, and he has been nice too—her son, I mean.’
‘You like him?’
‘He is shy, I think. Stiff and rather difficult to get on with. But his mother talks a lot about him, so that I feel I know him better than I really do.’
‘I see. Tell me, Mademoiselle, you are fond of your cousin?’
‘Of Ronald? Of course. He—I haven’t seen much of him the last two years—but before that he used to live in the house. I—I always thought he was wonderful. Always joking and thinking up mad things to do. Oh! in that gloomy house of ours it made all the difference.’
Poirot nodded sympathetically, but he went on to make a remark that shocked me in its crudity.
‘You do not want to see him—hanged, then?’
‘No, no.’ The girl shivered violently. ‘Not that. Oh! if only it were her—my stepmother. It must be her. The Duchess says it must.’
‘Ah!’ said Poirot. ‘If only Captain Marsh had stayed in the taxi—eh?’
‘Yes—at least, what do you mean?’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘If he had not followed that man into the house. Did you hear anyone come in, by the way?’
‘No, I didn’t hear anything.’
‘What did you do when you came into the house?’
‘I ran straight upstairs—to fetch the pearls, you know.’
‘Of course. It took you some time to fetch them.’
‘Yes. I couldn’t find the key to my jewel-case all at once.’
‘So often is that the case. The more in haste, the less the speed. It was some time before you came down, and then—you found your cousin in the hall?’
‘Yes, coming from the library.’ She swallowed.
‘I comprehend. It gave you quite a turn.’
‘Yes, it did.’ She looked grateful for his sympathetic tone. ‘It startled me, you see.’
‘Quite, quite.’
‘Ronnie just said: “Hello, Dina, got them?” from behind me—and it made me jump.’
‘Yes,’ said Poirot gently. ‘As I said before it is a pity he did not stay outside. Then the taxi-driver would have been able to swear he never entered the house.’
She nodded. Her tears began to fall, splashing unheeded on her lap. She got up. Poirot took her hand.
‘You want me to save him for you—is that it?’
‘Yes, yes—oh! please, yes. You don’t know…’
She stood there striving to control herself, clenching her hands.
‘Life has not been easy for you, Mademoiselle,’ said Poirot gently. ‘I appreciate that. No, it has not been easy. Hastings, will you get Mademoiselle a taxi?’
I went down with the girl and saw her into the taxi. She had composed herself by now and thanked me very prettily.
I found Poirot walking up and down the room, his brows knitted in thought. He looked unhappy.