Poirot looked gravely at her.
“If I am to believe you, Madame—and I do not say that I will not believe you—then you must help me.”
“Help you?”
“Yes. The reason for the murder lies in the past—in that tragedy which broke up your home and saddened your young life. Take me back into the past, Mademoiselle, that I may find there the link that explains the whole thing.”
“What can there be to tell you? They are all dead.” She repeated mournfully: “All dead—all dead—Robert, Sonia—darling, darling Daisy. She was so sweet—so happy—she had such lovely curls. We were all just crazy about her.”
“There was another victim, Madame. An indirect victim, you might say.”
“Poor Susanne? Yes, I had forgotten about her. The police questioned her. They were convinced that she had something to do with it. Perhaps she had—but if so only innocently. She had, I believe, chatted idly with someone, giving information as to the time of Daisy’s outings. The poor thing got terribly wrought up—she thought she was being held responsible.” She shuddered. “She threw herself out of the window. Oh! it was horrible.”
She buried her face in her hands.
“What nationality was she, Madame?”
“She was French.”
“What was her last name?”
“It’s absurd, but I can’t remember—we all called her Susanne. A pretty, laughing girl. She was devoted to Daisy.”
“She was the nursery-maid, was she not?”
“Yes.”
“Who was the nurse?”
“She was a trained hospital nurse. Stengelberg her name was. She too was devoted to Daisy—and to my sister.”
“Now, Madame, I want you to think carefully before you answer this question. Have you, since you were on this train, seen anyone that you recognised?”
She stared at him. “I? No, no one at all.”
“What about Princess Dragomiroff?”
“Oh! her. I know her, of course. I thought you meant anyone—anyone from—from that time.”
“So I did, Madame. Now think carefully. Some years have passed, remember. The person might have altered his or her appearance.”
Helena pondered deeply. Then she said: “No—I am sure—there is no one.”
“You yourself—you were a young girl at the time—did you have no one to superintend your studies or to look after you?”
“Oh! yes, I had a dragon—a sort of governess to me and secretary to Sonia combined. She was English—or rather Scotch; a big red-haired woman.”
“What was her name?”
“Miss Freebody.”
“Young or old?”
“She seemed frightfully old to me. I suppose she couldn’t have been more than forty. Susanne, of course, used to look after my clothes and maid me.”
“And there were no other inmates of the house?”
“Only servants.”
“And you are certain, quite certain, Madame, that you have recognised no one on the train?”
She replied earnestly: “No one, Monsieur. No one at all.”
5
THE CHRISTIAN NAME OF PRINCESS DRAGOMIROFF
When the Count and Countess had departed, Poirot looked across at the other two.
“You see,” he said “we make progress.”
“Excellent work,” said M. Bouc cordially. “On my part, I should never have dreamed of suspecting Count and Countess Andrenyi. I will admit I thought them quite hors de combat. I suppose there is no doubt that she committed the crime? It is rather sad. Still, they will not guillotine her. There are extenuating circumstances. A few years’ imprisonment—that will be all.”
“In fact you are quite certain of her guilt.”
“My dear friend—surely there is no doubt of it? I thought your reassuring manner was only to smooth things over till we are dug out of the snow and the police take charge.”
“You do not believe the Count’s positive assertion—on his word of honor—that his wife is innocent?”
“Mon cher—naturally—what else could he say? He adores his wife. He wants to save her! He tells his lie very well—quite in the grand seigneur manner. But what else than a lie could it be?”
“Well, you know, I had the preposterous idea that it might be the truth.”
“No, no. The handkerchief, remember. The handkerchief clinches the matter.”
“Oh, I am not so sure about the handkerchief. You remember, I always told you that there were two possibilities as to the ownership of the handkerchief.”