, and went out into the hall, where Miss Howard
was endeavouring to extricate herself from the voluminous mass of veils
that enveloped her head. As her eyes fell on me, a sudden pang of guilt
shot through me. This was the woman who had warned me so earnestly,
and to whose warning I had, alas, paid no heed! How soon, and how
contemptuously, I had dismissed it from my mind. Now that she had been
proved justified in so tragic a manner, I felt ashamed. She had known
Alfred Inglethorp only too well. I wondered whether, if she had remained
at Styles, the tragedy would have taken place, or would the man have
feared her watchful eyes?

I was relieved when she shook me by the hand, with her well remembered
painful grip. The eyes that met mine were sad, but not reproachful;
that she had been crying bitterly, I could tell by the redness of her
eyelids, but her manner was unchanged from its old gruffness.

"Started the moment I got the wire. Just come off night duty. Hired car.
Quickest way to get here."

"Have you had anything to eat this morning, Evie?" asked John.

"No."

"I thought not. Come along, breakfast's not cleared away yet, and
they'll make you some fresh tea." He turned to me. "Look after her,
Hastings, will you? Wells is waiting for me. Oh, here's Monsieur Poirot.
He's helping us, you know, Evie."

Miss Howard shook hands with Poirot, but glanced suspiciously over her
shoulder at John.

"What do you mean--helping us?"

"Helping us to investigate."

"Nothing to investigate. Have they taken him to prison yet?"

"Taken who to prison?"

"Who? Alfred Inglethorp, of course!"

"My dear Evie, do be careful. Lawrence is of the opinion that my mother
died from heart seizure."

"More fool, Lawrence!" retorted Miss Howard. "Of course Alfred
Inglethorp murdered poor Emily--as I always told you he would."

"My dear Evie, don't shout so. Whatever we may think or suspect, it is
better to say as little as possible for the present. The inquest isn't
until Friday."

"Not until fiddlesticks!" The snort Miss Howard gave was truly
magnificent. "You're all off your heads. The man will be out of the
country by then. If he's any sense, he won't stay here tamely and wait
to be hanged."

John Cavendish looked at her helplessly.

"I know what it is," she accused him, "you've been listening to the
doctors. Never should. What do they know? Nothing at all--or just enough
to make them dangerous. I ought to know--my own father