y true worth.

"Yes," he continued, staring at me thoughtfully, "you will be
invaluable."

This was naturally gratifying, but Poirot's next words were not so
welcome.

"I must have an ally in the house," he observed reflectively.

"You have me," I protested.

"True, but you are not sufficient."

I was hurt, and showed it. Poirot hurried to explain himself.

"You do not quite take my meaning. You are known to be working with me.
I want somebody who is not associated with us in any way."

"Oh, I see. How about John?"

"No, I think not."

"The dear fellow isn't perhaps very bright," I said thoughtfully.

"Here comes Miss Howard," said Poirot suddenly. "She is the very person.
But I am in her black books, since I cleared Mr. Inglethorp. Still, we
can but try."

With a nod that was barely civil, Miss Howard assented to Poirot's
request for a few minutes' conversation.

We went into the little morning-room, and Poirot closed the door.

"Well, Monsieur Poirot," said Miss Howard impatiently, "what is it? Out
with it. I'm busy."

"Do you remember, mademoiselle, that I once asked you to help me?"

"Yes, I do." The lady nodded. "And I told you I'd help you with
pleasure--to hang Alfred Inglethorp."

"Ah!" Poirot studied her seriously. "Miss Howard, I will ask you one
question. I beg of you to reply to it truthfully."

"Never tell lies," replied Miss Howard.

"It is this. Do you still believe that Mrs. Inglethorp was poisoned by
her husband?"

"What do you mean?" she asked sharply. "You needn't think your pretty
explanations influence me in the slightest. I'll admit that it wasn't he
who bought strychnine at the chemist's shop. What of that? I dare say he
soaked fly paper, as I told you at the beginning."

"That is arsenic--not strychnine," said Poirot mildly.

"What does that matter? Arsenic would put poor Emily out of the way just
as well as strychnine. If I'm convinced he did it, it doesn't matter a
jot to me _how_ he did it."

"Exactly. _If_ you are convinced he did it," said Poirot quietly. "I
will put my question in another form. Did you ever in your heart of
hearts believe that Mrs. Inglethorp was poisoned by her husband?"

"Good heavens!" cried Miss Howard. "Haven't I always told you the man
is a villain? Haven't I always told you he would murder her in her bed?
Haven't I always hated him like poison?"

"Exactly," said Poirot. "That bears out my little idea entirely."

"What little idea?"