. Cavendish.

"Pardon me, madame, for recalling unpleasant memories, but I have
a little idea"--Poirot's "little ideas" were becoming a perfect
byword--"and would like to ask one or two questions."

"Of me? Certainly."

"You are too amiable, madame. What I want to ask is this: the door
leading into Mrs. Inglethorp's room from that of Mademoiselle Cynthia,
it was bolted, you say?"

"Certainly it was bolted," replied Mary Cavendish, rather surprised. "I
said so at the inquest."

"Bolted?"

"Yes." She looked perplexed.

"I mean," explained Poirot, "you are sure it was bolted, and not merely
locked?"

"Oh, I see what you mean. No, I don't know. I said bolted, meaning that
it was fastened, and I could not open it, but I believe all the doors
were found bolted on the inside."

"Still, as far as you are concerned, the door might equally well have
been locked?"

"Oh, yes."

"You yourself did not happen to notice, madame, when you entered Mrs.
Inglethorp's room, whether that door was bolted or not?"

"I--I believe it was."

"But you did not see it?"

"No. I--never looked."

"But I did," interrupted Lawrence suddenly. "I happened to notice that
it _was_ bolted."

"Ah, that settles it." And Poirot looked crestfallen.

I could not help rejoicing that, for once, one of his "little ideas" had
come to naught.

After lunch Poirot begged me to accompany him home. I consented rather
stiffly.

"You are annoyed, is it not so?" he asked anxiously, as we walked
through the park.

"Not at all," I said coldly.

"That is well. That lifts a great load from my mind."

This was not quite what I had intended. I had hoped that he would have
observed the stiffness of my manner. Still, the fervour of his words
went towards the appeasing of my just displeasure. I thawed.

"I gave Lawrence your message," I said.

"And what did he say? He was entirely puzzled?"

"Yes. I am quite sure he had no idea of what you meant."

I had expected Poirot to be disappointed; but, to my surprise, he
replied that that was as he had thought, and that he was very glad. My
pride forbade me to ask any questions.

Poirot switched off on another tack.

"Mademoiselle Cynthia was not at lunch to-day? How was that?"

"She is at the hospital again. She resumed work to-day."

"Ah, she is an industrious little demoiselle. And pretty too. She is
like pictures I have seen in Italy. I would rather like to see that
dispensary of hers. Do you th