Twelve

IFor once in her life Ruth Chevenix-Gore—now Ruth Lake—came down to breakfast in good time.

Hercule Poirot was in the hall and drew her aside before she went into the dining room.

“I have a question to ask you, madame.”

“Yes?”

“You were in the garden last night. Did you at any time step in the flower bed outside SirGervase’s study window?”

Ruth stared at him.

“Yes, twice.”

“Ah! Twice. How twice?”

“The first time I was picking michaelmas daisies. That was about seven o’clock.”

“Was it not rather an odd time of day to pick flowers?”

“Yes, it was, as a matter of fact. I’d done the flowers yesterday morning, but Vanda said aftertea that the flowers on the dinner table weren’t good enough. I had thought they would be all right,so I hadn’t done them fresh.”

“But your mother requested you to do them? Is that right?”

“Yes. So I went out just before seven. I took them from that part of the border because hardlyanyone goes round there, and so it didn’t matter spoiling the effect.”

“Yes, yes, but the second time. You went there a second time, you said?”

“That was just before dinner. I had dropped a spot of brilliantine on my dress—just by theshoulder. I didn’t want to bother to change, and none of my artificial flowers went with the yellowof that dress. I remembered I’d seen a late rose when I was picking the michaelmas daisies, so Ihurried out and got it and pinned it on my shoulder.”

Poirot nodded his head slowly.

“Yes, I remember that you wore a rose last night. What time was it, madame, when youpicked that rose?”

“I don’t really know.”

“But it is essential, madame. Consider—reflect.”

Ruth frowned. She looked swiftly at Poirot and then away again.

“I can’t say exactly,” she said at last. “It must have been—oh, of course—it must have beenabout five minutes past eight. It was when I was on my way back round the house that I heard thegong go, and then that funny bang. I was hurrying because I thought it was the second gong andnot the first.”

“Ah, so you thought that—and did you not try the study window when you stood there in theflowerbed?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. I thought it might be open, and it would be quicker to come in thatway. But it was fastened.”

“So everything is explained. I congratulate you, madame.”

She stared at him.

“What do you mean?”

“That you have an explanation for everything, for the mould on your shoes, for yourfootprints in the flower bed, for your fingerprints¹ on the outside of the window. It is veryconvenient that.”

Before Ruth could answer, Miss?Lingard came hurrying down the stairs. There was a queerpurple flush on her cheeks, and she looked a little startled at seeing Poirot and Ruth standingtogether.

“I beg your pardon,” she said. “Is anything the matter?”

Ruth said angrily:

“I think M. Poirot has gone mad!”

She swept by them and into the dining room. Miss?Lingard turned an astonished face onPoirot.

He shook his head.

“After breakfast,” he said. “I will explain. I should like everyone to assemble in Sir Gervase’sstudy at ten o’clock.”

He repeated this request on entering the dining room.

Susan Cardwell gave him a quick glance, then transferred her gaze to Ruth. When Hugo said:

“Eh? What’s the idea?” she gave him a sharp nudge in the side, and he shut up obediently.

When he had finished his breakfast, Poirot rose and walked to the door. He turned and drewout a large old-fashioned watch.

“It is five minutes to ten. In five minutes—in the study.”

 

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