III

Later, when the police had come and gone, Poirot found Ruth Lake with her husband in thegarden.

She said challengingly:

“Did you really think that I had done it, M. Poirot?”

“I knew, madame, that you could not have done it—because of the michaelmas daisies.”

“The michaelmas daisies? I don’t understand.”

“Madame, there were four footprints and four footprints only in the border. But if you hadbeen picking flowers there would have been many more. That meant that between your first visitand your second, someone had smoothed all those footsteps away. That could only have been doneby the guilty person, and since your footprints had not been removed, you were not the guiltyperson. You were automatically¹ cleared.”

Ruth’s face lightened.

“Oh, I see. You know—I suppose it’s dreadful², but I feel rather sorry for that poor woman.

After all, she did confess rather than let me be arrested—or at any rate, that is what she thought.

That was—rather noble in a way. I hate to think of her going through a trial for murder.”

Poirot said gently:

“Do not distress³ yourself. It will not come to that. The doctor, he tells me that she has seriousheart trouble. She will not live many weeks.”

“I’m glad of that.” Ruth picked an autumn crocus and pressed it idly against her cheek.

“Poor woman. I wonder why she did it. . . .”

 

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