Four

Hercule Poirot sat with Pamela Lyall on the beach.

She said with a certain amount of gusto, “The triangle’s going strong! They sat one each sideof her last night—glowering at each other! Chantry had had too much to drink. He was positivelyinsulting to Douglas Gold. Gold behaved very well. Kept his temper¹. The Valentine womanenjoyed it, of course. Purred like the man-eating tiger she is. What do you think will happen?”

Poirot shook his head.

“I am afraid. I am very much afraid. . . .”

“Oh, we all are,” said Miss?Lyall hypocritically. She added, “This business is rather in yourline. Or it may come to be. Can’t you do anything?”

“I have done what I could.”

Miss?Lyall leaned forward eagerly.

“What have you done?” she asked with pleasurable excitement.

“I advised Mrs.?Gold to leave the island before it was too late.”

“Oo-er—so you think—” she stopped.

“Yes, mademoiselle?”

“So that’s what you think is going to happen!” said Pamela slowly. “But he couldn’t—he’dnever do a thing like that . . . He’s so nice really. It’s all that Chantry woman. He wouldn’t—Hewouldn’t—do—”

She stopped—then she said softly²:

“Murder? Is that—is that really the word that’s in your mind?”

“It is in someone’s mind, mademoiselle. I will tell you that.”

Pamela gave a sudden shiver³.

“I don’t believe it,” she declared.

 

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