Peril at End House

‘You think she is keeping something back?’

‘Yes.’

‘Possibly with an idea of shielding whoever it is?’

Poirot shook his head with the utmost energy.

‘No, no. As far as that goes, she gave me the impression of being utterly frank. I am convinced that as regards these attempts on her life, she was telling all she knew. But there is something else—something that she believes has nothing to do with that at all. And I should like to know what that something is. For I—I say it in all modesty—am a great deal more intelligent than une petite comme ça. I, Hercule Poirot, might see a connection where she sees none. It might give me the clue I am seeking. For I announce to you, Hastings, quite frankly and humbly, that I am as you express it, all on the sea. Until I can get some glimmering of the reason behind all this, I am in the dark. There must be something—some factor in the case that I do not grasp. What is it? Je me demande ça sans cesse. Qu’est-ce que c’est?’

‘You will find out,’ I said, soothingly.

‘So long,’ he said sombrely, ‘as I do not find out too late.’

CHAPTER 5

Mr and Mrs Croft

There was dancing that evening at the hotel. Nick Buckley dined there with her friends and waved a gay greeting to us.

She was dressed that evening in floating scarlet chiffon that dragged on the floor. Out of it rose her white neck and shoulders and her small impudent dark head.

‘An engaging young devil,’ I remarked.

‘A contrast to her friend—eh?’

Frederica Rice was in white. She danced with a languorous weary grace that was as far removed from Nick’s animation as anything could be.

‘She is very beautiful,’ said Poirot suddenly.

‘Who? Our Nick?’

‘No—the other. Is she evil? Is she good? Is she merely unhappy? One cannot tell. She is a mystery. She is, perhaps, nothing at all. But I tell you, my friend, she is an allumeuse.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked curiously.

He shook his head, smiling.

‘You will feel it sooner or later. Remember my words.’

Presently to my surprise, he rose. Nick was dancing with George Challenger. Frederica and Lazarus had just stopped and had sat down at their table. Then Lazarus got up and went away. Mrs Rice was alone. Poirot went straight to her table. I followed him.

His methods were direct and to the point.

‘You permit?’ He laid a hand on the back of a chair, then slid into it. ‘I am anxious to have a word with you while your friend is dancing.’

‘Yes?’ Her voice sounded cool, uninterested.

‘Madame, I do not know whether your friend has told you. If not, I will. Today her life has been attempted.’

Her great grey eyes widened in horror and surprise. The pupils, dilated black pupils, widened too.

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