I looked at her attentively. She was so clearly eager for a reply in the affirmative.
“That’s out of the question,” I said. “Miss Ackroyd saw her uncle alive at a quarter to ten.”
She turned away, and her whole figure seemed to droop.
“A handsome girl,” I said to myself as I drove off. “An exceedingly handsome girl.”
Caroline was at home. She had had a visit from Poirot and was very pleased and important about it.
“I am helping him with the case,” she explained.
I felt rather uneasy. Caroline is bad enough as it is. What will she be like with her detective instincts encouraged?
“Are you going round the neighbourhood looking