snort. “If we’re talking of adventuresses—”
She left the sentence unfinished.
“Well?” I said, with some curiosity.
“Nothing. But I can think of someone not a hundred miles away.”
Then she turned to Poirot suddenly. “James sticks to it that you believe someone in the house committed the murder. All I can say is, you’re wrong.”
“I should not like to be wrong,” said Poirot. “It is not—how do you say—my métier?”
“I’ve got the facts pretty clearly,” continued Caroline, taking no notice of Poirot’s remark, “from James and others. As far as I can see, of the people in the house, only two could have had the chance of doing it. Ralph Paton and Flora Ackroyd.”