She held out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and I recognized the paragraph that Poirot had had inserted.
“It says that Ralph has been arrested. So everything is useless. I need not pretend any longer.”
“Newspaper paragraphs are not always true, mademoiselle,” murmured Poirot, having the grace to look ashamed of himself. “All the same, I think you will do well to make a clean breast of things. The truth is what we need now.”
The girl hesitated, looking at him doubtfully.
“You do not trust me,” said Poirot gently. “Yet all the same you came here to find me, did you not? Why was that?”
“Because I don’t believe that Ralph did it,” said the girl in a very low voice. “And I think that you are clever, and will find out the truth. And also—”
“Yes?”
“I think you are kind.”
Poirot nodded his head several times. “It is very good that—yes, it is very good. Listen, I do in verity believe that this husband of yours is innocent—but the affair marches badly. If I am to save him, I must know all there is to know—even if it should seem to make the case against him blacker than before.”
“How well you understand,” said Ursula.
“So you will tell me the whole story, will you not? From the beginning.”
“You’re not going to send me away, I hope,” said Caroline, settling herself comfortably in an armchair. “What I want to know,” she