The secretary was debonair as ever.
“What’s the great idea?” he said, laughing. “Some scientific machine? Do we have bands round our wrists which register guilty heartbeats? There is such an invention, isn’t there?”
“I have read of it, yes,” admitted Poirot. “But me, I am old-fashioned. I use the old methods. I work only with the little grey cells. Now let us begin—but first I have an announcement to make to you all.”
He took Ursula’s hand and drew her forward.
“This lady is Mrs. Ralph Paton. She was married to Captain Paton last March.”
A little shriek burst from Mrs. Ackroyd.
“Ralph! Married! Last March! Oh! but it’s absurd. How could he be?”
She stared at Ursula as though she had never seen her before.
“Married to Bourne?” she said. “Really, M. Poirot, I don’t believe you.”
Ursula flushed and began to speak, but Flora forestalled her. Going quickly to the other girl’s side, she passed her hand through her arm.
“You must not mind our being surprised,” she said. “You see, we had no idea of such a thing. You and Ralph have kept your secret very well. I am—very glad about it.”
“You are very kind, Miss Ackroyd,” said Ursula in a low voice, “and you have every right to be exceedingly angry. Ralph behaved very badly—especially to you.”
“You needn’t worry about that,” said Flora, giving her arm a consoling little pat. “Ralph was in a corner and took the only way out. I should