Mrs. Ackroyd’s start recalled me to myself, and I rose.

“You think you can explain to M. Poirot?” she asked anxiously.

“Oh, certainly. Absolutely.”

I got away at last, after being forced to listen to more justifications of her conduct.

The parlour maid was in the hall, and it was she who helped me on with my overcoat. I observed her more closely than I had done heretofore. It was clear that she had been crying.