Ten minutes later Caroline tapped at the door and entered. In her hand she held what seemed to be a pot of jam. “I wonder, James,” she said, “if you would mind taking this pot of medlar jelly across to M. Poirot? I promised it to him. He has never tasted any homemade medlar jelly.”

“Why can’t Annie go?” I asked coldly.

“She’s doing some mending. I can’t spare her.”

Caroline and I looked at each other.

“Very well,” I said, rising. “But if I take the beastly thing, I shall just leave it at the door. You understand that?”

My sister raised her eyebrows.

“Naturally,” she said. “Who suggested you should do anything else?”

The honours were with Caroline.