“What about her statement that she went into the drawing room to see if the flowers were fresh?”

“Ah! we never took that very seriously, did we, my friend? It was patently an excuse, trumped up in a hurry, by a woman who felt it urgent to explain her presence⁠—which, by the way, you would probably never have thought of questioning. I considered it possible that her agitation might arise from the fact that she had been tampering with the silver table, but I think now that we must look for another cause.”

“Yes,” I said. “Whom did she go out to meet? And why?”

“You think she went to meet someone?”

“I do.”

Poirot nodded. “So do I,” he said thoughtfully.

There was a pause.

“By the way,” I said, “I’ve got a message for you from my sister. Ralph Paton’s boots were black, not brown.”