“You think that she loves the Capitaine Ralph Paton⁠—but I, Hercule Poirot, tell you that that is not so. Mademoiselle Flora accepted Captain Paton to please her uncle, and because she saw in the marriage a way of escape from her life here which was becoming frankly insupportable to her. She liked him, and there was much sympathy and understanding between them. But love⁠—no! It is not Captain Paton Mademoiselle Flora loves.”

“What the devil do you mean?” asked Blunt.

I saw the dark flush under his tan.

“You have been blind, monsieur. Blind! She is loyal, the little one. Ralph Paton is under a cloud, she is bound in honour to stick by him.”

I felt it was time I put in a word to help on the good work. “My sister told me the other night,” I said encouragingly, “that Flora had never cared a penny piece for Ralph Paton, and never would. My sister is always right about these things.”

Blunt ignored my well-meant offers. He spoke to Poirot.