“Nobody but a fool would think any such thing,” said Caroline indignantly.

She patted Ursula on the shoulder.

The girl had her face hidden in her hands.

“Horrible,” she was murmuring. “Horrible.”

Caroline gave her a friendly shake.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” she said. “ M. Poirot doesn’t think that really. As for that husband of yours, I don’t think much of him, and I tell you so candidly. Running away and leaving you to face the music.”

But Ursula shook her head energetically. “Oh, no,” she cried. “It wasn’t like that at all. Ralph would not run away on his own account. I see now. If he heard of his stepfather’s murder, he might think himself that I had done it.”